OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 128/Issue 1656/Home

* HOME.
* The following beautiful lines were written by James Montgomery, the well-known Ayrshire poet. The poet, whose smaller pieces are considered nearly equal to those of Moore, was born at Irvine, in 1771.
* There is a land, of every land the pride,
* Beloved by heaven o'er all the world beside;
* Where brighter suns dispense serener light,
* And milder moons emparadise the night;
* A land of beauty, virtue, valour, truth,
* Time-tutored age, and love-exalted youth.
* The wandering mariner, whose eye explores
* The wealthiest isles, the most enchanting shores,
* Views not a realm so bountiful and fair,
* Nor breathes the spirit of a purer air;
* In every clime the magnet of his soul,
* Touched by remembrance, trembles to that pole;
* For in this land of heavens peculiar grace,
* The heritage of natures noblest race,
* There is a spot of earth supremely blest,
* A dearer, sweeter spot than all the rest,
* Where man, creations tyrant, casts aside
* His sword and sceptre, pageantry and pride,
* While in his softened looks benignly blend
* The sire, the son, the husband, brother, friend.
* Here woman reigns; the mother, daughter, wife,
* Strew with fresh flowers the narrow way of life!
* In the clear heaven of her delightful eye,
* An angel-guard of love and graces lie;
* Around her knees domestic duties meet,
* And fireside pleasures gambol at her feet.
* Where shall that land, that spot of earth be found?
* Art thou a man? — a patriot? — look around;
* Oh, thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam,
* That land thy country, and that spot thy home!
* Chambers Journal.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 128/Issue 1655/Jubilate

* JUBILATE.
* Gray distance hid each shining sail
* By ruthless breezes borne from me;
* And lessening, fading, faint and pale,
* My ships went forth to sea.
* Where misty breakers rose and fell
* I stood and cowered hopelessly;
* For every wave had tales to tell
* Of wrecks far out at sea.
* To-day a song is on my lips;
* Earth seems a paradise to me;
* For God is good, and lo! my ships
* Are coming home from sea.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 128/Issue 1655/The Tides

* THE TIDES.
* I saw the long line of the vacant shore.
* The seaweed and the shells upon the sand.
* And the brown rocks left bare on every hand.
* As if the ebbing tide would flow no more.
* Then heard I more distinctly than before,
* The ocean breathe and its great breast expand,
* And hurrying came on the defenceless land
* The insurgent waters with tumultuous roar.
* All thought and feeling and desire, I said.
* Love, laughter, and the exultant joy of song
* Have ebbed from me forever! Suddenly o'er me
* They swept again from their deep ocean bed,
* And in a tumult of delight, and strong
* As youth, and beautiful as youth, upbore me.
* Longfellow's "Masque of Pandora."
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 128/Issue 1655/To Charles Sumner

Later published as part of Three Friends of Mine
* TO CHARLES SUMNER.
* River that stealeth with such silent pace
* Around the city of the dead, where lies
* A friend who bore thy name, and whom these eyes
* Shall see no more in his accustomed place,
* Linger and fold him in thy soft embrace.
* And say good-night, for now the western skies
* Are red with sunset, and gray mists arise
* Like damps that gather on a dead man's face.
* Good-night! good-night! as we so oft have said
* Beneath this roof at midnight, in the days
* That are no more and shall no more return.
* Thou hast but taken thy lamp and gone to bed;
* I stay a little longer, as one stays
* To cover up the embers that still burn.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 128/Issue 1656/Miscellany

​A most valuable MS. has been discovered in the Azores. It refers to the colonization, in the year 1500, of the northern part of America, by emigrants from Oporto, Aveiro, and the Island of Terceira. It was written by Francisca de Souza, in 1570. Barboza Machado states that it was lost during the great earthquake of Lisbon in 1755. This most important document is about to be published by an erudite Azorian gentleman, and will throw great light on the disputed question of the early discovery of America.
Athenæum.
# Lesbia Newman (1889)/Chapter 30

