OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Margaret Chandler/Anthony Benezet
## Anthony Benezet

Friend of the Afric! friend of the oppress'd! Thou who wert cradled in a far-off clime, Where bigotry and tyranny unbless'd, With gory hand defaced the page of time; Wert thou forth driven by their stern control, An infant fugitive across the deep, To teach, in after years, thy pitying soul O'er all the Afric's causeless wrongs to weep, Where slavery's bitter tears the flag of freedom steep?
And thou didst nobly plead for them; thy heart, Thrilling to all the holy sympathies, Of natural brotherhood, wept, to see the mart Of commerce, with its human merchandize, So crowded and polluted, and thy voice, With the clear trumpet tones of God's own word, Rang through the guilty crowd, until no choice Was left them but to tremble as they heard, Or bind with treble seal the feelings thou hadst stirr'd.
The ears of princes heard thee; and the wise, Touch'd by the mastery of thy earnestness, Bade their train'd spirits for a while to rise From their profound research, and learn to bless Thy generous efforts, and with kindred zeal, Led on by thee in duty's path to move; And kindled by thy sacred ardour, feel, Like thee, that overflowing gush of love, That lifts man's selfish heart all narrow thoughts above.
The fetters of the slave are still unbroken; But there will come, perchance, ere long, a day, When by their lips who wrong'd him, shall be spoken The fiat of his freedom;—and the ray Of intellectual light shall radiance pour On minds o'er which the gloom of darkness hung In treble folds impervious before, By tyrants’ hands around them rudely flung, To bind the chains that to both limb and spirit clung.
Then shall their children learn to speak thy name, With the full heart of gratitude, and know What thou hast done for them; and while they frame That history for their infants’ ears, may grow Perchance, in their own hearts, the likeness strong Of thy bright virtues; so thou still shalt be, Even in thy sepulchre, their friend;—and long Shall those who love mankind, remember thee, Thou noble friend of those who pined in slavery
# The Poetical Works of Elijah Fenton/Verses on the Union

VERSES ON THE UNION.
# The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Margaret Chandler

Source: at earlham.edu

## Table of Contents

* The Brandywine
* The Afric's Dream
* John Woolman
* The Confessions of The Year
* New Year's Eve
* The Slave's Appeal
* Heaven Help Ye
* Christian Love
* The Kneeling Slave
* Story-Telling
* Our Father
* Doom
* The Grave of The Unfortunate
* Think of Our Country's Glory
* The Kingfisher
* To Those I Love
* Sadness
* Think of the Slave
* The Bereaved Father
* Oh Tell Me Not, I Shall Forget
* What Is A Slave, Mother
* The Child's Evening Hymn
* The Enfranchised Slaves to Their Benefactress
* Summer Morning
* Washington City Prison
* The Sunset Hour
* The Devoted
* Deaf and Dumb
* The Anointing
* The Soldier's Prayer
* The Appeal of the Choctaw
* Noah
* The Battle Field
* Moonlight
* Pharoah
* The Depths of the Sea
* The Recaptured Slave
* Jephthah's Vow
* Anthony Benezet
* The Sold
* Gloom
* Evening Thoughts
* Storm
* A True Ballad
* Thy Thunder Pealeth O'er Us
* Aline
* The Sugar-Plums
* Oh Press Me Not To Taste Again
* Looking At The Soldiers
* To A Stranger
* Slave Produce
* Little Sado's story
* An Appeal for the Oppressed
* The Sylvan Grave
* Night
* Reminiscence
* Juan De Paresa, The Painter's Slave
* The Slave-Mother's Farewell
* Repentance
* Christmas
* My Cottage Home
* The Conscript's Farewell
* The Woods Wanderer
* The Forest Vine
* Soliloquy of a Duellist
* The Wife's Lament
* The Slave-Ship
* The Negro Father's Lamentation Over the Body of His Infant Son
* Lines On the Death of Two Children
* To A Friend of My Youth
* Twilight Thoughts
* To A *****
* Remember Me
* Schuylkill
* Death
* To My Cousin
* Forget Me Not
* The Genius of Painting
* A Vision
* A New Year's Greeting
* To a Particular Friend
* Where Are They?
* Emancipation
* Cherokee
* Gayashuta to the Sons of Onas
* The Slave
* The Outcast
* Stanzas
* The Chinese Son
* To A Crocus
* True Friendship
* A Sketch
* To the Ladies' Free Produce Society
* To Prudence Crandall
* Woman
* The Indian Mother To Her Son
* The Indian Camp
# The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Margaret Chandler/Cherokee
## Cherokee

