OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Harlem Shadows/Futility

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Oh, I have tried to laugh the pain away, Let new flames brush my love-springs like a feather. But the old fever seizes me to-day, As sickness grips a soul in wretched weather. I have given up myself to every urge, With not a care of precious powers spent, Have bared my body to the strangest scourge, To soothe and deaden my heart's unhealing rent. But you have torn a nerve out of my frame, A gut that no physician can replace, And reft my life of happiness and aim. Oh what new purpose shall I now embrace? What substance hold, what lovely form pursue, When my thought burns through everything to you?
# Harlem Shadows/In Bondage

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I would be wandering in distant fields Where man, and bird, and beast, lives leisurely, And the old earth is kind, and ever yields Her goodly gifts to all her children free; Where life is fairer, lighter, less demanding, And boys and girls have time and space for play Before they come to years of understanding— Somewhere I would be singing, far away. For life is greater than the thousand wars Men wage for it in their insatiate lust, And will remain like the eternal stars, When all that shines to-day is drift and dust But I am bound with you in your mean graves, O black men, simple slaves of ruthless slaves.
# Harlem Shadows/I Know my Soul

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I plucked my soul out of its secret place, And held it to the mirror of my eye, To see it like a star against the sky, A twitching body quivering in space, A spark of passion shining on my face. And I explored it to determine why This awful key to my infinity Conspires to rob me of sweet joy and grace. And if the sign may not be fully read, If I can comprehend but not control, I need not gloom my days with futile dread, Because I see a part and not the whole. Contemplating the strange, I'm comforted By this narcotic thought: I know my soul.
# Harlem Shadows/I Shall Return

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I shall return again; I shall return To laugh and love and watch with wonder-eyes At golden noon the forest fires burn, Wafting their blue-black smoke to sapphire skies. I shall return to loiter by the streams That bathe the brown blades of the bending grasses, And realize once more my thousand dreams Of waters rushing down the mountain passes. I shall return to hear the fiddle and fife Of village dances, dear delicious tunes That stir the hidden depths of native life, Stray melodies of dim remembered runes. I shall return, I shall return again, To ease my mind of long, long years of pain.
# Harlem Shadows/If We Must Die

First published in the July 1919 issue of The Liberator, see If We Must Die
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If we must die, let it not be like hogs Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot, While round us bark the mad and hungry dogs, Making their mock at our accursèd lot. If we must die, O let us nobly die, So that our precious blood may not be shed In vain; then even the monsters we defy Shall be constrained to honor us though dead! O kinsmen! we must meet the common foe! Though far outnumbered let us show us brave, And for their thousand blows deal one death-blow! What though before us lies the open grave? Like men we'll face the murderous, cowardly pack, Pressed to the wall, dying, but fighting back!
# Harlem Shadows/French Leave

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No servile little fear shall daunt my will This morning. I have courage steeled to say I will be lazy, conqueringly still, I will not lose the hours in toil this day.
The roaring world without, careless of souls, Shall leave me to my placid dream of rest, My four walls shield me from its shouting ghouls, And all its hates have fled my quiet breast.
And I will loll here resting, wide awake, Dead to the world of work, the world of love, I laze contented just for dreaming's sake With not the slightest urge to think or move.
How tired unto death, how tired I was! Now for a day I put my burdens by, And like a child amidst the meadow grass Under the southern sun, I languid lie ​And feel the bed about me kindly deep, My strength ooze gently from my hollow bones, My worried brain drift aimlessly to sleep, Like softening to a song of tuneful tones.
# Harlem Shadows/Home Thoughts

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Oh something just now must be happening there! That suddenly and quiveringly here, Amid the city's noises, I must think Of mangoes leaning o'er the river's brink, And dexterous Davie climbing high above, The gold fruits ebon-speckled to remove, And toss them quickly in the tangled mass Of wis-wis twisted round the guinea grass; And Cyril coming through the bramble-track A prize bunch of bananas on his back; And Georgie—none could ever dive like him— Throwing his scanty clothes off for a swim; And schoolboys, from Bridge-tunnel going home, Watching the waters downward dash and foam. This is no daytime dream, there's something in it, Oh something's happening there this very minute!
# Four favourite songs/Robin and Anna

