OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Pleasant Memories of Pleasant Lands/Preface

PREFACE.
A traveller in climes so generally visited, as those which have given subjects to the present volume, will find it difficult to say what has not been said before. By every celebrated stream or mountain, amid the ivy of every mouldering ruin, at the gate of every castle, palace and cathedral, he doubtless met other travellers, with their note-books; and what he saw and described, they also may see and describe, perchance with a more glowing pencil.
Yet if he must resign the prospect of finding untrodden paths, he may still fix upon some spots where it will be profitable both to muse and to record impressions; and if he forfeit all right of discovery, may at least retain the power of promoting pleasurable feelings. With such hopes the following pages have been drawn forth and modified from the notes of a Journal ​regularly kept, during a tour which occupied the greater part of a year.
Their writer has not sought to dwell upon the dark shades of the countries that it was her privilege to visit. It might have been easy to fix the eye upon the blemishes that appertain to each, as it is to discern foibles in the most exalted character. Yet it is but a losing office to quit our own quiet fireside, and throw ourselves upon the stormy billows, for the sake of finding fault. This might be done with less fatigue and peril at home. She might doubtless have found a thorn here and there, but the rose was sweeter, and she preferred rather to press the flower, than to preserve the thorn. She might easily have gathered stinging nettles or brambles, but what she has avoided, multitudes who go the same road can find, and cull if they choose. So the lovers of poignancy may be gratified, from many sources, should they be compelled to pronounce this volume vapid and void of discrimination.
"When I have called the bad, bad" says Goethe, "how much is gained by that? He who would work aright, had better busy himself to show forth and to do that which is good." And, methinks, he who leaves his native land, to take note of foreign realms, and is brought again in safety to his own home and people, owes not only a great debt of gratitude to his ​Preserver but a new service of charity to those whom He has made. It would seem that an obligation was laid on him not to use the knowledge thus acquired to embarrass and embroil God's creatures, but to throw a filament of love, though it were only as a spider's web, to strengthen the amity of the nations.
And now, dear reader, if any such there be, who shall have patiently plodded through these my pages, thou art, for this very kindness, as a brother or sister unto me. And as we have here communed together of pleasant things, without perchance having seen each other's faces in the flesh, may we be so blessed as to dwell together in that country where no stranger sorroweth, where no wanderer goeth forth from his home with tears, and "where there is no more sea."
L. H. S.
# Pleasant Memories of Pleasant Lands 1842

Obelisk of Luxor at Paris
BOSTON PUBLISHED BY JAMES MUNROE & C$^o$. 1842
PLEASANT MEMORIES
OF
PLEASANT LANDS.
BY
MRS. L. H. SIGOURNEY.
"In a strange land, Kind things, however trivial, reach the heart, And through the heart the head, clearing away The narrow notions that grow up at home, And in their place, grafting Good-will to All.”
Roger's Italy
BOSTON: JAMES MUNROE AND COMPANY. M DCCC XLII.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1842, by James Munroe and Company, in the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the District of Massachusetts.
BOSTON: PRINTED BY THURSTON AND TORRY.
CONTENTS.
Page
PLEASANT MEMORIES
OF
PLEASANT LANDS.
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
# Pleasant Memories of Pleasant Lands 1842/A Sabbath at Sea