Gaze on this landscape! once in fleet career, The desert chieftain trod exulting here! Cleft with light bark the still and shaded floods, Pierced the recesses of the old gray woods; Pour'd ‘midst their hidden dells his wild halloo, And the light shaft with aim unerring threw.
Proud was his spirit, fierce, untamed and free, Scorning to crouch to pain, from death to flee, With feelings suited to his savage state, Faithful alike to friendship or to hate, Seeking no meed beyond a warrior's fame, And fearing nought except a coward's shame.
These wilds were his;—amidst his chosen dell, Where clustering wild-flowers fringed the gushing well, His hut was rear'd; and there at closing day, He heard his children's laughter-shout of play, While, weary with the chase, his limbs were laid In listless rest beneath the oak-tree's shade.
Then o'er the ocean-sea the white man came, Held to his lips the cup of liquid flame, With smooth, false words, and bold encroaching hand, Wrench'd from the Cherokee his father's land, Still on his fast receding footsteps prest, And urged him onward to the distant west, Till all the precinets of his narrowed ground, Was closely hemm'd with cultured life around, And burning cottages and mangled slain, Had mark'd war's footsteps o'er the ravaged plain.
Wearied, at length, the pale-brow'd stranger swore, To seek the Indian's hunting grounds no more; Treaties and oaths the solemn compact seal'd, And plenty crown'd once more the blood-stain'd field; Then o'er the red-man's alter'd nature smiled A kindlier spirit, and a soul more mild; Bright knowledge pour'd its sunlight o'er his mind, His feelings soften'd, and his heart refined.
No longer then, when pass'd the storm-flash by, He saw the lightning of Manitto's eye, Or listen'd trembling, while his anger spoke, As high o'er head the pealing thunder broke. He learn'd to light in heaven his spirit's flame, And blend a Saviour's with Jehovah's name.
Then tell us, ye, who have the power to save, Shall all his hopes be crush'd in one wide grave? Shall lawless force, with rude, remorseless hand, Drive out the Indian from his father's land, Burst all the ties that bind the heart to home, And thrust him forth ‘mid distant wilds to roam? Oh no! to mercy's pleading voice give ear, The wak'ning wrath of outraged justice fear, Stain not with broken faith our country's name, Nor weigh her tresses to the dust with shame! Remember yet the solemn pledge you gave, And lift the potent arm to shield and save!
# The Poetical Works of Elizabeth Margaret Chandler/A New Year's Greeting
## A New Year's Greeting

TO A CIRCLE OF FRIENDS.
A kindly greeting to you all— To all an opening year of gladness; May never sorrow round you fall More dark than evening's twilight sadness.
The wintry blast may whistle shrill, And clouds may dim the face of heaven; But Friendship's wreath shall blossom still, On this our gladsome New-Year's even.
While lips and hearts are smiling thus, And hands are fondly clasp'd together, Oh what are cloudy skies to us, Or fortune's bright or sunny weather?
We may not meet, to hail again Another year with hearts of lightness; Some beating pulse may rest ere then, Some eye have lost its wonted brightness.
We may have met, perchance—alas! To mingle hearts and then be parted; Or some dark blight may o'er us pass, And leave us lone and broken-hearted.
But let the future smile, or frown, The wing of hope is waving o'er us; One gem of bliss is still our own, And one bright rose of joy before us.
Then may the rose be cherish'd well— The sparkling gem be sullied never— And parted Friendship's only knell, Be when our hearts are still'd forever.
# The Pitcher

