OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Ballad Literature and Popular Music of the Olden Time/Volume 1/Reign of Elizabeth/Little Musgrave and Lady Barnard

This ballad is quoted in Fletcher’s Knight of the Burning Pestle, and Monsieur Thomas; in The Varietie, 1649; and in Davenant’s The Wits, where Twack, an antiquated beau, boasting of his qualifications, says—
A copy of the ballad is in the Bagford Collection, entitled “A lamentable ballad of Little Musgrove and the Lady Barnet, to an excellent new tune.” It is also in Wit restored, 1658; in Dryden’s Miscellany Poems, iii. 312 (1716); and in Percy’s Reliques, series 3, book i.
The tune is the usual traditional version.
# The Awakening (Chopin)

The Awakening
The Awakening
By
KATE CHOPIN
Author of "A NIGHT IN ACADIE," "BAYOU FOLKS," Etc.
HERBERT S. STONE & COMPANY CHICAGO & NEW YORK MDCCCXCIX
COPYRIGHT, 1899, BY
HERBERT S. STONE & CO.
* Chapter I
* Chapter II
* Chapter III
* Chapter IV
* Chapter V
* Chapter VI
* Chapter VII
* Chapter VIII
* Chapter IX
* Chapter X
* Chapter XI
* Chapter XII
* Chapter XIII
* Chapter XIV
* Chapter XV
* Chapter XVI
* Chapter XVII
* Chapter XVIII
* Chapter XIX
* Chapter XX
* Chapter XXI
* Chapter XXII
* Chapter XXIII
* Chapter XXIV
* Chapter XXV
* Chapter XXVI
* Chapter XXVII
* Chapter XXVIII
* Chapter XXIX
* Chapter XXX
* Chapter XXXI
* Chapter XXXII
* Chapter XXXIII
* Chapter XXXIV
* Chapter XXXV
* Chapter XXXVI
* Chapter XXXVII
* Chapter XXXVIII
* Chapter XXXIX
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
# The Awakening: The Resurrection/Chapter 92

Translated by William E. Smith in 1900. It was the subject of a 1907 Buddhist sermon entitled Fight the Good Fight with All thy Might.
Nekhludoff, after parting with the Englishman, went straight to his hotel, and walked about his room for a long time. The affair with Katiousha was at an end. There was something ugly in the very memory of it. But it was not that which grieved him. Some other affair of his was yet unsettled—­an affair which tortured him and required his attention. In his imagination rose the gloomy scenes of the hundreds and thousands of human beings pent up in the pestiferous air. The laughter of the prisoners resounded in his ears. He saw again among the dead bodies the beautiful, angry, waxen face of the dead Kryltzoff; and the question whether he was mad, or all those who commit those evils and think themselves wise were mad, bore in upon his mind with renewed power, and he found no answer to it. The principal difficulty consisted in finding an answer to the principal question, which was: What should be done with those who became brutalized in the struggle for life?
When he became tired walking about the room he sat down on the lounge, close by the lamp, and mechanically opened the Bible which the Englishman had presented him, and which he had thrown on the table while emptying his pockets. They say, he thought, that this Bible contains the solution to all questions. So, opening it, he began to read at the place at which it opened itself—­Matt. x., 8. After a while he inclined close to the lamp and became like one petrified. An exultation, the like of which he had not experienced for a long time, took possession of his soul, as though, after long suffering and weariness, he found at last liberty and rest. He did not sleep the whole night. As is the case with many who read the Bible for the first time, he now, on reading it again, grasped the full meaning of words which he had known long ago, but which he had not understood before. Like a sponge that absorbs everything, so he absorbed everything that was important, necessary and joyful.
“That is the principal thing,” thought Nekhludoff. “We all live in the silly belief that we ourselves are the lords of our world, that this world has been given us for our enjoyment. But this is evidently untrue. Somebody must have sent us here for some reason. And for this reason it is plain that we will suffer like those laborers suffer who do not fulfill the wishes of their Master. The will of the Lord is expressed in the teachings of Christ. Let man obey Him, and the Kingdom of the Lord will come on earth, and man will derive the greatest possible good.
“Seek the truth and the Kingdom of God, and the rest will come of itself. We seek that which is to come, and do not find it, and not only do we not build the Kingdom of God, but we destroy it.
“So this will henceforth be the task of my life!”
And indeed, from that night a new life began for Nekhludoff; not so much because he had risen into a new stage of existence, but because all that had happened to him till then assumed for him an altogether new meaning.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Maclaine