ROBIN AND ANNA.
She listens;—"'Tis the wind," she cries; The moon, that rose so full and bright, Is now o'ercast: she looks, she sighs, She fears 'twill be a stormy night.
Not long was Anna wed. Her mate, A fisherman, was out at sea, The night is dark, the hour is late, The wind is high—and where is he?
"Oh! who would love, Oh! who would wed A wandering fisherman, to be A wretched, lonely wife, and dread Each breath that blows, when he's at sea!"
Not long was Anna wed. One pledge Of tender love her bosom bore; The storm comes down! the billows rage, Its father is not yet on shore.
​"Oh! who would think her portion bless'd A wandering seaman's wife to be, To hug the infant to her breast, Whose father's on a stormy sea!"
The thunder bursts! the lightning falls: The casement rattles with the rain, And, as the gusty tempest bawls, The little cottage quakes again!—
She doesn't speak; she doesn't sigh! She gazes on her infant dear— A smile lights up the cherub's eye, Which dims its mother's with a tear!
"Oh! who would be a seaman's wife! Oh! who would bear a seaman's child: To tremble for her husband's life, To weep-because her infant smild."
Ne'er hadst thou born a seaman's boy— Ne'er had thy husband left the shore— Thou ne'er hadst felt the frantic joy, To see—thy Robin at the door!
To press his weather-beaten cheek, To kiss it dry and warm again, To weep the joy thou couldst not speak— So pleasure's in the debt of pain!
Thy cheerful fire, thy plain repast, Thy little couch of love I ween, ​Were ten times sweeter than the last And not a cloud that night was seen!
A happy pair; the pains you know, Still hand in hand with pleasure come; For often does the tempest blow, bouillon And Robin still is safe at home.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Four excellent songs (10)/Mirren Gibb's Public House

MIRREN GIBB’S PUBLIC HOUSE.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Four favourite songs/Go, Yarrow Flower

GO, YARROW FLOWER.
Go, Yarrow flow'r, thou shalt be blest To lie on beauteous Marv's breast; ​Go. Yarrow flow'r so sweetly smelling, Is there on earth so soft a dwelling? Go, lovely flow'r, tlou prettiest flow'r That ever smil'd in Yarrow bow'r; Go, daughter of the dewy morning, With Alves' blush the fields adorning.
Go, lovely rose! what dost thou hiere, Ling'ring away thy short-liv'd year, Vainly shining, idly blooming, Thy unenjoyed sweets consuming? Vain is thy radiant garlies hue, No hand to pull, no eye to view; What are thy charms, no heart desiring? What profits beauty, none admiring. radiant gave to view desiring
Go, Yarrow flow'r, to Yarrow maid, And, on her panting bosom laid, There, all thy native form confessing; The charm of beauty is possessing. Come, Yarrow maid, from Yarrow field; What pleasure can the desert yield? Come to my breast, O! all excelling, Is there on earth so kind a dwelling?
Come, my dear maid? thou prettiest maid That ever smil'd in Yarrow shade: Come, sister of the dewy morning, With Alves' blush the dance adorning. Come, lovely maid! love calls thee here; Linger no more thy fleeting year, Vainly shining, idly blooming, Thy unenjoyed sweets consuming.
​Vain is thy radiant garlies hue, No hand to press, no eye to view; What are thy charms, no heart desiring; What profits beauty, none admiring? Come, Yarrow maid, with Yarrow rose, Thy maiden graces all disclose; Come, blest by all, to all a blessing, The charm of beauty is possessing.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Four favourite songs/William and Margaret

SONGS.
WILLIAM AND MARGARET.
'Twas at the silent solemn hour, When night and morning meet, In glided Margaret's grimly ghost, And stood at William's feet.
Her face was like an April morn Clad in a wintry cloud, And clay-cold was her lily hand That held her sable shroud.
So shall the fairest face appear, When youth and years are flown Such is the robe that kings must wear, When death has reft their crown.
Her bloom was like the springing flower That sips the silver dew; The rose was budded in her cheek, Just opening to the view.
But love had, like the canker-worm, Consum'd her early prime, The rose grew pale, and left her cheek; She died before her time.
​"Awake!" she cried, " thy true love calls. Come from her midnight grave: Now let thy pity hear the maid Thy love refus'd to save.
This is the dumb and dreary hour When injur'd ghosts complain. When yawning graves give up their dead To haunt the faithless swain.
Bethink thee, William! of thy fault, Thy pledge and broken oath; And give me back my maiden vow, And give me back my troth.
Why did you promise love to me, And not that promise keep? Why did you swear my eyes were bright. Yet leave those eyes to weep?
How could you say my face was fair. And yet that face forsake? How could you win my virgin heart. Yet leave that heart to break?
Why did you say my lip was sweet, And made the scarlet pale? And why did I, young witless maid! Believe the flattering tale?
That face, alas! no more is fair, Those lips no longer red! ​Dark are my eyes, now clos' in death, And every charm is fled.
The hungry worm my sister is This winding-sheet I wear; And cold and weary lasts our night, Till the last morn appear.
But, lark! the cock has warn'd me hence; A long and late adieu! Come see, false man! how low she lies Who died for love of you."
The lark sung loud, the morning smil'd With beans of rosy red; Pale William quak'd in every limb, And, raving, left his bed.
He lied him to the fatal place Where Margaret's body lay, And stretch'a him on the green-grass turf That wrapt her breathless clay.
And thrice he call'd on Margaret's name, And thrice he wept full sore; Then laid his cheek to her cold grave. And word spake never more.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Four favourite songs (104185890)