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "The Pitcher."
* sister projects: 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.
* "The Pitcher", anonymous Scottish song/poem
* "The Pitcher", poem by Yuan Zhen
# The Pitman

English-language translations of Kovkop include:
* "The Pitman" in Anthology of Modern Slavonic Literature in Prose and Verse (1919).
* "The pitman" in Modern Czech Poetry (1920).
# The Pittsburgh Press/1910/Wedding Is Of Interest To Pittsburgh

Charles Albert Webber, Sr. (1860-1937) in the The Pittsburgh Press on January 18, 1910.
Wedding Is Of Interest To Pittsburgh. Miss Clare Swearingen, Daughter of the the Late Major Swearingen, and Charles Albert Webber to Wed. Many Social Affairs Scheduled For Today. Of much interest to Pittsburgh people is the announcement from Baltimore of the wedding of Ms. Clare Swearingen, daughter of the late Major T. Brent Swearingen, who was for many years closely identified with Pittsburgh, and Charles Albert Webber, a well known attorney of New York, which will take place next Tuesday morning at 11 o'clock in St. Ignatius Church, Baltimore. After the nuptials mass a small breakfast will be given for the immediate families at the home of the bride's sister, Miss Eleanor Ihmsen Swearingen, in the Terrace apartments, Hamilton terrace. On Thursday Mr. Webber and his bride will sail for a cruise of several months, the trip to include Egypt and the Holy Land. Upon their, return they will be at home in Congress street, Brooklyn. Miss Clare Swearingen has been living in Baltimore since the breaking up of the Swearingen country home in Virginia, two years ago.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
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
# The Pitcher (anonymous)

* "The Pitcher" in Improbability, or, The batchelor's dislike to a married life (1790)
* "The pitcher" in Lovely Jean (1820)
* "The Pitcher" in Lovley Jean (1820)
* "The pitcher" in Rigs o' barley (1820)
# The Pittsburgh Press

* related portals: Newspapers.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Commons category, Wikidata item.
The The Pittsburgh Press is a daily newspaper based in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.
Content exists for this periodical, though at this stage it is not specifically organised beyond a basic hierarchy.
The pages listed below are an automatically generated listing.
Special:PrefixIndex/The Pittsburgh Press/
# The Pit and the Pendulum

* "The Pit and the Pendulum", in The Works of the Late Edgar Allan Poe, Volume 1 (1850)
* "The Pit and the Pendulum", illustrated by Arthur Rackham, in Poe's Tales of Mystery and Imagination (1935)
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 Poems of Oscar Wilde/Rome Unvisited

ROME UNVISITED
I
The corn has turned from grey to red, Since first my spirit wandered forth, From the drear cities of the north, And to Italia's mountains fled.
And here I set my face towards home, For all my pilgrimage is done, Although, methinks, yon blood-red sun Marshals the way to Holy Rome.
O Blessed Lady, who dost hold Upon the seven hills thy reign! O Mother without blot or stain, Crowned with bright crowns of triple gold!
O Roma, Roma, at thy feet I lay this barren gift of song! For, ah! the way is steep and long That leads unto thy sacred street.
II
And yet what joy it were for me To turn my feet unto the south, And journeying towards the Tiber mouth To kneel again at Fiesole!
And wandering through the tangled pines That break the gold of Arno's stream, To see the purple mist and gleam Of morning on the Apennines.
By many a vineyard-hidden home, Orchard and olive-garden grey, Till from the drear Campagna's way The seven hills bear up the dome!
III
A pilgrim from the northern seas— What joy for me to seek alone The wondrous Temple and the throne Of Him who holds the awful keys!
When, bright with purple and with gold, Come priest and holy Cardinal, And borne above the heads of all The gentle Shepherd of the Fold.
O joy to see before I die The only God-anointed King, And hear the silver trumpets ring A triumph as He passes by!
Or at the brazen-pillared shrine Holds high the mystic sacrifice, And shows his God to human eyes Beneath the veil of bread and wine.
IV
For lo, what changes time can bring! The cycles of revolving years May free my heart from all its fears, And teach my lips a song to sing.
Before yon field of trembling gold Is garnered into dusty sheaves, Or ere the autumn's scarlet leaves Flutter as birds adown the wold,
I may have run the glorious race, And caught the torch while yet aflame, And called upon the holy name Of Him who now doth hide His face.
Arona.
# The Poems of Oscar Wilde/Serenade