Maclaine.
[A ballad of the Forty-five, written, composed, and dedicated to the Clan, by Miss Ross.]
Banners are waving o'er Morven's dark heath, Claymores are flashing from many a sheath; Hark! 'tis the gathering. On, onward! they cry; Far flies the signal to conquer or die. Then follow thee, follow a boat to the sea, Thy Prince in Glen Moidart is waiting for thee, Where war-pipes are sounding and banners are free, Maclaine and his clansmen the foremost you'll see.
Wildly the war-cry has startled yon stag, And waken'd the echoes of Gillian's lone crag; Up hill and down glen each brave mountaineer Has belted his plaid and has mounted his spear. Then follow thee, &c.
The signal is heard from mountain to shore, They rush like the flood o'er dark Corry-vohr, The war-note is sounding, loud, wildly, and high, Louder they shout, On, to conquer or die! Then follow thee, &c.
The heath-bell at morn so proudly ye trod, Son of the mountain! now covers thy sod; Wrapt in your plaid, 'mid the bravest ye lie, The words as ye fell still conquer or die. Then follow thee, &c.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Lucy's flittin'

Lucy's flittin'.
[This deeply pathetic song was composed by William Laidlaw, for many years the steward and trusted friend of Sir Walter Scott. It is sung to the tune of "Paddy O'Rafferty."]
'Twas when the wan leaf frae the birk tree was fa'in, And Martinmas dowie had wound up the year, That Lucy row'd up her wee kist wi' her a' in't, And left her auld maister and neebours sae dear: For Lucy had served in the glen a' the simmer; She cam' there afore the flower bloomed on the pea; An orphan was she, and they had been kind till her, Sure that was the thing brocht the tear to her e'e.
She gaed by the stable where Jamie was stannin'; Richt sair was his kind heart, the flittin' to see: Fare ye weel, Lucy! quo' Jamie, and ran in; The gatherin' tears trickled fast frae his e'e. As down the burn-side she gaed slow wi' the flittin', Fare ye weel, Lucy! was ilka bird's sang; She heard the craw sayin't, high on the tree sittin', And robin was chirpin't the brown leaves amang.
Oh, what is't that pits my puir heart in a flutter? And what gars the tears come sae fast to my e'e? If I wasna ettled to be ony better, Then what gars me wish ony better to be? I'm just like a lammie that loses its mither; Nae mither or friend the puir lammie can see; I fear I ha'e tint my pair heart a'thegither, Nae wonder the tears fa' sae fast frae my e'e.
Wi' the rest o' my claes I ha'e row'd up the ribbon, The bonnie blue ribbon that Jamie ga'e me; Yestreen, when he ga'e me't, and saw I was sabbin', I'll never forget the wae blink o' his e'e. Though now he said naething but Fare ye weel, Lucy! It made me I neither could speak, hear, nor see: He could nae say mair but just, Fare ye weel, Lucy! Yet that I will mind till the day that I dee.
The lamb likes the gowan wi' dew when its droukit; The hare likes the brake and the braird on the lea: But Lucy likes Jamie,—she turn'd and she lookit, She thocht the dear place she wad never mair see. Ah, weel may young Jamie gang dowie and cheerless! And weel may he greet on the bank o' the burn! For bonnie sweet Lucy, sae gentle and peerless, Lies cauld in her grave, and will never return!
# The Book of Scottish Song/Macgregor's Gathering

Macgregor's Gathering.
[These verses were written by Sir Walter Scott for Albyn's Anthology in 1816. They are adapted to a very wild, yet lively gathering-tune, used by the Macgregors. The severe treatment of this clan, their outlawry, and the very proscription of their name, are alluded to here.]
The moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the brae, And the clan has a name that is nameless by day— Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach!
Our signal for fight, which from monarchs we drew, Must be heard but by night, in our vengeful halloo— Then halloo, halloo, halloo, Grigalach!
Glenorchy's proud mountains, Calchuirn and her towers, Glenstrae, and Glenlyon, no longer are curs— We're landless, landless, landless, Grigalach!
But, doomed and devoted by vassal and lord, Macgregor has still both his heart and his sword— Then courage, courage, courage, Grigalach!
If they rob us of name, and pursue us with beagles, Give their roof to the flames, and their flesh to the eagles— Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Grigalach! ​While there's leaves on the forest, or foam on the river, Macgregor, despite them, shall flourish for ever! Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach!
# The Book of Scottish Song/Lullaby

