OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1834/Memory

​3
Literary Gazette, 25th January, 1834, Page 63
ORIGINAL POETRY.
MEMORY.
It is fading around me, that shadowy splendour
 That haunts the red twilight, the vague and the vain;
Those warm clouds their fugitive blush must surrender,
 And colourless melt in the dim air again.
They will leave no remembrance to tell of the glory
 Dissolving at sunset away in the west;
They are gone, and the page of the air has no story,
 Recalling the beauty with which it was blest.
And thus with our memory—too light are its traces
 Of joy or of sorrow experienced of yore;
The shadow of life each soft colour effaces,
 And the past has one sorrowing echo—no more!
Ah! childhood was lovely; but what of its hours,
 The bright and the buoyant, what relics have they?
I cannot repaint the green leaves, the glad flowers,
 That once made the beauty of earth and of day.
I well can recall the old lime-trees hung o'er me,
 The bees and the pale blossoms thick o'er each bough;
But the dreams of my future, that brightened before me,
 What were they? I cannot remember them now.
And youth has no chronicle left of its dreaming,
 When hope, the sweet alchemist, ruled; and we took
The future on trust, and the present on seeming,
 And each old deceit wore a bright and glad look.
Methinks it would make the dark actual less dreary,
 Could we call back the feelings we formerly knew;
The path where we loiter for flowers is less weary
 Than that which speeds on, the goal only in view.
The heart spends its treasure at once; we should cherish
 The thought of our feelings, so live them again;
Too early the bright tints of phantasy perish
 And too soon the gilding is worn from life's chain.
Vain, vain, this desire for the past! To remember
 Is not to recall;—would to Heaven that it were!
The second green leaf that may shoot in November
 Is but a pale mockery of what was so fair.
The hope that betrayed, and the love that deceived us,
 Could we live did they keep their first early regrets?
Amid all of which Time in its course has bereaved us,
 Well the heart may rejoice in how much it forgets!
L. E. L.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1832/Our Present May

​8
Literary Gazette, 12th May, 1832, Page 300
ORIGINAL POETRY.
OUR PRESENT MAY.
"May is full of flowers."—Southwell.
"Born in yon blaze of orient sky.
 Sweet May, thy radiant form unfold.
Unclose thy blue voluptuous eye,
 And wave thy shadowy lock of gold." Darwin.
"The month of flowers," May,
 Were they not wont to say
That, of the Year's twelve lovely daughters, thou
Didst wear most perfect sweetness on thy brow?
 They said the crimson rose
 Was eager to unclose
For thee the fragrant mysteries which lie
Hidden in leafless boughs beneath the winter sky.
 The poets told thy birth
 Was welcomed upon earth
By the sweet multitude of shining flowers,
By bursting buds, green leaves, and sunny hours.
 And thou art come, sweet May;
 A week beneath thy sway
The world has been; yet is it dull and cold:
Doth it not own thy reign, as in the days of old?
 To-day all life is strange
 With great and utter change;
The power is past away from many a shrine
And many a throne—must it, too, pass from thine?
 Still o’er the darkened sky
 The heavy clouds sail by,
Till the bleak shower comes down unpityingly,
Beating the few faint blossoms from the tree.
 Where is the yellow ore
 Which the laburnum bore,
As if transformed, the Theban princess there,
Amid the golden shower, loosed her more golden hair?
The lilac with its stars,
 Small, shining like the spars
With which some sea-nymph decks her ocean-bowers—
Lilac, that seems the jewellry of flowers?
 Where is the gelder-rose,
 Wreathed as from Alpine snows?
Where is the lime-tree's bud of faint perfume?
Where is the hawthorn wealth, thine own peculiar bloom?
 They do not meet thee now!
 I see the barren bough;
The earth is melancholy as a grave—
I see the driving rain, I hear the bleak winds rave.
 Is this the pilgrimage
 Of Earth in her old age?
And is the shadow all things present wear
Cast on the circling beauty of the year?
 Or is it but delay?
 Are south winds on their way,
And songs and blossoms bringing May once more
The sunshine which rejoiced all hearts of yore?
 Hope whispers of their birth—
 Hope which upon our earth
Doth wander like an angel, at whose feet
Fresh flowers spring up to gladden and to greet.
 How many now may see
 Their likeness, May, in thee!
Mournful and spiritless, their spring is known
But by its measured time, and time alone;
They know there must be May within the year,
Else would they never dream that May was here.
May 9, 1832. L. E. L.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1833/Song 1