A SABBATH AT SEA.
Swift o'er the tossing deep,
 As woke the Sabbath day,
With favoring breeze and swelling sails
 A bark pursued its way;
When lo! a gush of music sweet
 Came from its lonely breast,
A holy voice of hymns, that lulled
 The wrathful wave to rest.
Upon the sheltered deck
 Was held a sacred rite,
The worship of old Ocean's King,
 The Lord of power and might,
Who with a simple line of sand
 Doth curb its monstrous tide,
And lay his finger on its mane,
 To quell its fiercest pride.
High words of solemn prayer
 Each listening spirit stir,
And by the fair young babe knelt down
 The bronzed mariner;
On couch and mattress ranged around,
 The sick forgot their grief,
And drank the healing lore of heaven,
 As dew the thirsty leaf.
Poor Erin's ardent sons
 Up from the steerage came,
And in their rude response invoked
 Jehovah's awful name;
And little children gathered near,
 Blest in their guileless years,
Hands folded close, and lips apart,
 And thoughts that moved to tears.
Filled with the scene sublime,
 The priestly heart grew bold,
To speak with eloquence of Him,
 Who the great deep controlled;
And loftier was his youthful brow,
 And deep his tuneful voice,
That warned the sinner to repent,
 And bade the saint rejoice.
A spell was on the heart,
 That bowed the proudest head,
Above us the eternal skies,
 Beneath our feet the dead;
The dead who knew no burial rite,
 Save storm, or battle cry,
Whose tombs are where the coral grows,
 And the sea-monsters lie.
It is a blessed thing
 In God's own courts to stand,
And hear the pealing organ swell,
 And join the prayerful band;
Yet who in full dependence feels
 That One above can save,
Until his fleeting life he throws
 Upon the faithless wave?
It is a blessed thing
 To heed the Sabbath chime,
And on 'neath summer foliage walk  To keep the holy time;
Yet who hath all devoutly praised
 Him, who his breath hath kept,
Until the strong unpitying surge
 Raged round him while he slept?
Earth, the indulgent nurse,
 With love her son doth guide,
His safety on her quiet breast
 Begets an inborn pride;
But Ocean, king austere,
 Doth mock his trusting gaze,
And try the fabric of the faith,
 By which on Heaven he stays.
Again that tuneful sound
 Swells o'er the watery plain;
How passing sweet are Zion's songs
 Amid the stranger main.
Our vessel taught them to the winds
 Along her venturous way,
And bade the lawless billows hush
 In their tremendous play.
Throughout the broad expanse
 No living thing is seen,
Except the stormy petrel's wing,
 That flecks the blue serene.
Praise! Praise! methinks the hoariest surge
 Might learn that lesson well,
Which even the infant zephyr's breath
 To earth's frail flowers doth tell.
What though the tender thought
 Of loved ones far away
Steals lingering to the moistened eye,
 Mid prayer and chanting lay;
Yet trust in a Redeemer's word,
 And hopes that blossom free,
And hallowed memories cling around
 This Sabbath on the sea.
Sunday, August 9, 1840.
# Poems (E. L. F.)/The hermit: a fragment

POEMS.
# Poems (E. L. F.)/The forget-me-not

Error: Invalid interval
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Juvenile Forget Me Not, 1829

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
Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Juvenile Forget Me Not, 1829
Compiled From other sources by Peter J. Bolton
Contents
* The Voice of God
* Swiss Home-sickness
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Juvenile Forget Me Not, 1829/The Voice of God

Taken from The Congregational Magazine, 1829, page 96
THE VOICE OF GOD. By Mrs. Hemans.
(From the Juvenile Forget Me Not, 1829)
"I heard thy voice in the garden, and I was afraid."
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Edinburgh Literary Journal 1829

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
Poems of Felicia Hemans In The Edinburgh Literary Journal, 1829
Compiled by Peter J. Bolton
Contents
* To a Remembered Picture
* The Sea-Bird Wandering Inland
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Edinburgh Literary Journal 1829/The Sea-Bird Wandering Inland

The Edinburgh Literary Journal, 26th December 1829, page 422
THE SEA-BIRD WANDERING INLAND.
By Mrs Hemans.
Thy path is not as mine:—Where thou art blest
My spirit would but wither;—my own grief
Is in mine eyes a richer, holier thing
Than all thy happiness.
Hath the summer's breath, on the south wind borne,
Met the dark seas in their sweeping scorn?
Hath it lured thee, Bird! from their sounding caves,
To the river shores where the osier waves?
Or art thou come on the hills to dwell,
Where the sweet-voiced Echoes have many a cell?
Where the moss bears print of the wild deer's tread.
And the heath like a royal robe is spread?
Thou hast done well, oh! thou bright Sea-bird!
There is joy where the song of the lark is heard,
With the dancing of waters through copse and dell,
And the bee's low tune in the fox-glove's bell.
Thou hast done well:—Oh! the seas are lone,
And the voice they send up hath a mournful tone;
A mingling of dirges, and wild farewells,
Fitfully breathed through its anthem-swells.
—The proud Bird rose as the words were said:
The rush of his pinion went o'er my head,
And the glance of his eye, in its bright disdain,
Spoke him a child of the haughty main.
He hath flown from the woods to the ocean's breast,
To his pride of place on the billow's crest!
—Oh! who shall say, to a spirit free,
"There lies the pathway of bliss for thee!"
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Dublin University Magazine Volume 3 1834/Come Away!