FOUR FAVOURITE SONGS.
WILLIAM AND MARGARET.
GO, YARROW FLOWER.
ROBIN AND ANNA.
COULD A MAN BE SECURE.
GLASGOW:
PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.
10.
* William and Margaret
* Go, Yarrow Flower
* Robin and Anna
* Could a Man Be Secure?
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Four excellent songs (10)/The Laird of Cockpen

SONGS
THE LAIRD OF COCKPEN.
The Laird o’ Cockpen he’s proud an’ he’s great, His mind is ta’en up wi’ the things o’ the state, He wanted a wife his braw house to keep, But favour wi’ wooin’ was fashions to seek.
Doun by the dyke-side a lady did dwell; At his table-head he thocht she’d look well; M‘Clish’s ae dochter o’ Claverseha’ Lee; A pennyless lass wi’ a lang pedigree.
His wig was weel-powder’d, as guid as when new, His waistcoat was white, his coat it was blue, He put on a ring, a sword and cock’d hat, And wha could refuse the Laird wi’ a’ that.
He took the grey mare, and rade cannily, An’ rapped at the yett o’ Claverseha’ Lee, Gao tell Mistress Jean to come speedily ben, She’s wanted to speak to the Laird o’ Cockpen.
Mistress Jean was making the elder-flower wine,— -And what brings the Laird at sic a like time,
She put aff her apron, an’ on her silk gown. Her mutch wi’ red ribbons, and ran awa down.
An’ when she came down, she bowed fu’ low. An’ what was his errand he soon let her know, Amaz’d was the Laird when the lady said—na; And wi’ a laigh courtesy she turn’d awa.
Dumfounder’d he was—he nae sigh did gie; He mounted his mare and rade cannily; An’ aften he thocht as he gaed through the glen, She’s daft to refuse the Laird o’ Cockpen.
Near to the house amang the lang trees, There he did meet sweet Jeanie Greenlees; At his table she sits like a white-tappit hen, And mickle thinks she o’ the Laird o’ Cockpen.
# Four excellent songs (10)/The Lass of Arranteenie

THE LASS OF ARRANTEENIE.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Four favourite songs/Could a Man Be Secure?

COULD A MAN BE SECURE.
Could a man be secure, That his life would endure As of old for a thousand long years, What arts might he know, What acts might he do, And all without hurry or care, But we that have but span-long lives The thicker must lay on the pleasure, And since time will not stay, We'll add the night unto the day, And thus we'll fill the measures.
FINIS.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Four excellent songs (10)

FOUR
Excellent Songs.
THE LAIRD OF COCKPEN.
THE LASS OF ARRANTEENIE.
MIRREN GIBB'S PUBLIC HOUSE.
JACK'S THE LAD.
GLASGOW: PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS. 62
* The Laird of Cockpen
* The Lass of Arranteenie
* Mirren Gibb's Public House
* Jack's the Lad
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Four excellent songs (10)/Jack's the Lad

