OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Poems upon Several Occasions/34

To MYRA.
SINCE Truth and Constancy are vain, Since neither Love; nor Sense of Pain, Nor Force of Reason, can persuade, Then let Example be obey'd.
In Courts and Cities, cou'd you see How well the wanton Fools agree, Were all the Curtains drawn, you'd find Scarce one, perhaps, but who is kind.
Miverva naked, from above, With Venus, and the Wife of Jove, Exposing ev'ry Beauty bare, Descended to the Trojan Heir; Yet this was she whom Poets name Goddess of Chastity and Fame.
Penelope, her Lord away, Gave am'rous Audiences all Day; Now round the Bowl the Suitors sit, With Wine provoking Mirth and Wit: Then down they take the stubborn Bow; Their Strength, it seems, she needs must know: Thus twenty chearful Winters past, She's yet immortaliz'd for chaste.
Smile Myra then, reward my Flame, And be as much secure of Fame: By all those matchless Beauties fir'd, By my own matchless Love inspir'd, So will I sing, such Wonders write, That when th' astonish'd World shall cite A Nymph of spotless Worth and Fame, Myra shall be th' immortal Name.
# Poems upon Several Occasions/36

Myra at a Review.
LET meaner Beauties conquer singly still, But haughty Myra will by thousands kill, Thro' armed Ranks triumphantly she drives, And with one Glance commands ten thousand Lives: The trembling Heroes nor resist nor fly, But at the Head of all their Squadrons die.
# Poems upon Several Occasions/4

To the King.
THO' train'd in Arms, and learn'd in Martial Arts, Thou chusest not to conquer Men, but Hearts. Expecting Nations for thy Triumphs wait, But thou prefer'st the Name of Just to Great. So Jove suspends his subject World to doom, Which, wou'd he please to thunder, he’d consume.
O! cou'd the Ghosts of mighty Heroes dead Return to Earth, and quit th' Elysian Shade, Brutus to James wou'd trust the Peoples Cause; Thy Justice is a stronger Guard than Laws:
Marius and Sylla would resign to thee; Nor Cæsar, and great Pompey, Rivals be, Or Rivals only who shou’d best obey, And Cato give his Voice for Regal Sway.
# Poems upon Several Occasions/35

The Discovery. To the Countess of N———.
WITH Myra's Charms, and my extream Despair, Long has my Muse amaz'd the Reader's Ear, My Friends with Pity heard the mournful Sound, And all enquir'd who gave the fatal Wound; Th' astonish'd World beheld an endless Flame, Ne'er to be quencht, and knew not whence it came: So scatter'd Fire from burning Ætna flies, Yet none can tell from whence those Flames arise.
My timorous Tongue, still trembling to confess, Fearful to name, wou'd fain have had her guess; Slight Passions with great Ease we can unfold: Were my Love less, my Tongue had been more bold; But who can live, and endless Torments feel?$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ Compell'd by Racks, the most Resolv'd reveal Those Secrets that their Prudence wou'd conceal. My weeping Muse, opprest with hopeless Vows, Flies to her Feet, and thus for Mercy bows.
Survey your self, and then forgive your Slave, Think what a Passion, such a Form must have; Who can, unmov'd, behold that heav'nly Face, Those radiant Eyes, and that resistless Grace?
My Vows to Myra all were meant to Thee, The Praise, the Love, the matchless Constancy. 'Twas thus of old, when all th' immortal Dames Were grac'd by Poes, each with sev'ral Names; For, Venus, Cytheréa was invok'd, Alters for Pallas, to Athéna smoak'd: Such Names were theirs; and thou the most Divine, Most lov'd of Heav'nly Beauties, Myra's thine.
# Poems upon Several Occasions/37

To MYRA.
I.
What means this Change on Myra's Brow? Her aguish Love now glows and burns, Then chills and shakes, and the cold Fit returns.
II.
When on her Pity I depend, My airy Hope she soon beguiles, And laughs, to see my Torments never end.
III.
The weighty Stone is rowl'd in vain, Which having touch'd the Top, recoils, And leaves the Lab'rer to renew his Toils.
# Poems upon Several Occasions/38