CHAPTER XXX.
The 13th of October 189—.
The 13th of October 189—. Mrs Newman stood in her garden at Dulham vicarage, tending a rich bed of late geraniums, upon which the autumn sun shed its softened glow from a clear, deep, blue sky. The leaves of the high-road elms outside the gate, under which, at the outset of our story, Lesbia had essayed her first bicycle mount, had begun to redden, and many already strewed the gravel walks; yet the breeze was a soft zephyr, and there was nothing in the air or in the scene suggestive of melancholy. Fidgfumblasquidiot was exercising Gossamer, who had come home with the rest of the party from London while his young mistress went to Cornwall. The bulldog took greatly to the half-wit, and she was not at all afraid of him, not even when, as she patted his head, he reared with his muddy paws against her white apron, which made her say ‘Oh!’ and look about her for ghosts.
But it was Lesbia’s birthday, and she was not there; perhaps that was the reason why her mother, as she moved round the gay flowers, felt exceedingly depressed and anxious. There was no ostensible cause for this; she had heard from her daughter a day or two before, and by that account she was well and enjoying her seaside visit. What more could Mrs Newman desire; and yet she was apprehensive, she knew not why. Her brother the vicar had tried to talk her ​out of this uncomfortable frame of mind, and had ended by being himself infected with her fancies. But he carefully concealed it, and kept watch secretly for any letter or message which might arrive. Sure enough, just before luncheon time there was a ring at the house door, and a telegram was handed in. Mr Bristley took it with an air of indifference, but as soon as he was alone in his study, tore it open with trembling hands. He read it with amazement but at the same time with a feeling of intense relief. In another he was in the garden again with his sister.
‘Lesbie’s all right, Jane, please God, that is, all right herself. But I fear there’s a great national disaster. Read that.’
Mrs Newman snatched it his from hand and read,—
‘From L. Newman, Stratton, to Rev. S. T. Bristley, Dulham, Frogmore, 13th October 189—. All is explained. Dreadful battle going on at Roche’s Tower. We hear it from this coast; took it for earthquake. I start home to-morrow, all well. Use discretion about mother.’
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 132/Issue 1699

LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.
| Fifth Series, Volume XVII. | $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ | No. 1699. — January 6, 1877. | $\scriptstyle {\left\{{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right.}$ | From Beginning Vol. CXXXII. |
CONTENTS. :
| I. | Russia and Turkey. By James Bryce, | Fortnightly Review, | 3 |
| II. | What She Came Through. By Sarah Tytler, author of "Lady Bell," etc., Part XXIII., | Good Words, | 12 |
| III. | Colonel Barre and his Times. By Hon. Hugh F. Elliott, | Macmillan's Review, | 22 |
| IV. | The Secret Chamber, | Blackwood's Magazine, | 35 |
| V. | Abraham Cowley, | Cornhill Magazine, | 50 |
| VI. | Mr. Ruskin's Letter to Young Girls, | Spectator, | 62 |
POETRY. :
| Church Bells, | 2 | Seaweed, | 2 |
| After Life, | 2 | | |
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 131/Issue 1698/A Morning Hymn

* A MORNING HYMN.
* FROM THE GERMAN.
* O silence marvellous and deep,
* How lies the world in peaceful sleep!
* The woods alone all trembling sigh,
* As if a spirit passed by.
* I feel new life within me rise,
* While anxious sorrow swiftly flies
* Before the dayspring's glorious light,
* To hide in darkest shades of night.
* With hopes sure fixed on heaven my home,
* A pilgrim through the world I'll roam,
* And deem it o'er time's stream to be
* The bridge which leads, my God, to thee.
* And should my harp forgetful praise
* Earth's fleeting joys with traitor lays,
* Oh! rend its chords, and evermore
* In trembling silence I'll adore!
* Golden Hour.Isabel M. Mortimer.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 131/Issue 1698/A Song of the Period