JACK'S THE LAD.
Our ship’s a-port, so here I be, With heart as light as cork, d’ye see; ’Pon larboard quarter Poll is jigging, Dress’d all in her Sunday rigging— Wench and fiddle always make a sailor glad; Old Nipperkin, the landlord, keeps the grog afloat, Kindly is the liquor handed down each other throat; For if ever sailor took delight in Swigging, kissing, dancing, fighting, Dam’me! I make bold to say that Jack’s the lad. With my tol de rol, &c.
Cheerly, my lads, ye know Jack Spry, So full of romps and rigs that I— D’ye hear the merry fiddle going? Sblood! it sets mo off a-toeing. That’s he—Catgut, College Hornpipe, brisk old dad! Now for a reel—Sir David Hunter Blair—that’s Scotch; Or Langolee, or anything but French or Dutch; For if ever fellow took delight in Swigging, kissing, dancing, fighting, Dam’me! I make bold to say that Jack’s the lad. With my tol de rol, &c.
My locker’s rich—the devil’s mite! Why, here’s a pretty rig!—Yes—I’m right; An old friend, like a blubbering ninny Look’d distress’d like—got my guinea.
Can’t help sniv’lling, somehow, when I see folk sad; But howsomever, should I’ve luck to fall once more Longside a Mounseer, homeward hound, he’ll pay the score; For if ever fellow took delight in Swigging, kissing, dancing, fighting, Dam’me! I make bold to say that Jack’s the lad. With my tol de rol, &c.
Huzza!—a gun!—the signal’s made; All hands on hoard—the anchor’s weigh’d; Lord! how the girls in scores are flying Fore and aft, all sohhing, crying; Thoughts of parting makes them all run roaring mad; But honour bids her gallant sons to glory go, So off again we scud to lick the saucy foe; For if ever fellow took delight in Swigging, kissing, dancing, fighting. Dam’me! I make bold to say that Jack’s the lad With my tol de rol, &c.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Harvard Law Review/Volume 1/Issue 6

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HARVARD
LAW REVIEW.
Vol. I.JANUARY 15, 1888.No. 6. :
| John Lowell, Conflict of Laws as Applied to Assignments for Creditors | 259 |
| Samuel B. Clarke, Criticisms Upon Henry George, Reviewed from the Stand-Point of Justice | 265 |
| Notes | 294 |
| The Law School | 299 |
| Recent Cases | 303 |
# Harvard Law Review/Volume 1/Issue 5/Reviews

REVIEWS.
The Law of Criminal Conspiracies and Agreements, as found in the American Cases. By Hampton L. Carson, of the Philadelphia bar; Text-book series, Vol. 1, No. 1. The Blackstone Publishing Company, Philadelphia, 1887, pp. 235.
This work is bound in the same volume with “Wright on Criminal Conspiracy,” and, unlike the others of the same series, is not a reprint. Mr. Carson’s work was originally intended, as he says, to illustrate Mr. Wright’s text “by reference to the American cases in the form of notes;” but he found so much material that he concluded to shape it into a distinct hand-book for the lawyer in active practice.
In view of the recent wide-spread labor disturbances, Mr. Carson’s section entitled, “Conspiracies Relating to the Rates of Wages—Strikes and Boycotts,” pages 144 to 179, will not be found the least interesting in the book. His conclusions from the cases cited, many of which are very recent, including The Old Dominion Steamship Co. v. McKenna, and State v. Glidden, is briefly as follows: Workmen may lawfully combine for many purposes, such as the raising of their wages, the prevention of overcrowding in their trade, etc. “The moment, however, that they proceed by threats, intimidation, violence, obstruction, or molestation, in order to secure their ends; or where their object be to impoverish third persons, or to extort money from their employers, or to ruin their business, or to encourage strikes or breaches of contract among others, or to restrict the freedom of others for the purpose of compelling employers to conform to their views, or to attempt to enforce rules upon those not members of their association, they render themselves liable to indictment.”
On the whole, Mr. Carson’s book seems to live up to the preface in a satisfactory manner. Its merit is rather as a hand-book of the latest decisions in criminal conspiracy, than as a very learned or scientific treatise on the subject.
B. G. D.
# Harvard Law Review/Volume 1/Issue 5

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HARVARD
LAW REVIEW.
Vol. I.DECEMBER 15, 1887.No. 5. :
| William A. Keener, Recovery of Money Paid Under Mistake of Fact | 211 |
| D. H. Chamberlain, Osborn v. The Bank of the United States | 223 |
| Jesse W. Lilienthal, Privity of Contract | 226 |
| A. Lawrence Lowell, The Responsibilities of American Lawyers | 232 |
| Notes | 241 |
| The Law School | 245 |
| Correspondence | 251 |
| Recent Cases | 253 |
| Reviews | 258 |
# Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 28 1830

This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
This work is available under the Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication.
The person who associated a work with this deed has dedicated the work to the public domain by waiving all of their rights to the work worldwide under copyright law, including all related and neighboring rights, to the extent allowed by law. You can copy, modify, distribute and perform the work, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 28 1830
Compiled By Peter J. Bolton
Contents
| | Page |
| The Diver | 62-63 |
| Music in a Room of Sickness | 556-557 |
# Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 28 1830/The Diver