To MYRA.
THoughtful Nights, and restless Waking, O the Pains that we endure! Broken Faith, unkind Forsaking, Ever doubting, never sure. Hopes deceiving, vain Endeavours, What a Race has Love to run! False Protesting, fleeting Favours, Ev'ry, ev'ry way, undone. Still complaining, and defending, Both to love, yet not agree, Fears tormenting, Passion rending, O the Pangs of Jealousie!
From such painful Ways of living, Ah how sweet, cou'd Love be free? Still presenting, still receiving, Fierce, immortal Ecstasie!
# Poems upon Several Occasions/42

SONG. For Myra.
HERE end my Chains, and Thraldom cease, If not in Joy, I'll live in Peace, Since for the Pleasures of an Hour We must endure an Age of Pain, I'll be this abject thing no more; Love, give me back my Heart again.
Despair tormented first my Breast, Now Falshood, a more cruel Guest. O, for the Peace of Human-kind, Make Women longer true, or sooner kind; With Justice or with Mercy reign, O Love! or give me back my Heart again.
# Poems (Mitford)/Lines, written in a favorite Bower

WRITTEN IN A FAVORITE BOWER,
PREVIOUS TO LEAVING HOME,
MAY 14, 1809.
# Poems (Mitford)/Joanna's Prophecy

JOANNA'S PROPHECY.
ARGUMENT.
The Prophecy of the destruction of Bath, or Good Friday last, which afforded so memorable an instance of the credulity of the nineteenth century, cannot yet be forgotten. With the usual fate of reports, which "gather as they roll," the terrific denunciation had, when it reached Reading, been extended to Bristol and London; one of which was to be overwhelmed by the tide, and the other destroyed by fire, at the same moment that Bath was to be swallowed up by an earthquake. Under these impressions, the following poem was written; and the result of the former part of the prophecy happily precludes the necessity of apologizing to this modern Cassandra for having added fresh horrors to her dreadful prediction.
# Poems (Mitford)/On revisiting the School where I was educated

ON
REVISITING THE SCHOOL,
WHERE I WAS EDUCATED.
# Poet Lore/Volume 4/Number 11

Poet-lore
Vol. IV.
No.11.
——wilt thou not haply saie Truth needs no collour with his collour fixt, Beautie no pensell, beauties truth to lay: But best is best, if neuer intermixt Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb? Excuse not silence so, for’t lies in thee, To make him much out-liue a gilded tombe: And to be praised of ages yet to be. Then do thy office ——
* Is Chaucer Irreligious? by Eleanor Baldwin
* The Poets-Laureate by Charlotte Newell
* The Music of Language in 'Venus and Adonis' by S. E. Bengough
* The Source of Browning's Optimism by Mary M. Cohen
* Newton's Brain by Jakub Arbes, translated by Josef Jiří Král
* Some Notable American Verse by Helen A. Clarke
* Notes and News
* London Literaria by William G. Kingsland
# Poet Lore/Volume 4/Number 4

Poet-lore
Vol. IV.
No. 4.
——wilt thou not haply saie Truth needs no collour with his collour fixt, Beautie no pensell, beauties truth to lay: But best is best, if neuer intermixt Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb? Excuse not silence so, for’t lies in thee, To make him much out-liue a gilded tombe: And to be praised of ages yet to be. Then do thy office ——
* and Don Quixote by Ivan Turgeniev
* 'Much Ado about Nothing' by W. J. Rolfe
* Is Shakespeare's Cæsar Ignoble? by Annie Russell Wall
* How Shakespeare Illustrates Bacon by Henry M. Hugunin
* A Glove by Bjórnstjerne Bjórnson, translated by Thyge Sógård (continued)
* Shakespeare and Rhythm by Emma Pratt Mott
* The Comradeship of Anthony and Cleopatra by S. E. Peart
* New Shakesperean Books by P.
* Why are we not a race of poets
* Notes and News
* Shakespeare in Bohemia by Josef Jiří Král
# Poet Lore/Volume 4/Number 10