SERENADE
(FOR MUSIC)
The western wind is blowing fair Across the dark Ægean sea, And at the secret marble stair My Tyrian galley waits for thee. Come down! the purple sail is spread, The watchman sleeps within the town, O leave thy lily-flowered bed, O Lady mine come down, come down!
She will not come, I know her well, Of lover's vows she hath no care, And little good a man can tell Of one so cruel and so fair. True love is but a woman's toy, They never know the lover's pain, And I who loved as loves a boy Must love in vain, must love in vain.
O noble pilot, tell me true, Is that the sheen of golden hair? Or is it but the tangled dew That binds the passion-flowers there? ​Good sailor come and tell me now Is that my Lady's lily hand? Or is it but the gleaming prow, Or is it but the silver sand?
No! no! 'tis not the tangled dew, 'Tis not the silver-fretted sand, It is my own dear Lady true With golden hair and lily hand! O noble pilot, steer for Troy, Good sailor, ply the labouring oar, This is the Queen of life and joy Whom we must bear from Grecian shore!
The waning sky grows faint and blue, It wants an hour still of day, Aboard! aboard! my gallant crew, O Lady mine, away! away! O noble pilot, steer for Troy, Good sailor, ply the labouring oar, O loved as only loves a boy! O loved for ever evermore!
# The Poems of Oscar Wilde/San Miniato

SAN MINIATO
See, I have climbed the mountain side Up to this holy house of God, Where once that Angel-Painter trod Who saw the heavens opened wide,
And throned upon the crescent moon The Virginal white Queen of Grace,— Mary! could I but see thy face Death could not come at all too soon.
O crowned by God with thorns and pain Mother of Christ! O mystic wife! My heart is weary of this life And over-sad to sing again.
O crowned by God with love and flame! O crowned by Christ the Holy One! O listen ere the searching sun Show to the world my sin and shame.
# The Poems of Oscar Wilde/Santa Decca

SANTA DECCA
The Gods are dead: no longer do we bring To grey-eyed Pallas crowns of olive-leaves! Demeter's child no more hath tithe of sheaves, And in the noon the careless shepherds sing, For Pan is dead, and all the wantoning By secret glade and devious haunt is o'er: Young Hylas seeks the water-springs no more; Great Pan is dead, and Mary's son is King.
And yet—perchance in this sea-trancèd isle, Chewing the bitter fruit of memory, Some God lies hidden in the asphodel. Ah Love! if such there be, then it were well For us to fly his anger: nay, but see, The leaves are stirring: let us watch awhile.
Corfu.
# The Poems of Oscar Wilde/Silentium Amoris

SILENTIUM AMORIS
As often-times the too resplendent sun Hurries the pallid and reluctant moon Back to her sombre cave, ere she hath won A single ballad from the nightingale, So doth thy Beauty make my lips to fail, And all my sweetest singing out of tune.
And as at dawn across the level mead On wings impetuous some wind will come, And with its too harsh kisses break the reed Which was its only instrument of song, So my too stormy passions work me wrong, And for excess of Love my Love is dumb.
But surely unto Thee mine eyes did show Why I am silent, and my lute unstrung; Else it were better we should part, and go, Thou to some lips of sweeter melody, And I to nurse the barren memory Of unkissed kisses, and songs never sung.
# The Poems of Oscar Wilde/Requiescat