​1
Literary Gazette, 5th January, 1833, Page 12
ORIGINAL POETRY.
SONGS.
These exquisite Lyrics were written for Heath's Book of Beauty, to illustrate a portrait; but, being excluded in the arrangement of that charming volume for publication, they have been kindly given to the Literary Gazette. Our readers must, under the circumstances, fancy a likeness to which to apply them.—Ed. L.G.
When do I think of thee?—
 When think I not?
Thou art, whate'er may be,
 Still unforgot.
Does the sweet morning rise,
 Bride-like, from sleep,
When their first revelries
 Bird and bee keep,
Singing out joyously
 In the green tree?
Then, when my hopes are high,
 Think I of thee.
When, in the languid noon,
 Lip and eye close—
When, like a fairy boon,
 Sweets leave the rose—
Then life's enchanted stream,
 Lovely and lone,
Mirrors a name and dream—
 Both are thine own.
When the chill midnight bids
 Dark shadows lour—
Tears in the fragrant lids
 Of each pale flower—
Then, O how mournfully!
 Think I of thee—
So darkly our destiny
 Closes round me!
Fate has one hope for me,
 Life but one lot:
When do I think of thee?—
 When think I not? L. E. L.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1833/Song 2

​2
Literary Gazette, 5th January, 1833, Page 12
These are the words, the burning words,
 I used to breathe long, long ago;
My lute has lost its early tone,
 My lip forgot its early glow.
I sing no more as I have sung;
 My lute and love are separate now—
'Tis taken from its red-rose tree,
 And hung upon a darker bough.
But do not think that I can bid
 My first and dearest dream depart:
Oh! love has only left my lip,
 To sink the deeper in my heart.
I cannot bear to sing of love:
 It seems like sacrilege to me,
To let a cold and careless world
 Hear words which only are for thee. L. E. L.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1832/The Dying Child

​6
Literary Gazette, 28th April, 1832, Page 266
THE DYING CHILD.
Paraphrased from the German.
"Oh mother, what brings music here?
 Now listen to the song—
So soft, so sweet, so beautiful—
 The night-winds bear along!"
"My child, I only hear the wind,
 As with a mournful sound
It wanders mid the old oak trees,
 And strews their leaves around."
And dimmer grew his heavy eyes,
 His face more deadly fair,
And down dropped from his infant hand
 His book of infant prayer.
"I know it now, my mother dear,
 That song for me is given;
It is the angels’ choral hymn
 That welcomes me to heaven."
# Letter from Henry VIII to Cardinal Wolsey

* related portals: Letters.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
A letter sent from the English King Henry VIII to his personal friend, Cardinal Wolsey, displaying mistrust of noblemen in his court.
An annotated version of this text is available.
​myne awne good cardinall I recomande me vnto yow as hartely as hart can thynke/ so it is that by cause wrytting to me is somwhat tedius and paynefull/ therfor the most part off thes bysynesses I haue comyttyd to our trusty coseler thys berrar to be declaryd to yow by mowthe to whyche we wolde you shulde gyff credens/ nevertheles to thys that folowith I thought not best to make hym pryue nor non other but yow and I whyche is that I wolde you shulde make good wache on the duke off suffolke on the duke off bukyngam on my lord off northe omberla on my lord off darby on my lord off wylshere and on others whyche yow thynke suspecte to see what they do wt thes nwes/ no more to yow at this tyme but sapienti pauca
wryttyne wt the hand off your louyng master
       Henry R
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
# Letter from Henry VIII to Cardinal Wolsey/Annotated

This is a version of Letter from Henry VIII to Cardinal Wolsey that has been annotated by the Wikisource community.
My own good Cardinal, I recommend myself unto you as heartily as heart can think.
So it is that because writing, to Me, is somewhat tedious and painful; therefore the most part of these businesses I have committed to Our trusty councillor; this bearer to be declared to you by mouth; to which We would have you give credence.
Nevertheless to this that follows I thought not best to make him privy; nor none other but you and I, which is that I would have you make good watch on the Duke of Suffolk, on the Duke of Buckingham, on My Lord of Northumberland, on My Lord of Derby, on My Lord of Wiltshire, and on others which you think suspect to see what they do with this news.
No more to you at this time, but sapienti pauca. (Few words to the wise)
Written with the hand of your loving master,
       Henry R
# Letter from J. Edgar Hoover to V. I. Cassil, 2nd March 1967