Poet-lore
Vol. IV.
No.10.
——wilt thou not haply saie Truth needs no collour with his collour fixt, Beautie no pensell, beauties truth to lay: But best is best, if neuer intermixt Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb? Excuse not silence so, for’t lies in thee, To make him much out-liue a gilded tombe: And to be praised of ages yet to be. Then do thy office ——
* Robert Browning as the Poet of Democracy by Oscar L. Triggs
* Dante's Claim to Poetic Eminence by Samuel D. Davies
* The Ethics of 'As You Like It' by C. A. Wurtzburg
* The Essence of Goethe's 'Faust' by Philip H. Erbes
* Newton's Brain by Jakub Arbes, translated by Josef Jiří Král
* A Study of Shakespeare's 'Winter's Tale' by P. A. C.
* A Night Song of Invention
* Notes and News
* London Literaria by William G. Kingsland
* Continental Literaria by Thyge Sógård
* Shakespeare's 'Childing Autumn' by John B. Noyes
* Societies
# Poet Lore/Volume 4/Number 12

Poet-lore
Vol. IV.
No.12.
——wilt thou not haply saie Truth needs no collour with his collour fixt, Beautie no pensell, beauties truth to lay: But best is best, if neuer intermixt Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb? Excuse not silence so, for’t lies in thee, To make him much out-liue a gilded tombe: And to be praised of ages yet to be. Then do thy office ——
* Chatterton by Arthur L. Salmon
* The Poets-Laureate by Charlotte Newell
* The Antigone of Sophocles and Shakespeare's Isabel by William L. Sheldon
* Poetic Limitations of Sordello by George Willis Cooke
* Newton's Brain by Jakub Arbes, translated by Josef Jiří Král
* Edinburgh University and Women. Professor David Masson on Tennyson by Charlotte Carmichael Stopes
* Are we approaching a Dark Age?
* Tennyson's Last Book by Charlotte Porter
* Notes and News
** London Literaria
* Societies
# Poet Lore/Volume 4/Number 6-7

Poet-lore
Vol. IV.
Nos. 6 and 7.
——wilt thou not haply saie Truth needs no collour with his collour fixt, Beautie no pensell, beauties truth to lay: But best is best, if neuer intermixt Because he needs no praise, wilt thou be dumb? Excuse not silence so, for’t lies in thee, To make him much out-liue a gilded tombe: And to be praised of ages yet to be. Then do thy office ——
* Shelley's Faith by Kineton Parkes
* Shelley's Letters to Elizabeth Hitchener by William G. Kingsland
* In Memoriam, Shelley. 1792-1892 by G. W.Alger
* Under a Bush of Lilacs by Jakub Arbes, translated by Josef Jiří Král
* Primitive American Poetry by D. G. Brinton
* A Glove (Act II) by Bjórnstjerne Bjórnson, translated by Thyge Sógård
* Early Mutilators of Shakespeare by William Henry Hudson
* A Spring Pilgrimage to Shakespeare's Town by Charlotte Carmichael Stopes
* Rare Poems of Elizabeth Barrett Browning by William G. Kingsland
* Some Ideal Tendencies of the Time
* Notes and News
* Societies
* Song from Prometheus by Shelley, music by H. A. Clarke
# Poems (Smith)