ROSA MYSTICA
REQUIESCAT
Tread lightly, she is near Under the snow, Speak gently, she can hear The daisies grow.
All her bright golden hair Tarnished with rust, She that was young and fair Fallen to dust.
Lily-like, white as snow, She hardly knew She was a woman, so Sweetly she grew.
Coffin-board, heavy stone, Lie on her breast, I vex my heart alone, She is at rest.
Peace, Peace, she cannot hear Lyre or sonnet, All my life's buried here, Heap earth upon it.
Avignon.
# The Poems of Oscar Wilde/Sonnet on hearing the Dies Iræ sung in the Sistine Chapel

SONNET
ON HEARING THE DIES IRÆ SUNG IN THE SISTINE CHAPEL
Nay, Lord, not thus! white lilies in the spring, Sad olive-groves, or silver-breasted dove, Teach me more clearly of Thy life and love Than terrors of red flame and thundering. The hillside vines dear memories of Thee bring: A bird at evening flying to its nest Tells me of One who had no place of rest: I think it is of Thee the sparrows sing. Come rather on some autumn afternoon, When red and brown are burnished on the leaves, And the fields echo to the gleaner's song, Come when the splendid fulness of the moon Looks down upon the rows of golden sheaves, And reap Thy harvest: we have waited long.
# The Poems of Oscar Wilde/Sonnet on approaching Italy

SONNET ON APPROACHING ITALY
I reached the Alps: the soul within me burned, Italia, my Italia, at thy name: And when from out the mountain's heart I came And saw the land for which my life had yearned, I laughed as one who some great prize had earned: And musing on the marvel of thy fame I watched the day, till marked with wounds of flame The turquoise sky to burnished gold was turned. The pine-trees waved as waves a woman's hair, And in the orchards every twining spray Was breaking into flakes of blossoming foam: But when I knew that far away at Rome In evil bonds a second Peter lay, I wept to see the land so very fair.
Turin.
# The Poems of Oscar Wilde/Sonnet on the Massacre of the Christians in Bulgaria

SONNET
on the Massacre of the Christians in Bulgaria
Christ, dost thou live indeed? or are thy bones Still straitened in their rock-hewn sepulchre? And was thy Rising only dreamed by Her Whose love of thee for all her sin atones? For here the air is horrid with men's groans, The priests who call upon thy name are slain, Dost thou not hear the bitter wail of pain From those whose children lie upon the stones? Come down, O Son of God! incestuous gloom Curtains the land, and through the starless night Over thy Cross a Crescent moon I see! If thou in very truth didst burst the tomb Come down, O Son of Man! and show thy might, Lest Mahomet be crowned instead of Thee!
# The Poetical Works of the Right Hon. George Granville, Lord Lansdowne/69

TO MIRA.
Nature indulgent, provident, and kind, In all things that excel ſome uſe deſign’d. The radiant ſun, of ev’ry heav’nly light The firſt, (did Mira not diſpute that right)
Sends from above ten thouſand bleſſings down,5 Nor is he ſet ſo high for ſnow alone; His beams reviving with auſpicious fire, Freely we ail enjoy what all admire. The moon and ſtars, thoſe faithful guides of night, Are plac’d to help, not entertain, the ſight.10 Plants, fruits, and flow’rs, the fertile fields produce, Not sor vain ornament, but wholeſome uſe; Health they reſtore, and nouriſhment they give; We ſee with pleaſure, but we taſte to live. Then think not, Mira! that thy form was meant15 More to create deſire than to content. Would the juſt gods ſo many charms provide Only to gratify a mortal’s pride? Would they have form’d thee ſo above thy ſex Only to play the tyrant, and to vex?20 ’T is impious pleaſure to delight in harm, And beauty ſhould be kind as well as charm.22
# The Poetical Works of the Right Hon. George Granville, Lord Lansdowne/74