Lullaby.
[John Sim.—Air, "Bonnie Wood o' Cragie Lee."]
Rest, lovely babe, on mother's knee, Rest, lovely babe, on mother's knee, And cry na sae to fill wi' wae The heart that only beats for thee.
Thou hast, my babe, nae father now, To care for thee when I am gone; And I ha'e ne'er a friend sae true As would my bonnie baby own, Rest, lovely babe, &c. ​O! ance, and I could little think A lot sae hard would e'er be thine, As thus a mother's tears to drink! For, baby, thou hast drunk o' mine, Rest, lovely babe, &c.
O smile, my babe! for sic a smile Thy father aye put on to me; O smile, my babe, and look the while, For thou look'st wi' thy father's e'e. Rest, lovely babe, &c.
O that this widow'd heart would beat Till thou in years hadst upward grown, That I might learn thy future fate, Nor leave thee in the world alone. Rest, lovely babe, &c.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Low Germanie

Low Germanie.
[Allan Cunningham.]
As I sail'd past green Jura's isle, Among the waters lone, I heard a voice—a sweet low voice, Atween a sigh and moan: With ae babe at her bosom, and Another at her knee, A mother wail'd the bloody wars In Low Germanie.
Oh woe unto these cruel wars That ever they began, For they have swept my native isle Of many a pretty man: For first they took my brethren twain, Then wiled my love frae me. Woe, woe unto the cruel wars In Low Germanie.
I saw him when he sail'd away, And furrow'd far the brine, And down his foes came to the shore, In many a glittering line: The war-steeds rush'd amang the waves, The guns came flashing free, But could nae keep my gallant love From Low Germanie.
Oh say, ye maidens, have ye seen, When swells the battle cry, A stately youth with bonnet blue And feather floating high,— An eye that flashes fierce for all, But ever mild to me? Oh that's the lad who loves me best In Low Germanie.
Where'er the cymbal's sound is heard, And cittern sweeter far,— Where'er the trumpet blast is blown, And horses rush to war; The blithest at the banquet board, And first in war is he, The bonnie lad, whom I love best, In Low Germanie.
I sit upon the high green land, When mute the waters lie, And think I see my true love's sail Atween the sea and sky. With ae bairn at my bosom, and Another at my knee, I sorrow for my soldier lad In Low Germanie.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Low down i' the Brume

Low down i' the Brume.
[The tune of "Low down in the Brume," or something very like it, is often given to the song above quoted, "A red, red Rose." The words of the present song are ascribed to James Carnegie, Esq. of Balnamoon, near Brechin. They can be traced as far back as to a collection published at Edinburgh in 1765, called "The Lark."]
My daddie is a cankert carle, He'll no twine wi' his gear; My minnie she's a scauldin' wife, Hauds a' the house asteer. But let them say, or let them do, It's a' ane to me, For he's low doun, he's in the brume, That's waitin' on me: Waiting on me, my love, He's waiting on me: For he's low doun, he's in the brume, That's waitin' on me.
My auntie Kate sits at her wheel, And sair she lightlies me; But weel ken I it's a' envy, For ne'er a joe has she. But let them say, &c.
My cousin Kate was sair beguiled Wi' Johnnie o' the Glen; And aye sinsyne she cries, Beware O' fause deluding men. But let them say, &c.
Gleed Sandy he cam' wast yestreen, And speir'd when I saw Pate; And aye sinsyne the neebors round They jeer me air and late. But let them say, &c.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Lucky Nancy

Lucky Nancy.
[From the first vol. of Ramsay's Tea-Table Miscellany, where it appears with the mark Q, signifying that it is an old song with additions. Regarding this song. Lord Woodhouselee says: "I have been informed, on good authority, that the words, as printed in Ramsay's collection, were written by the Hon. Duncan Forbes, lord president of the Court of Session." It is given in Ramsay to the tune of "Dainty Davie."]
While fops, in saft Italian verse, Ilk fair ane's een and breist rehearse While sangs abound, and wit is scarce, These lines I have indited. ​But neither darts nor arrows, here, Venus nor Cupid, shall appear; Although with these fine sounds, I swear, The maidens are delighted. I was aye telling you, Lucky Nancy, Lucky Nancy, Auld springs wad ding the new, But ye wad never trow me.
Nor snaw with crimson will I mix, To spread upon my lassie's cheeks; And syne the unmeaning name prefix, Miranda, Cloe, Phillis; I'll fetch nae simile frae Jove, My height of ecstacy to prove, Nor sighing—thus—present my love With roses eke and lilies.
But, stay—I had amaist forgot My mistress, and my sang to boot, And that's an unco faut, I wot; But, Nancy, 'tis nae matter: Ye see I clink my verse wi' rhyme, And ken ye that atones the crime; Forbye, how sweet my numbers chime, And glide away like water!
Now ken, my reverend sonsy fair, Thy runkled cheeks, and lyart hair, Thy half-shut een, and hoddling air, Are a' my passion's fuel; Nae skyring gowk, my dear, can see, Or love, or grace, or heaven in thee; Yet thou hast charms enew for me; Then smile, and be na cruel. Leeze me on thy snawy pow, Lucky Nancy, Lucky Nancy; Dryest wood will eithest low, And, Nancy, sae will ye now.
Troth, I have sung the sang to you, Which ne'er anither bard wad do; Hear, then, my charitable vow, Dear venerable Nancy: But, if the world my passion wrang, And say ye only live in sang, Ken, I despise a slandering tongue, And sing to please my fancy Leeze me on, &c.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Lovely Mary