* OEMS.
by
MARTHA A. SMITH
brooklyn:
printed for the author.
Copyright, 1881, by M. A. Smith.
Thomas P. Peabody, printer, 52 Fourth Avenue, New York.
TO MY FRIENDS.
* A Mother's Lament
* Beautiful Sunlight
* Sadness
* Christmas Morning
* A Mother's Sorrow
* Cling Together
* Thoughts on my Mother
* The Bride's Farewell
* The Bridal Day
* On Parting
* Thoughts on Death
* Everlasting Woe
* Adieu, My Native Land
* Sweet Anna
* Friendship's Offering
* Do I Love Thee?
* The Heart's Affection
* Thee, My Friend
* Musings
* No, Never More
* Light and Darkness
* My Birthday
* Alone and so Weary
* Alone the Heart Speaketh
* Night Thoughts
* Passing Away
* To Brother Albert
* To Mintie
* Heart Sorrow
* To Sister Sarah
* To Willie
* To Anna
* Passing Away
* Little Birdie
* Longing for Rest
* Lines to a Friend
* Providence
* Here and Hereafter
* To Willie
* Lonely Musings
* Eternally Resting
* She is Not Dead
* To Alida
* The Present and the Future
* Weep Not for Me
* Prepare to Meet thy God
* Marriage of a Young Friend
* Our Little Raymond
* The Departed One
* Little Albert
* The Death of Ione
* Thoughts on Death
* Sleighing
* A Prayer on Thanksgiving
* Longing for Rest
* Love, What is It?
* Death
* To My Sister
* Spring
* A Thought
* Life and Death
* Remembrance
* Rest at Last
* My Prayer
* Go, False Deceiver
* Burying-Ground Musings
* Dead Love
* To Louise
* To Anna Roberts
* To a Friend
* The Lady at the Ball
* The Death of Lulu
* A Wish
* Farewell to Lizzie
* Lines to a Friend
* Edna Clair
* To My Niece
* Friendship
* The Old Pear-Tree
* In Memory of Mrs. W. E. Horwill
* Death of Bertha Shultz
* Grandma's Soliloquy
* Beautiful Light
* Love Thee
* To Belle
* Adieu, My Friend
* Ida in Heaven
* Little Daisy
* Thy Sparkling Eye
* Those Beauteous Eyes
* My Hair is Silvered O'er
* Remembrance
CONTENTS
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
# Poems (Smith)/A Mother's Lament

POEMS.
# Poems (Kennedy)/Madame Catherine Breshkovskaya

MME. CATHERINE BRESHKOVSKAYA
("Grandmother of the Russian Revolution" has spent 50 of her 74 years in prison)
# Poems by Felicia Dorothea Browne/The Vernal Shower

THE VERNAL SHOWER.
Now the lucid tears of May Gem the blossoms of the spray; Every leaf and bending flower Glitters in the vernal shower.
Lovely in the clouded sky, See the rainbow shines on high; Mark the heavenly colours bright, Ere they vanish from the sight.
Hark! the warblers gaily sing; Sweet the melodies of spring; When the youthful heart at ease, Bids the native music please.
Fairer now the view around, Brighter verdure decks the ground; Flora, smiling in the bower, Hails the tender vernal shower.
See! again the skies appear, Glad in blue serenely clear; Now the sun with placid ray Gilds the scene, and all is gay.
Cool and fragrant is the gale, Breathing sweets from yonder vale, Where the flowers in blooming pride, Smile upon the fountain side.
Now the linnets in the grove, Tune the mellow song of love; Mild and genial is the hour, Sweet the balmy vernal shower.
# Poems by Felicia Dorothea Browne/To E. B. On her Birthday

TO E. B. ON HER BIRTH-DAY.
To thee, sweet girl, these lays impart, The genuine friendship of my heart. Oh! be this day for ever blest;  I hail it with my gayest measure; And may thy sympathetic breast  Enjoy affection, love, and pleasure.
And if thy heart should ever mourn,  May friendship soothe the anxious sorrow; Till hope with lovely smile return,  To promise thee a brighter morrow.
And ah! may health benignly shed Her blessings o'er thy sister's head; And nurse the charge with influence bland, Till on her cheek the rose expand.
# Poems by Felicia Dorothea Browne/The Wreath of Spring