March 2, 1967
Mrs. Virginia I. Cassil 2055 Minoru Drive Altadena, California 91001
Dear Mrs. Cassil,
Your letter was received on February 27th.
This Bureau, as a Federal investigative agency, is charged with the duty of investigating violations of the laws of the United States, collecting evidence in cases in which the United States is or may be a party in interest, and performing other duties imposed upon it by law.
At the direction of President Johnson, the FBI conducted a prompt, intensive, objective and thorough investigation of the assassination of former President Kennedy, and all of the material developed by the FBI in connection with this investigation was turned over to the Warren Commission for its consideration. I can assure you that Lee Harvey Oswald was never an employee or "agent" of the FBI nor did he have any affiliation whatsoever with this Bureau.
Sincerely yours,
J. Edgar Hoover
NOTE: Bufiles disclose prior correspondence with Cassil, last outgoing 7-3-63. Subsequent to a field check in 1957 she was furnished with reprint material in quantity.
HRH:sep (3)
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Letter from Henry VIII to Cardinal Wolsey (June 1518)

A letter sent in June 1518 from Henry VIII to Cardinal Wolsey, wholly in King's own hand, regarding the seventh and final (and ultimately, unsuccessful) pregnancy of his first wife, Catherine of Aragon.

## Original text

My Lord Cardinall I recommand unto yow as hartely as I can, and I ame ryght glade to here of your good helthe, wyche I pray God may long contynu; so it is that I have resavyd your letters, to the wyche (by cause they aske long wrytyng) I have made answar by my Secretary; tow thyynges ther be, wyche be so secrete that they cause me at thys tyme to wrytte to yow my selfe; the won is, that I trust the Quene my Wyfe be with chylde, the other is, the chefe cause why I am soo lothe to repayre to London werd, by cause aboght thys tyme is partly of her dangerus tymes, and by cause of that I wolde remove har as lyttyll as I may now. My Lord I wrytt thys unto nott as a ensuryd thyng, but as a thyng wherin I have grette hoppe and lyklyodes, and by cause I do well know that thys thyng wyll be comfortabyll to yow to understand, therfor I do wrytt itt unto yow at thys tyme. No more to yow att thys tyme, nisi quod Deus velit inceptum opus bene finiri. Wryttyn with the hand off your lovyng Prynce.
       Henry R

## Modern transcription

My lord cardinal, I recommend unto you as heartily as I can, and I am right glad to hear of your good health, which I pray God may long continue. So it is that I have received your letters, to the which (by cause they ask long writing) I have made answer by my secretary. Two things there be which be so secret that they cause me at this time to write to you myself; the one is that I trust the queen my wife be with child; the other is chief cause why I am sloth to repair to London ward, by cause about this time is partly of her dangerous times, and by cause of that, I would remove her as little as I may now. My lord, I write thus unto you, not as an ensured thing, but as a thing wherein I have great hope and likelihood, and by cause I do well know that this thing will be comfortable to you to understand; therefore, I do write it unto you at this time. No more to you at this time, nisi quod Deus velit inceptum opus bene finire. Written with the hand of your loving prince,
       Henry R

## Notes

* 1 2 State Papers (vol. I pt. I), Letter I, p. 1
* 1 2 Letters of the Kings of England (vol. I), pp. 234–235
* ↑ "Letter from Henry VIII to Wolsey". British Library. 26 March 2009. Retrieved 7 January 2017.
* ↑ "Catherine of Aragon's pregnancy (June 1518)". British Library. Retrieved 7 January 2017.