TO MIRA.
Loſt in a labyrinth of doubts and joys, Whom now her ſmiles reviv’d her ſcorn deſtroys: She will, and ſhe will not; ſhe grants, denies, Conſents, retracts, advances, and then flies; Approving and rejecting in a breath,5 Now proff’ring mercy, now preſenting death. Thus hoping, thus deſpairing, never ſure, How various are the torments I endure! Cruel eſtate of doubt! ah, Mira! try Once to reſolve—Or let me live or die.10
# The Poetical Works of the Right Hon. George Granville, Lord Lansdowne/68

TO MIRA.
I.
When wilt thou break, my ſtubborn heart!
O Death! how ſlow to take my part! Whatever I purſue denies; Death, Death itſelf, like Mira, flies.
II.
Love and Deſpair, like twins, poſſeſt5 At the ſame fatal birth my breaſt: No hope could be; her ſcorn was all That to my deſtin’d lot could fall.
III.
I thought, alas! that Love could dwell But in warm climes, where no ſnow fell;10 Like plants that kindly heat require To be maintain’d by conſtant fire.
IV.
That without hope ’t would die as ſoon, A little hope—but I have none. On air the poor chamelions thrive;15 Deny’d ev’n that, my love can live.
V.
As tougheſt trees in ſtorms are bred, And grow in ſpite of winds, and ſpread, The more the tempeſt tears and ſhakes My love, the deeper root it takes.20
VI.
Deſpair, that aconite does prove, And certain death, to others’ love; That poiſon, never yet withſtood, Does nouriſh mine, and turns to food.
VII.
O! for what crime is my torn heart25 Condemn’d to ſuffer deathleſs ſmart? Like ſad Prometheus, thus to lie In endleſs pain, and never die.28
# The Poetical Works of the Right Hon. George Granville, Lord Lansdowne/71

TO MIRA.
I.
So calm and ſo ſerene but now, What means this change on Mira’s brow? Her aguiſh love now glows and burns, Then chills and ſhakes, and the cold fit returns.
II.
Mock’d with deluding looks and ſmiles,5 When on her pity I depend, My airy hope ſhe ſoon beguiles, And laughs to ſee my torments never end.
III.
So up the ſteepy hill with pain The weighty ſtone is roll’d in vain,10 Which, having touch’d the top, recoils, And leaves the lab’rer to renew his toils.12
# The Poetical Works of the Right Hon. George Granville, Lord Lansdowne/75

TO FLAVIA. WRITTEN ON HER GARDEN IN THE NORTH, &c.
What charm is this, that in the midſt of ſnow, Of ſtorms and blaſts, the choiceſt fruits do grow? Melons on beds of ice are taught to bear, And ſtrangers to the ſun yet ripen here: On frozen ground the ſweeteſt flow’rs ariſe,5 Unſeen by any light but Flavia’s eyes: Where’er ſhe treads, beneath the charmer’s feet The roſe, the jaſmine, and the lilies, meet: Where’er ſhe looks, behold ſome ſudden birth Adorns the trees, and fructifies the earth!10 In midſt of mountains and unfruitful ground As rich an Eden as the firſt is found.
In this new paradiſe the goddeſs reigns In ſovereign ſtate, and mocks the lover’s pains: Beneath thoſe beams that ſcorch us from her eyes15 Her ſnowy boſom ſtill unmelted lies: Love from her lips ſpreads all his odours round, But bears on ice, and ſprings from frozen ground. So cold the clime that can ſuch wonders bear, The garden ſeems an emblem of the fair.20
# The Poetical Works of the Right Hon. George Granville, Lord Lansdowne/7

LOVE.
To love is to be doom’d on earth to feel What after death the tortur’d meet in hell. The vulture dipping in Prometheus’ ſide His bloody beak, with his torn liver dy’d, Is love: The ſtone that labours up the hill,5 Mocking the lab’rer’s toil, returning ſtill, Is love: Thoſe ſtreams where Tantalus is curſt To ſit, and never drink, with endleſs thirſt; Thoſe loaden boughs that with their burthen bend To court his taſte, and yet eſcape his hand;10 All this is love, that to diſſembled joys Invites vain men, with real grief deſtroys.12