The Dublin University Magazine Vol 3, 1834, page 80
COME AWAY!
SONG FOR MUSIC, BY MRS. HEMANS.
Come away!—the child, whose flowers are springing
 Round his footsteps on the mountain slope,
Hears a glad voice from the uplands singing,
 Like the sky-lark‘s, with its tone of hope;
"Come away!"
Bounding on, with sunny lands before him,
 All the wealth of glowing life outspread,
Ere the shadow of a cloud comes o'er him,
 By that strain the youth is onward led;
"Come away!"
Slowly, sadly, heavy change is falling
 O'er the sweetness of the voice within,
Yet its tones, on restless manhood calling,
 Urge the Hunter still to speed—to win;
"Come away!"
Come away—the heart, at last forsaken,
 Smile by smile hath prov’d each hope untrue;
Yet a breath can still those words awaken,
 Tho’ to other shores far hence they woo;
"Come away!"
In the light wave, in the reed’s faint sighing,
 In the low sweet sounds of early Spring,
Still their music wanders, till the dying
 Hear it pass, as on a spirit’s wing;
"Come away!"
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Juvenile Keepsake, 1829

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
Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Juvenile Keepsake, 1829
Compiled by Peter J. Bolton
Contents
* A Farewell Song
* A Thought of Home at Sea
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Edinburgh Literary Journal 1829/To a Remembered Picture

The Edinburgh Literary Journal, 29th August 1829, page 183
TO A REMEMBERED PICTURE.*
By Mrs Hemans.
They haunt me still—those calm, pure, holy eyes—
 Their tender thoughtfulness is on my dreams;
The soul of music that within them lies,
 Comes o'er my soul in soft and sudden gleams:
Life, spirit-life immortal and divine
Is there, and yet how dark a death was thine!
Could it—oh! could it be, meek child of song!
 The might of gentleness on thy fair brow—
Was the celestial gift no shield from wrong?
 Bore it no talisman to ward the blow?—
Ask if a flower, upon the billows cast,
Might loll their strife, a flute-note hush the blast?
Are there not deep, sad oracles to read,
 In the clear stillness of that radiant face?
Yes! ev'n like thee must gifted spirits bleed,
 Thrown on a world for heavenly things no place:
Bright exiled birds, that visit alien skies,
Pouring on storms their suppliant melodies!
And seeking ever some true, gentle breast,
 Whereon their trembling plumage might repose;
And their free song-notes, from that happy nest,
 Gush as a fount that forth to sunlight flows!
Woe for the sweetness lavish'd still in vain,
As on the rock the soft spring-morning's rain!
Yet my heart shall not sink! Another doom—  Victim! hath set its promise in thine eye;
A light is there, too quenchless for the tomb,
 Bright earnest of a nobler Destiny!
Telling of answers, in some far-off sphere,
To the deep souls that find no Echo here.
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Juvenile Forget Me Not, 1829/Swiss Home-sickness

From a Review of The Juvenile Forget Me Not
Taken from The Gentleman's Magazine and Historical Chronicle, 1828, page 545
Swiss Home Sickness.
Wherefore so sad and faint, my heart?
 The stranger's land is fair;
Yet weary, weary, still thou art—
 What find'st thou wanting there?—
What wanting?—All, oh! all I love!  Am I not lonely here?
Through a fair land, in sooth, I rove;
 But what like Home is dear?
My Home!—oh thither would I fly,
 Where the free air is sweet,
My father's voice, my mother's eye,
 My own wild hills to greet.
My hills, with all their soaring steeps,
 With all their glaciers bright,
Where in his joy the chamois leaps,
 Mocking the hunter's might.
Here no familiar look I trace,
 I touch no friendly hand;
No child laughs kindly in my face
 As in my own sweet land.
# Poems of Felicia Hemans in The Dublin University Magazine Volume 3 1834/The Wanderer