The New Monthly Magazine, Volume 28, Pages 62-63
THE DIVER.—BY FELICIA HEMANS.
—————Wretched men
Are cradled into poetry by wrong;
They learn in suffering what they teach in song.
Thou hast been where the rocks of coral grow,
 Thou hast fought with eddying waves;
Thy cheek is pale and thy heart beats low,
 Thou searcher of Ocean's caves!
Thou hast look'd on the gleaming wealth of old,
 Midst wrecks where the brave have striven;
—The Deep is a strong and a fearful hold,
 But thou its bars hast riven.
A wild and weary life is thine,
 A wasting toil and lone!
Though the treasure-grots for thee may shine,
 To all besides unknown.
A weary life!—but a swift decay
 Soon, soon shall set thee free;
Thou art passing fast from the strife away—
 Thou wrestler with the sea!
In thy dim eye, on thy hollow cheek,
 Well are the death-signs read:
—Go! for the pearl in its cavern seek,
 Ere hope and power be fled!
And bright in Beauty's coronal
 That glistening gem shall be;
A star to all in the festive hall—
 But who shall think on thee?
None!—as it gleams from the queen-like head,
 Not one midst throngs will say,
"A life hath been like a rain-drop shed,
 For that pale, quivering ray."
Woe! for the wealth so dearly bought!
 —And are not those like thee,
Who win for earth the gems of thought,
 O wrestler with the sea?
Down to the gulphs of the soul they go,
 Where the passion-fountains burn,
Gathering the jewels far below
 From many a buried urn:
Wringing from lava-veins the fire
 That o'er bright words is pour'd;
Learning deep sounds, that make the lyre
 A spirit in each chord!
But oh! the price of bitter tears
 Paid for the lonely power,
That throws at last, o'er desert-years,
 A darkly-glorious dower!
As flower-seeds far by the wild wind spread,
 So precious thoughts are strew'd;
—The soul, whence those high gifts are shed,
 May faint in solitude.
And who will think, when the strain is sung
 Till a thousand hearts are stirr'd,
What life-drops, from the minstrel wrung,
 Have gush'd with every word?
None! none!—his treasures live like thine,
 He strives and dies with thee;
—Thou that hast been to the pearl's dark shrine,
 O wrestler with the sea!
# Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 31 1831/Flowers in a Room of Sickness

The New Monthly Magazine, Volume 31, Page 141
FLOWERS IN A ROOM OF SICKNESS.
"I desire, as I look on these, the ornaments and children of Earth, to know whether, indeed, such things I shall see no more?—whether they have no likeness, no archetype in the world in which my future home is to be cast? or whether they have their images above, only wrought in a more wondrous and delightful mould."—Conversations with an Ambitious Student in Ill Health.
Bear them not from grassy dells,
Where wild bees have honey-cells;
Not from where sweet water-sounds
Thrill the green wood to its bounds;
Not to waste their scented breath
On the silent room of Death!
Kindred to the breeze they are,
And the glow-worm's emerald star,
And the bird, whose song is free,
And the many-whispering tree:
Oh! too deep a love, and vain,
They would win to Earth again!
Spread them not before the eyes,
Closing fast on summer skies!
Woo thou not the spirit back,
From its lone and viewless track,
With the bright things which have birth
Wide o'er all the coloured Earth!
With the violet's breath would rise
Thoughts too sad for her who dies;
From the lily's pearl-cup shed,
Dreams too sweet would haunt her bed;
Dreams of youth—of spring-time eves—
Music—beauty—all she leaves!
Hush! 'tis thou that dreaming art,
Calmer is her gentle heart.
Yes! o'er fountain, vale, and grove,
Leaf and flower, hath gush'd her love;
But that passion, deep and true,
Knows not of a last adieu.
Types of lovelier forms than these,
In their fragile mould she sees;
Shadows of yet richer things,
Born beside immortal springs,
Into fuller glory wrought,
Kindled by surpassing thought!
Therefore, in the lily's leaf,
She can read no word of grief;
O'er the woodbine she can dwell,
Murmuring not—Farewell! farewell!
And her dim, yet speaking eye,
Greets the violet solemnly.
Therefore, once, and yet again,
Strew them o'er her bed of pain;
From her chamber take the gloom,
With a light and flush of bloom:
So should one depart, who goes
Where no Death can touch the Rose!F. H.