## Sources

* Letters of the Kings of England, Now First Collected from the Originals in Royal Archives, and from Other Authentic Sources. Volume I. Edited by James Orchard Halliwell-Phillipps. London: Henry Colburn, 1846. google books
* State Papers Published Under the Authority of His Majesty's Commission. Volume I. King Henry the Eighth. Part I. Correspondence between the king and Cardinal Wolsey, 1518-1530. London: George Eyre and Andrew Strahan, 1830. google books
# Letter from Jeremy Hunt to John Walter Jones acknowledging Jones' resignation as Chair of the S4C Authority

* related portals: Wales.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, quotes, Wikidata item.
Letter of December 7, 2010 from the Secretary for Culture, Jeremy Hunt, to the former Chair of S4C Authority, John Walter Jones, in response to his resignation letter.
CMS 161041/asg
John Walter Jones
7 December 2010
Thank you for your letter of 6 December informing me of your decision to retire as Chair of the Authority with immediate effect. I am sorry that you felt this was the only option to make progress at S4C.
I would like to thank you for your 6 years of dedicated service to the channel and the way you have approached your roles as both a member of the Authority and subsequently as Chair.
I have always maintained my position that Welsh Language television broadcasting is a vital part of the media sector and I would like to thank you for your significant contribution to it.
I agree with you that the best next step to ensure a strong and sustainable future for this public service broadcaster and its audience is to progress meaningful negotiations between S4C and the BBC.
I extend my best wishes for your future endeavours.
Rt Hon Jeremy Hunt MP Secretary of State for Culture, Olympics, Media and Sport
# Leaves of Grass (1882)/Youth, Day, Old Age, and Night

YOUTH, DAY, OLD AGE AND NIGHT.
Youth, large, lusty, loving—youth full of grace, force, fascination, Do you know that Old Age may come after you with equal grace, force, fascination?
Day full-blown and splendid—day of the immense sun, action, ambition, laughter, The Night follows close with millions of suns, and sleep and restoring darkness.
# Leaves of Grass (1882)/Whispers of Heavenly Death/Whispers of Heavenly Death

WHISPERS OF HEAVENLY DEATH.
Whispers of heavenly death murmur'd I hear, Labial gossip of night, sibilant chorals, Footsteps gently ascending, mystical breezes wafted soft and low, Ripples of unseen rivers, tides of a current flowing, forever flowing, (Or is it the plashing of tears? the measureless waters of human tears?)
I see, just see skyward, great cloud-masses, Mournfully slowly they roll, silently swelling and mixing, With at times a half-dimm'd sadden'd far-off star, Appearing and disappearing.
(Some parturition rather, some solemn immortal birth; On the frontiers to eyes impenetrable, Some soul is passing over.)
# Leaves of Knowledge

This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1942, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 81 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
LEAVES OF KNOWLEDGE
LEAVES
OF
KNOWLEDGE
BY
Elma MacGibbon
COPYRIGHT, 1904
BY
Elma MacGibbon
SHAW & BORDEN CO. PRINTERS AND PUBLISHERS SPOKANE 57426
CONTENTS
| Chapter | Page |
INTRODUCTION
I HAVE had the opportunity, during the last few years, to travel very extensively throughout the West, and considerable in the East, with my husband, and finding people in general greatly interested in my oral description of the numerous places I have visited, I decided to give a history of the many cities and their surroundings as I saw them during my visits, at different seasons of the year.
Realizing that it will be of interest and information to the reading public, I now present to you my Leaves of Knowledge.
Elma MacGibbon.
# Leaves of Grass (1882)/Whispers of Heavenly Death/Yet, Yet, Ye Downcast Hours

YET, YET, YE DOWNCAST HOURS.
Yet, yet, ye downcast hours, I know ye also, Weights of lead, how ye clog and cling at my ankles, Earth to a chamber of mourning turns—I hear the o'erweening, mocking voice, Matter is conqueror—matter, triumphant only, continues onward.
Despairing cries float ceaselessly toward me, The call of my nearest lover, putting forth, alarm'd, uncertain, The sea I am quickly to sail, come tell me, Come tell me where I am speeding, tell me my destination.
I understand your anguish, but I cannot help you, I approach, hear, behold, the sad mouth, the look out of the eyes, your mute inquiry, Whither I go from the bed I recline on, come tell me; Old age, alarm'd, uncertain—a young woman's voice, appealing to me for comfort; A young man's voice, Shall I not escape?
# Leaves of Grass (1882)/Whispers of Heavenly Death/What Ship Puzzled at Sea