The Dublin University Magazine Vol 3, 1834, page 149
THE WANDERER.
TRANSLATED FROM THE GERMAN OF SCHMIDT VON LUBECK, BY MRS. HEMANS.
Ich komme vom Gebirge her,
Es dampft das Thal, es braust das Meer,
Ich wandle still, bin wenig froh,
Und immer fragt der seufzer, wo?
Die Sonne dünkt mich hier so kalt,
Die Blüthe welk. das Leben alt,
Und was sie reden leerer schall,
Ich bin ein Fremdling überall.
Wo bist du, mein geliebter Land,
Gesucht, geahnt, und nie gekannt?
Das Land, das Land, so hoffnungs grün,
Das Land wo meine Rosen blühn;
Wo meine Freunde wandelnd gehen,
Wo meine Todten auferstehen,
Das Land, das meine sprache spricht,
Das theure Land—hier ist es nicht.—
Ich wandle still, bin wenig froh,
Und immer fragt der Seufzer, wo?
Im Geisterhauch tönt's mir zuruck,
Dort, wo du nicht bist, ist das Glück.
I come down from the Hills alone,
Mist wraps the vale, the billows moan;
I wander on in thoughtful care,
For ever asking, sighing—where?
The sunshine round seems dim and cold,
And flowers are pale, and life is old,
And words fall soulless on my ear— —Oh! I am still a stranger here.
Where art thou, Land, sweet Land, mine own?
Still sought for, longed for, never known?
The Land, the Land of Hope, of Light,
Where glow my Roses freshly bright,
And where my friends the green paths tread,
And where in beauty rise my Dead,
The Land that speaks my native speech,
The blessed Land I may not reach!
I wander on in thoughtful care,
For ever asking, sighing—where? And Spirit-sounds come answering this— —"There, where thou art not, there is bliss!"
# Poems and Ballads (third series)/Dedication

DEDICATION.
The years are many, the changes more,
Since wind and sun on the wild sweet shore
Where Joyous Gard stands stark by the sea
With face as bright as in years of yore
Shone, swept, and sounded, and laughed for glee
More deep than a man's or a child's may be,
On a day when summer was wild and glad,
And the guests of the wind and the sun were we.
The light that lightens from seasons clad
With darkness now, is it glad or sad? Not sad but glad should it shine, meseems,
On eyes yet fain of the joy they had.
For joy was there with us; joy that gleams
And murmurs yet in the world of dreams
Where thought holds fast, as a constant warder,
The days when I rode by moors and streams,
Reining my rhymes into buoyant order
Through honied leagues of the northland border.
Though thought or memory fade, and prove
A faithless keeper, a thriftless hoarder,
One landmark never can change remove,
One sign can the years efface not. Love,
More strong than death or than doubt may be,
Treads down their strengths, and abides above.
Yea, change and death are his servants: we,
Whom love of the dead links fast, though free,
May smile as they that beheld the dove
Bear home her signal across the sea.
# Poems and Ballads (third series)/Baby-Bird

BABY-BIRD.
Baby-bird, baby-bird, Ne'er a song on earth May be heard, may be heard, Rich as yours in mirth.
All your flickering fingers, All your twinkling toes, Play like light that lingers Till the clear song close.
Baby-bird, baby-bird, Your grave majestic eyes Like a bird's warbled words Speak, and sorrow dies.
Sorrow dies for love's sake, Love grows one with mirth, Even for one white dove's sake, Born a babe on earth.
Baby-bird, baby-bird, Chirping loud and long, Other birds hush their words, Hearkening toward your song.
Sweet as spring though it ring, Full of love's own lures, Weak and wrong sounds their song, Singing after yours.
Baby-bird, baby-bird, The happy heart that hears Seems to win back within Heaven, and cast out fears.
Earth and sun seem as one Sweet light and one sweet word Known of none here but one, Known of one sweet bird.
# Poems and Ballads (third series)/In Time of Mourning

IN TIME OF MOURNING.
'Return,' we dare not as we fain Would cry from hearts that yearn: Love dares not bid our dead again Return.
O hearts that strain and burn As fires fast fettered burn and strain! Bow down, lie still, and learn.
The heart that healed all hearts of pain No funeral rites inurn: Its echoes, while the stars remain, Return.
May 1885.
# Poems and Ballads (third series)/By Twilight

BY TWILIGHT.
If we dream that desire of the distance above us Should be fettered by fear of the shadows that seem, If we wake, to be nought, but to hate or to love us If we dream,
Night sinks on the soul, and the stars as they gleam Speak menace or mourning, with tongues to reprove us That we deemed of them better than terror may deem.
But if hope may not lure us, if fear may not move us, Thought lightens the darkness wherein the supreme Pure presence of death shall assure us, and prove us If we dream.
# Poems and Ballads (third series)/By the Wayside