THE WREATH OF SPRING.
I rov'd in the meadows, the vales, and the bowers,  While the leaves were bespangled with dew; And I cull'd in profusion the blossoms and flowers,  Excelling in fragrance and hue.
The primrose of spring in the wreath I combin'd,  And the violet modest and pale; And there the wild roses and myrtles entwin'd,  With the lily which droops in the vale.
The harebell that smiles in the dingle I sought,  Of the softest ethereal blue; And then to Celinda the garland I brought,  While the buds were all shining in dew.   "Oh! take the sweet flowers in their beauty," I said,  "While yet they are lovely and gay; "For soon, my Celinda, their bloom will be fled,  "Too early they wither away.
"This lily so gracefully languid and fair,  "Might have faded unseen in the grove; "Yet the balm of its odour was borne on the air,  "And it weeps in the wreath of my love.
"To you, my Celinda, the rose-bud I bring,  "While its leaves are begemm'd with the dew, "'Tis the darling of Flora, the treasure of spring;  "How lovely an emblem of you.
"But oh! when the roses of beauty and youth,  "Like the bloom of the flower shall decay; "The myrtle of love and perennial truth,  "Shall be smiling and fresh as in May."
# Poems by Felicia Dorothea Browne/To Friendship

TO FRIENDSHIP.
Oh! Friendship, sweetest, exquisite delight,  For fine according spirits form'd alone! 'Tis thine our feeling bosoms to unite,  And youthful hearts thy melting ardours own.
To give the mind its animated glow,  Kindle the languid virtues to a flame, To bid the genial tear of pity flow,  To raise the "blushes of ingenuous shame,"
These arts, oh! child of sympathy, are thine;  And I will bless thy consecrated power; Will pour my early offering at thy shrine,  And oft invoke thee in the pensive hour.
Ah! when our brightest prospects fade away,  And Hope shall cease her glowing hues to blend: Then, when the bright illusive scenes decay,  'Tis then we prove the blessings of a friend.
Diffuse thy influence o'er my youthful mind,  The artless song I dedicate to thee; What pleasing sorrows oft in thee we find,  Oh! child of tender sensibility.
With thee in pensive pleasure I would melt;  To me thy raptures, thy endearments give: Oh! ye, who these according joys have felt,  Say, with a generous friend, how sweet to grieve.
Oh! yes, we love our sorrows to impart, And meet our comfort from a kindred heart; The elevated soul, by thee refin'd, Once to thy dear enchanting sway resign'd, Shall ever pour the genuine vow to thee, Oh! child of tender sensibility.
# Poems by Felicia Dorothea Browne/The Scenes of Conway

THE SCENES OF CONWAY.
On the banks of the Conway with rapture I stray'd,  While the sunbeam was bright on the flood; And charm'd by the prospect around, I survey'd  The water, the hills, and the wood.
When the curtain of evening was spread o'er the scene,  And sweet was the mild summer gale; I rov'd by the side of the river serene,  And gaz'd on the fisherman's sail.
'Twas thus that I mus'd, while I wander'd away,  Thro' the towers of the castle sublime; Where the boughs of the ivy conceal the decay,  Which is made by the ravage of time:
Now the sun is departing with lingering smile,  He sinks in the billows to rest; How soft are the colours which glow on the pile,  How bright are the clouds of the west.
I could fancy that here to the melody sweet,  Of the tabor, the pipe, and the song, By moonlight the fairies of Oberon meet,  And trip in the dances along.
In these mouldering towers by the mild placid beam  That silvers the high waving trees, The poet might listen in fanciful dream,  To the sighs of the murmuring breeze.
'Tis mournful to view these deserted old halls,  Where the harp of the minstrel has rung; Where the banners of chivalry wav'd on the walls,  And the bards at the festival sung.
But the turrets o'ermantl'd with ivy around,  Shall echo to music no more; No longer the chords of the harp shall resound,  And the carol of gladness is o'er.
These walls have been deck'd with the trophies of state,  This building was noble and proud; But short is the sunbeam of fortune and fate,  Like the rainbow which shines in a cloud.
'Twas thus that I mus'd while I wander'd away,  Thro' the towers of the castle sublime; Which still are majestic and frown in decay,  Array'd in the mantle of time.
The woods and the ruins I left with regret,  And bade them with sorrow adieu; But the scenes of fair Conway I ne'er can forget,  For memory their charms will renew.
# Poems by Felicia Dorothea Browne/The Song of a Seraph