Lovely Mary.
[John Grieve.—Air, "Gowd in gowpens."]
I've seen the lily of the wold; I've seen the opening marigold, Their fairest hues at morn unfold; But fairer is my Mary. How sweet the fringe of mountain burn, With op'ning flowers at spring's return! How sweet the scent of flowery thorn! But sweeter is my Mary.
Her heart is gentle, warm, and kind; Her form's not fairer than her mind; Two sister beauties rarely join'd, But join'd in lovely Mary. As music from the distant steep, As starlight on the silent deep, So are my passions lull'd asleep By love for bonnie Mary.
# The Book of Scottish Song/Lovely Polly Stewart

Lovely Polly Stewart.
[Written by Burns for Johnson's Museum to the tune of "You're welcome, Charlie Stewart." This tune was originally called "Miss Stewart's Reel," but about the middle of the last century a Jacobite song was written to it, beginning as above, from which it received its new name. The Jacobite song is scarcely worth giving. Mr. Robert Chambers says, that he was informed that the heroine of this song was so far reduced in her circumstances, as to be obliged in her old age to support herself by washing clothes. In 1838, she resided in the borough of Maxwelton, Dumfries.]
O lovely Polly Stewart! O charming Polly Stewart! There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May, That's half so fair as thou art. The flower that blaws, it fades, it fa's, And art can ne'er renew it; But worth and truth eternal youth Will gi'e to Polly Stewart."
May he, whase arms shall fauld thy charms, Possess a leal and true heart; To him be given to ken the heaven He grasps in Polly Stewart! O lovely Polly Stewart! O charming Polly Stewart! There's ne'er a flower that blooms in May, That's half so fair as thou art.
# The Baby's Opera (1900)/Mrs. Bond

MRS BOND
1."Oh, what have you got for dinner, Mrs. Bond?" "There's beef in the larder, and ducks in the pond;" "Dilly, dilly, dilly, dilly, come to be killed, For you must be stuffed, and my customers filled!"
2.John Ostler, go fetch me a duckling or two, John Ostler go fetch me a duckling or two; Cry dilly, dilly, dilly, dilly, come and be killed, For you must be stuffed, and my customers filled!"
3.I have been to the ducks that are swimming in the pond, And they won't come to be killed, Mrs. Bond; I cried dilly, dilly, dilly, dilly, come and be killed, For you must be stuffed, and the customers filled!"
4.Mrs. Bond she went down to the pond in a rage, With plenty of onions, and plenty of sage; She cried. "Come, little wag-tails, come, and be killed, For you shall be stuffed, and my customers filled!"
# The Baby's Opera (1900)/Natural History

·NATURAL·HISTORY·
1.What are little boys made of? What are little boys made of? Frogs and snails and puppy-dog's tails, And that are little boys made of.
2.What are little girls made of? What are little girls made of? Sugar and spice and all that's nice, And that are little girls made of.
3.What are young men made of? What are young men made of? Sighs and leers, and crocodile tears, And that are young men made of.
4.What are young women made of? What are young women made of? Ribbons and laces, and sweet pretty faces And that are young women made of.
# The Baby's Opera (1900)/Oranges and Lemons

ORANGES·&·LEMONS
Oranges and lemons, says the bells of St. Clemen's; You owe me five farthings, says the bells of St. Martin's;
When will you pay me, says the bells of Old Bailey; When I grow rich, says the bells of Shore-ditch;
When will that be? says the bells of Stepney; I do not know, says the great bell of Bow.
Here comes a candle to light you to bed, And here comes a chopper to chop off your head.
# The Baby's Opera (1900)/The Frog and the Crow