BY THE WAYSIDE.
Summer's face was rosiest, skies and woods were mellow, Earth had heaven to friend, and heaven had earth to fellow, When we met where wooded hills and meadows meet. Autumn's face is pale, and all her late leaves yellow, Now that here again we greet.
Wan with years whereof this eightieth nears December, Fair and bright with love, the kind old face I know Shines above the sweet small twain whose eyes remember Heaven, and fill with April's light this pale November, Though the dark year's glass run low.
Like a rose whose joy of life her silence utters When the birds are loud, and low the lulled wind mutters, Grave and silent shines the boy nigh three years old. Wise and sweet his smile, that falters not nor flutters, Glows, and turns the gloom to gold.
Like the new-born sun's that strikes the dark and slays it, So that even for love of light it smiles and dies, Laughs the boy's blithe face whose fair fourth year arrays it All with light of life and mirth that stirs and sways it And fulfils the deep wide eyes.
Wide and warm with glowing laughter's exultation, Full of welcome, full of sunbright jubilation, Flash my taller friend's quick eyebeams, charged with glee; But with softer still and sweeter salutation Shine my smaller friend's on me.
Little arms flung round my bending neck, that yoke it Fast in tender bondage, draw my face down too Toward the flower-soft face whose dumb deep smiles invoke it; Dumb, but love can read the radiant eyes that woke it, Blue as June's mid heaven is blue.
How may men find refuge, how should hearts be shielded, From the weapons thus by little children wielded, When they lift such eyes as light this lustrous face— Eyes that woke love sleeping unawares, and yielded Love for love, a gift of grace,
Grace beyond man's merit, love that laughs, forgiving Even the sin of being no more a child, nor worth Trust and love that lavish gifts above man's giving, Touch or glance of eyes and lips the sweetest living, Fair as heaven and kind as earth?
# Poems and Ballads (third series)/Caliban on Ariel

CALIBAN ON ARIEL.
'His backward voice is to utter foul speeches and to detract.'
The tongue is loosed of that most lying slave, Whom stripes may move, not kindness. Listen: 'Lo, The real god of song, Lord Stephano, That's a brave god, if ever god were brave, And bears celestial liquor: but,' the knave (A most ridiculous monster) howls, 'we know From Ariel's lips what springs of poison flow, The chicken-heart blasphemer! Hear him rave!'
Thou poisonous slave, got by the devil himself Upon thy wicked dam, the witch whose name Is darkness, and the sun her eyes' offence, Though hell's hot sewerage breed no loathlier elf, Men cry not shame upon thee, seeing thy shame So perfect: they but bid thee—'Hag-seed, hence!'
# Poems and Ballads (third series)/A Rhyme

A RHYME
Babe, if rhyme be none For that sweet small word Babe, the sweetest one Ever heard,
Right it is and meet Rhyme should keep not true Time with such a sweet Thing as you.
Meet it is that rhyme Should not gain such grace: What is April's prime To your face?
What to yours is May's Rosiest smile? what sound Like your laughter sways All hearts round?
None can tell in metre Fit for ears on earth What sweet star grew sweeter At your birth.
Wisdom doubts what may be: Hope, with smile sublime, Trusts: but neither, baby, Knows the rhyme.
Wisdom lies down lonely; Hope keeps watch from far; None but one seer only Sees the star.
Love alone, with yearning Heart for astrolabe, Takes the star's height, burning O'er the babe.
# Poems and Ballads (third series)/In a Garden

IN A GARDEN
Baby, see the flowers! —Baby sees Fairer things than these, Fairer though they be than dreams of ours.
Baby, hear the birds! —Baby knows Better songs than those, Sweeter though they sound than sweetest words.
Baby, see the moon! —Baby's eyes Laugh to watch it rise, Answering light with love and night with noon.
Baby, hear the sea! —Baby's face Takes a graver grace, Touched with wonder what the sound may be.
Baby, see the star! —Baby's hand Opens, warm and bland, Calm in claim of all things fair that are.
Baby, hear the bells! —Baby's head Bows, as ripe for bed, Now the flowers curl round and close their cells.
Baby, flower of light, Sleep, and see Brighter dreams than we, Till good day shall smile away good night.