* A SONG OF THE PERIOD.
* Don't tell me of the pauper brood,
* Who daily cry for a crust of food;
* The badly-clothed or the evil-shoed,
* Or the bare, blue toes of the crossing-sweeper!
* Don't tell me of the white, wan faces,
* The dirty lodgings and crowded places,
* Where Poverty grins and Sin grimaces! —
* "Am I my brother's keeper?"
* Don't tell me of the "awkward squad,"
* The loafers who get kept in "quad,"
* Or tired men, laid beneath the sod,
* In graves where they get house-room cheaper!
* Dear me! I've hardly time to think,
* With business first, and then the rink,
* And a fellow must sometimes eat and drink, —
* "Am I my brother's keeper?"
* Don't tell me of the murky air
* That chokes the lungs and breeds despair,
* Where none are young, and few are fair,
* And men drink deep, but women deeper!
* Don't tell me of the moral obliquity,
* In those low dens of vulgar iniquity!
* My views may claim a Scriptural antiquity, —
* "Am I my brother's keeper?"
* What! come and help, you say? Oh no!
* Some man of coarser grain may go,
* 'Twould break me down to see such woe.
* Have you no shepherd for your sheep, sir?
* An honest missionary, say, —
* A Biblewoman. By the way,
* I'm rather out of cash to-day,
* Or I would give a trifle. Pray
* Look in again! I'll help to pay
* To keep my brother's keeper.
* Spectator.
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 131/Issue 1698

LITTELL'S LIVING AGE.
| Fifth Series, Volume XVI. | $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ | No. 1698. — December 30, 1876. | $\scriptstyle {\left\{{\begin{matrix}\ \end{matrix}}\right.}$ | From Beginning Vol. CXXXI. |
CONTENTS. :
| I. | The Christian Subjects of the Porte, | Contemporary Review, | 771 |
| II. | The Marquis of Lossie. By George Macdonald, author of "Malcolm," etc. Part VI., | Advance Sheets, | 783 |
| III. | The Law of Honor. By Edward A. Freeman, | Fortnightly Review, | 789 |
| IV. | Carita. By Mrs. Oliphant, author of "Chronicles of Carlingford," "Zaidee," etc. Part X., | Cornhill Magazine, | 802 |
| V. | The Revolutionary Effects of Speculative Thought, | Spectator, | 816 |
| VI. | A More Excellent Way of Charity. By Miss Octavia Hill, | Macmillan’s Magazine, | 819 |
| VII. | A Popular History of France. By Etienne Coquerel, | Academy, | 823 |
| | ⁂ Title and Index to Volume XVI., | | |
POETRY. :
| A Song of the Period, | 770 | A Morning Hymn. From the German, | 770 |
| Nigh at Hand, | 770 | A Morning Hymn. From the German, | 770 |
# Littell's Living Age/Volume 131/Issue 1698/Nigh at Hand

* NIGH AT HAND.
* Through mists that hide from me my God, I see
* A shapeless form; Death comes, and beckons me:
* I scent the odors of the spirit land:
* And, with commingled joy and terror, hear
* The far-off whispers of a white-robed band: —
* Nearer they come — yet nearer — yet more near:
* Is it rehearsal of a "welcome" song
* That will be in my heart and ear, ere long?
* Do these bright spirits wait till Death may give
* The soul its franchise — and I die to live?
* Does fancy send the breeze from yon green mountain?
* (I am not dreaming when it cools my brow.)
* Are they the sparkles of an actual fountain
* That gladden and refresh my spirit now?
* How beautiful the burst of holy light!
* How beautiful the day that has no night!
* Open! ye everlasting gates! I pray —
* Waiting, but yearning — for that perfect day!
* Hark! to these allelujahs! "Hail! all hail!"
* Shall they be echoed by a sob and wail?
* Friends, "gone before," these are your happy voices:
* The old, familiar sounds: my soul rejoices!
* Ah! through the mists, the great white throne I see:
* And now a saint in glory beckons me.
* Is Death a foe to dread? the Death who giveth
* Life — the unburthened life that ever liveth!
* Who shrinks from Death? Come when he will or may,
* The night he brings will bring the risen day;
* His call — his touch — we neither seek nor shun:
* His life is ended when his work is done.
* Our spear and shield no cloud of Death can dim:
* He triumphs not o'er us — we conquer him!
* How long, O Lord, how long, ere I shall see
* The myriad glories of a holier sphere?
* And worship in thy presence: — not as here
* In chains that keep the shackled soul from thee!
* My God! let that eternal home be near!
* Master! I bring to Thee a soul opprest:
* "Weary and heavy laden:" seeking rest:
* Strengthen my faith: that, with my latest breath,
* I greet thy messenger of mercy — Death!
* Argosy.S. C. Hall.
# Kosmos