Y$^e$ FROG & Y$^e$ CROW
1.A jolly fat frog lived in the river swim, O! A comely black crow lived on the river brim, O! "Come on shore, come on shore," Said the crow to the frog, and then, O! "No, you'll bite me, no, you'll bite me," Said the frog to the crow again, O!
​2."O! there is sweet music on yonder green hill, O! And you shall be a dancer, a dancer in yellow, All in yellow, all in yellow." Said the crow to the frog, and then, Ol "All in yellow, all in yellow," Said the frog to the crow again, O!
3."Farewell, ye little fishes, that in the river swim, O! I'm going to be a dancer, a dancer in yellow." "O beware! O beware!" Said the fish to the frog, and then, O: "I'll take care, I'll take care," Said the frog to the fish again, O!
4.The frog began a swimming, a swimming to land, O! And the crow began jumping to give him his hand, O! "Sir, you're welcome, Sir, you're welcome," Said the crow to the frog, and then, O! "Sir, I thank you, Sir, I thank you," Said the frog to the crow, again, O!
5."But where is the sweet music on yonder green hill, O? And where are all the dancers, the dancers in yellow? All in yellow, all in yellow?" Said the frog to the crow, and then, O! "Sir, they're here, Sir, they're here," Said the crow to the frog—
# The Baby's Opera (1900)/Over the Hills and far away

·OVER·THE·HILLS·&·FAR·AWAY·
1.Tom he was a piper's son, He learnt to play when he was young; But all the tunes that he could play Was "Over the hills and far away." Over the hills and a great way off, The wind shall blow my top-knot off.
2.Tom with his pipe made such a noise
That he pleased both the girls and boys. And they stopped to hear him play, "Over the hills and far away." Over the hill, &c.
# The Baby's Opera (1900)/Puss at Court

·PUSS·AT·COURT·
"Pussy-cat, pussy-cat, where have you been?" "I've been to London to look at the Queen." "Pussy-cat, pussy-cat, what did you there?" "I caught a little mouse under the chair."
# The Baby's Opera (1900)/St. Paul's Steeple

·S$^T$ PAUL'S·STEEPLE·
Upon Paul's steeple stands a tree As full of apples as may be, The little boys of London town They run with hooks to pull them down; And then they run from hedge to hedge Until they come to London Bridge.
# The Baby's Opera (1900)/The Frog's Wooing

Y$^e$ FROG'S WOOING
1.It was the frog lived in the well. Heigh-ho! says Rowley; And the merry mouse under the mill, With a Rowley, Powley, Gammon, and Spinach, Heigh-ho! says Anthony Rowley.
​2.The frog he would a-wooing ride, Heigh-ho, &c. Sword and buckler at his side, With a, &c.
3.When upon his high horse set, Heigh-lo, &c. His boots they shone as black as jet, With a, &c.
4.When he came to the merry mill-pin, Heigh-ho, &c "Lady Mouse, are you within?" With a, &c.
5.Then came out the dusty mouse, Heigh-ho, &c "I am the lady of this house," With a, &c.
6."Hast thou any mind of me?" Heigh-ho, &c. "I have e'en great mind of thee," with a, &c.
7."Who shall this marriage make?" Heigh-ho, &c. "Our lord, which is the rat," With a, &c.
8."What shall we have to our supper?" Heigh-ho, &c. "Three beans in a pound of butter," With a, &c.
9.But when the supper they were at, Heigh-ho, &c. The frog, the mouse, and e'en the rat, With a, &c.
10.Then came in Tib, our cat, Heigh-ho, &c. And caught the mouse e'en by the back, With a, &c.
11.Then did they separate, Heigh-ho, &c. The frog leaped on the floor so flat, With a, &c.
12.Then came in Dick, our drake, Heigh-ho, &c. And drew the frog e'en to the lake, With a, &c.
13.The rat he ran up the wall, Heigh-ho, &c. And so the company parted all, With a, &c.
# The Baby's Opera (1900)/My Lady's Garden

·MY·LADY'S·GARDEN·
How does my lady's garden grow? How does my lady's garden grow? With silver bells, and cockle shells, And pretty maids all in a row!
# The Baby's Opera (1900)/My Pretty Maid

My Pretty Maid
1."Where are you going to, my pretty maid? Where are you going to, my pretty maid?" "I'm going a-milking, Sir," she said. "Sir," she said, "Sir," she said, "I'm going a-milking, Sir," she said.
2."Shall I go with you, my pretty maid?" "Yes, if you please, kind Sir," she said. "Sir," she said, "Sir," she said, "Yes, if you please, kind Sir," she said.
3."What is your fortune, my pretty maid?" "My face is my fortune, Sir," she said. "Sir," she said, "Sir," she said, "My face is my fortune, Sir," she said.
4."Then I can't marry you, my pretty maid." "Nobody asked you, Sir," she said. "Sir," she said, "Sir," she said, "Nobody asked you, Sir," she said.