THE SONG OF A SERAPH.
# Poems by Felicia Dorothea Browne/The Vale of Clwyd

THE VALE OF CLWYD.
INSCRIBED TO MISS FOULKES, OF ERIVIATT.
The lovely vale is Cambria's pride,  Luxuriant garden of the land; There plenty smiles on every side,  There bright and fertile meads expand.
Array'd in every glowing hue, How varied all the sylvan view, With tufted woods, romantic glades, And spires embosom'd in the shades.
There cultivation decks the scene,  The happy prospect all around; There pastures bloom for ever green,  The plains with golden sheaves are crown'd.
There cheerful cottages appear, Beside the river calm and clear; And fields that wave with bending corn, The fair extensive vale adorn.
And there the castle still sublime,  With turrets falling fast away, Remains the monument of time,  The awful emblem of decay.
'Twas near that pile in ages fled, That warrior's fought, and heroes bled; While crimson banners wav'd on high, In all the pomp of victory.
Alas! the lone deserted wall,  A mournful ruin now appears; Yet still majestic in its fall,  Tho' mouldered by consuming years.
Beside the long-forsaken towers, O'ergrown with ivy and with flowers, There at the close of evening gray, The wandering moralist might stray;
With pensive pleasure there to gaze,  On all the grandeur of the pile; To meditate on former days,  And muse on fortune's transient smile.
And by those arches long decay'd, In faded beauty still display'd, There might the lonely poet hail, The rural prospect of the vale,
And those by charms of nature fir'd,  May rove amidst this Cambrian scene; In mossy dells, or groves retir'd,  Beside the lawns of brightest green.
And there by Cynthia's placid beam, May wander near the winding stream; To view the fair arcadian vale, More pleasing in the lustre pale.
Tho' lovely is the dawn of day,  When morning sheds reviving dews; Yet sweeter is the silver ray,  And dearer to the plaintive muse.
For by the soft and mellow light, That trembles thro' the clouds of night, Then all the landscape is array'd, In pensive grace and blending shade.
The smiling vale is Cambria's pride,  There hospitality remains; There peace and elegance reside,  And seek the mansions of the plains.
Oh! still may cultivation's hand Enrich the garden of the land; May Ceres there her treasures yield, And ever crown the fertile field.
And there may peace for ever reign;  Ne'er may the cheering harvest fail; May plenty lead her sportive train,  And with profusion bless the vale.
# Poems by Felicia Dorothea Browne/To Autumn

TO AUTUMN.
No more the glowing flowers of spring,  Enrich the sweet romantic dell; Yet ah! the tints of Autumn bring,  A fading charm, a soft farewell. Dear Autumn! as thy sober hues  Adorn the scene with shadowy grace;
A mellow beauty they diffuse,  Which pensive pleasure loves to trace. And dearer is thy transient calm,  That wakes the mild and soothing tear, Than summer air of fragrant balm,  Than all the treasures of the year. And sweeter is thy partial ray, For ah! too soon it melts away. F. D. B. aged 13.
# Poems by Felicia Dorothea Browne/To Fancy

TO FANCY.
Oh! thou visionary Queen, I love thy wild and fairy scene, Bid for me thy landscape glow; To thee my first effusions flow. I court the dreams that banish care, And hail thy palace of the air. Oh! bless thy youthful poet's hours, And let me cull thy sweetest flowers. Ever can thy magic please, And give to care a transient ease. View the poor man toiling hard, Of the joys of life debarr'd, Thy power his lovely dream will bless, In thy brightest rainbow dress; With flattering pleasures round him smile, In soft enchantment for a while. Thy dear illusions melt away; Ye heavenly visions, why decay! Oh! thou visionary maid, Form'd to brighten life's dark shade, Let me soar with thee on high, To realms of immortality!
Hope, thy sister, airy queen, Forms with thee her lovely scene. "Oh! thou visionary maid," Lend my soul thy magic aid, To cheer with rainbows every shade.