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "Kosmos."
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Commons category, Wikidata item.
This is a disambiguation page. It lists works that share the same title. If an article link referred you here, please consider editing it to point directly to the intended page.
* Kosmos, a poem by Walt Whitman
* Kosmos, a poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
# Kosrae State Code

* Title 1: Provisions of General Applicability to Code
* Title 2: Provisions of General Applicability to Government
* Title 3: Suffrage and Elections
* Title 4: The Legislature
* Title 5: The Executive
* Title 6: The Judiciary
* Title 7: Agencies
* Title 8: Municipal Government
* Title 9: Taxation and Revenue Sharing
* Title 10: Finance
* Title 11: Land and Environment
* Title 12: Education and Health
* Title 13: Offences and Penalties
* Title 14: The Sea and Transportation
* Title 15: Commerce
* Title 16: Family and Minors
* Title 17: The Public Safety
* Title 18: Public Service System
* Title 19: Marine Resources
This work is in the public domain in the U.S. because it is an edict of a government, local or foreign. See § 313.6(C)(2) of the Compendium II: Copyright Office Practices. Such documents include "legislative enactments, judicial decisions, administrative rulings, public ordinances, or similar types of official legal materials" as well as "any translation prepared by a government employee acting within the course of his or her official duties."
These do not include works of the Organization of American States, United Nations, or any of the UN specialized agencies. See Compendium III § 313.6(C)(2) and 17 U.S.C. 104(b)(5).
A non-American governmental edict may still be copyrighted outside the U.S. Similar to {{PD-in-USGov}}, the above U.S. Copyright Office Practice does not prevent U.S. states or localities from holding copyright abroad, depending on foreign copyright laws and regulations.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Kosrae State Code/Title 1

* Chapter 1: Principles of Interpretation
* Chapter 2: Definitions
* Chapter 3: Effect
* Chapter 4: Contents of Selected Laws of the State of Kosrae
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1832/The Little Shroud

Inspired by the Brothers Grimm's story "The Little Shroud", as translated by William John Thoms in The Original (3 March 1832)
​7
Literary Gazette, 28th April, 1832, Page 266
THE LITTLE SHROUD.
She put him on a snow-white shroud,
 A chaplet on his head;
And gathered early primroses
 To scatter o’er the dead.
She laid him in his little grave—
 'Twas hard to lay him there,
When spring was putting forth its flowers,
 And every thing was fair.
She had lost many children—now
 The last of them was gone;
And day and night she sat and wept
 Beside the funeral stone.
One midnight, while her constant tears
 Were falling with the dew,
She heard a voice, and lo! her child
 Stood by her weeping too!
His shroud was damp, his face was white:
 He said—"I cannot sleep,
Your tears have made my shroud so wet;
 Oh, mother, do not weep!"
Oh, love is strong!—the mother's heart  Was filled with tender fears;
Oh, love is strong!—and for her child
 Her grief restrained its tears.
One eve a light shone round her bed,
 And there she saw him stand—
Her infant, in his little shroud,
 A taper in his hand.
"Lo! mother, see my shroud is dry,  And I can sleep once more!"
And beautiful the parting smile
 The little infant wore.
And down within the silent grave
 He laid his weary head;
And soon the early violets
 Grew o'er his grassy bed.
The mother went her household ways—
 Again she knelt in prayer,
And only asked of Heaven its aid
 Her heavy lot to bear. L. E. L. *
* The hints for these poems have been taken from the German. Two were mentioned to me in conversation; but that of "the Little Shroud" was translated, in prose, a week or so ago, in that most entertaining little paper the Original, which also did me the honour of recommending it to me.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1834

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
Landon in The Literary Gazette 1834
Poems in The London Literary Gazette during the year 1834 by Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.)
compiled by Peter J. Bolton
* Contents
| 4th January 1834 | The New Year | 1 |
| 25th January 1834 | Memory | 3 |
| 7th June 1834 | The History of the Lily | 5 |
| 25th October 1834 | The Exile | 10 |
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1832/Youth