WHAT SHIP PUZZLED AT SEA.
What ship puzzled at sea, cons for the true reckoning? Or coming in, to avoid the bars and follow the channel a perfect pilot needs? Here, sailor! here, ship! take aboard the most perfect pilot, Whom, in a little boat, putting off and rowing, I hailing you offer.
# Leaves of Grass (1882)/Whispers of Heavenly Death/Thought

THOUGHT.
As I sit with others at a great feast, suddenly while the music is playing, To my mind, (whence it comes I know not,) spectral in mist of a wreck at sea, Of certain ships, how they sail from port with flying streamers and wafted kisses, and that is the last of them, Of the solemn and murky mystery about the fate of the President, Of the flower of the marine science of fifty generations founder'd off the Northeast coast and going down—of the steamship Arctic going down, Of the veil'd tableau—women gathered together on deck, pale, heroic, waiting the moment that draws so close—O the moment! A huge sob—a few bubbles—the white foam spirting up—and then the women gone, Sinking there while the passionless wet flows on—and I now pondering, Are those women indeed gone? Are souls drown'd and destroy'd so? Is only matter triumphant?
# Leaves of Grass (1882)/Whispers of Heavenly Death/To One Shortly to Die

TO ONE SHORTLY TO DIE.
From all the rest I single out you, having a message for you, You are to die—let others tell you what they please, I cannot prevaricate, I am exact and merciless, but I love you—there is no escape for you.
Softly I lay my right hand upon you, you just feel it, I do not argue, I bend my head close and half envelop it, I sit quietly by, I remain faithful, I am more than nurse, more than parent or neighbor, I absolve you from all except yourself spiritual bodily, that is eternal, you yourself will surely escape, The corpse you will leave will be but excrementitious.
The sun bursts through in unlooked-for directions, Strong thoughts fill you and confidence, you smile, You forget you are sick, as I forget you are sick, You do not see the medicines, you do not mind the weeping friends, I am with you, I exclude others from you, there is nothing to be commiserated, I do not commiserate, I congratulate you.
# Life And Letters Of Maria Edgeworth/Volume 1/Letter 87

To C. SNEYD EDGEWORTH, IN DUBLIN.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, Feb. 10, 1813.
Rokeby is, in my opinion—and let every soul speak for themselves—most beautiful poetry: the four first cantos and half the fifth are all I have yet read. I think it a higher and better, because less Scotch, more universal style of poetry than any Walter Scott has yet produced, though not altogether perfect of its kind. It has more discrimination of character, more knowledge of human nature, more generalised reflection, much more moral aim. *** In March, Miss Edgeworth accompanied her father and stepmother to England.
# Life And Letters Of Maria Edgeworth/Volume 1/Letter 86

To MRS. RUXTON.
EDGEWORTHSTOWN, Oct. 26, 1812.
Elections have been the order of the day with us as well as with you. I am glad to tell you that Lord Longford's troubles are over; he is now here, and has just been telling us that his victory for Colonel Hercules was as complete as his heart could wish. There would have been a duel but for Admiral Pakenham. One gentleman in his speech said that another had made the drummer of his corps play "Protestant Boys." The other said, "That's a lie;" and both were proceeding to high words, when the Admiral stepped between them, and said, very gravely, "Gentlemen, I did not know this meeting was a music meeting, but since you appeal to us electors to decide your cause by your musical merits, let the past be past; and now for the present give us each of you a song, and here's the sheriff,"—who has no more ear than a post—"shall be judge between you." Everybody laughed, and the two angry gentlemen had to laugh off their quarrel.
Another gentleman said to the Admiral, after the election was over, "Do you know, I had a mind to have stood myself; if I had, what would you have said?"—"That it was all a game of brag, and that, as you had the shuffling of the pack, there was no knowing what knave might turn up."
Lord Longford told us of Colonel Hercules Pakenham, at the siege of Badajos, walking with an engineer. A bomb whizzed over their heads and fell among the soldiers, as they were carrying off the wounded. When the Colonel expressed some regret, the engineer said, "I wonder you have not steeled your mind to these things. These men are carried to the hospital, and others come in their place. Let us go to the depot." Here the engineer had his wheelbarrows all laid out in nice order, and his pickaxes arranged in stars and various shapes; but, just as they were leaving the depot, a bomb burst in the midst of them. "Oh, heavenly powers, my picks!" cried the engineer, with clasped hands, in despair.