​10
Literary Gazette, 11th August, 1832, Page 508
ORIGINAL POETRY.
YOUTH.
And herein have the green trees and the blossoming shrubs their advantage over us: the flower withers and the leaf falls, but the fertilising sap still lingers in their veins, and the following years bring again a spring of promise and a summer of beauty: but we, when our leaves and flowers perish, they perish utterly; we put forth no new hopes, we dream no new dreams. Why are we not wise enough, at least more preciously to retain their memory?
Oh! the hours! the happy hours
 Of our other earlier time,
When the world was full of flowers,
 And the sky a summer clime!
All life seem'd so lovely then; For it mirror'd our own heart:
Life is only joyful when
That joy of ourselves is part.
Fond delight and kind deceit
 Are the gladness of the young—
For the bloom beneath our feet
 Is what we ourselves have flung.
Then so many pleasures seem
Scatter'd o'er our onward way; 'Tis so difficult to deem
How their relish will decay.
What the heart now beats to win
 Soon will be unloved, unsought:
Gradual is the change within,
 But an utter change is wrought.
Time goes on, and time destroys
Not the joy, but our delight:
Do we now desire the toys
Which so charm'd our childhood's sight?
Glory, poetry, and love,
 Make youth beautiful, and pass
As the hues that shine above
 Colour, but to quit, their glass.
But we soon grow calm and cold
As the grave to which we go;
Fashion'd in one common mould,
Pulse and step alike are slow.
We have lost the buoyant foot—
 We have lost the eager eye;
All those inward chords are mute,
 Once so eager to reply.
Is it not a constant sight—
Is it not most wretched too—
When we mark the weary plight
In which life is hurried through?
Selfish, listless, Earth may wear
 All her summer wealth in vain—
Though the stars be still as fair,
 Yet we watch them not again.
Too much do we leave behind
Sympathy with lovely things;
And the worn and worldly mind
Withers all life's fairy rings.
Glorious and beautiful
 Were youth's feeling and youth's thought—
Would that we did not annul
 All that in us then was wrought!
Would their influence could remain
When the hope and dream depart;
Would we might through life retain
Still some youth within the heart!
L. E. L.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1833

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
Landon in The Literary Gazette 1833
Poems in The London Literary Gazette during the year 1833 by Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.)
compiled by Peter J. Bolton
* Contents
| 5th January 1833 | Song - When do I think of thee? | 1 |
| 5th January 1833 | Song - these are the words, the burning words | 2 |
| 12th January 1833 | The Lost Ship | 3 |
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1833/The Lost Ship

​3
Literary Gazette, 12th January, 1833, Page 27
ORIGINAL POETRY.
THE LOST SHIP.
Deep in the silent waters,
 A thousand fathoms low,
A gallant ship lies perishing—
 She foundered long ago.
There are pale sea-flowers wreathing
 Around her port-holes now,
And spars and shining coral
 Encrust her gallant prow.
Upon the old deck bleaching,
 White bones unburied shine,
While in the deep hold hidden
 Are casks of ruby wine.
There are pistol, sword, and carbine,
 Hung on the cabin-wall,
And many a curious dagger;
 But rust has spoiled them all.
And can this be the vessel
 That went so boldly forth,
With the red flag of Old England,
 To brave the stormy North?
There were blessings poured upon her
 When from her port sailed she,
And prayers and anxious weeping
 Went with her o'er the sea.
And once she sent home letters,
 And joyous ones were they,
Dashed but with fond remembrance
 Of friends so far away.
Ah! many a heart was happy
 That evening when they came,
And many a lip pressed kisses
 On a beloved name!
How little those who read them
 Deemed far below the wave,
That child, and sire, and lover,
 Had found a seaman's grave!
But how that brave ship perished
 None knew, save Him on high;
No island heard her cannon,
 No other bark was nigh.
We only know from England
 She sailed far o'er the main—
We only know to England
 She never came again.
And eyes grew dim with watching,
 That yet refused to weep;
And years were spent in hoping
 For tidings from the deep.
It grew an old man's story
 Upon their native shore,—
God rest those souls in Heaven
 Who met on earth no more!
L. E. L.