OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Spinnin' o't

The Spinnin' o’t.
[Alex. Ross.]
There was an auld wife had a wee pickle tow, And she wad gae try the spinnin' o't; She louted her doun, and her rock took a-low, And that was a bad beginnin' o't. She sat and she grat, and she flat and she flang,
And she threw and she blew, and she Wriggled and wrang, And she chokit and boakit, and cried like to mang, Alas, for the dreary beginnin' o't!
I've wanted a sark for these aught years and ten, And this was to be the beginnin' o't; But I vow I shall want it for as lang again, Or ever I try the spinnin' o't. For never since ever they ca'd as they ca' me, Did sic a mishap and mischanter befa' me; But ye shall ha'e leave baith to hang and to draw me, The neist time I try the spinnin' o't. ​I ha'e keep it my house now these threescore years, And aye I kept frae the spinnin' o't; But how I was sark it, foul fa' them that speirs, For it minds me upo' the beginnin' o't. But our women are now-a-days a' grown sae braw, That ilk ane maun ha'e a sark, and some ha'e twa— The warlds were better where ne'er ane ava Had a rag, but ane at the beginnin' o't.
In the days they ca' yore, gin auld fouks had but won To a surcoat, hough-syde, for the winnin o't. Of coat-raips weel cut by the cast o' their bum, They never socht mair o' the spinnin' o't. A pair o' grey hoggers weil cluikit benew, Of nae other lit but the hue of the ewe, With a pair o' rough mullions to scuff through the dew, Was the fee they socht at the beginnin' o't.
But we maun ha'e linen, and that maun ha'e we, And how get we that but by spinnin' o't? How can we ha'e face for to seek a great fee, Except we can help at the winnin' o't? And we maun ha'e pearlins, and mabbies, and cocks, And some other things that the ladies ca' smocks; And how get we that, gin we tak' na our rocks, And pow what we can at the spinnin' o't?
'Tis needless for us to mak' our remarks, Frae our mither's miscookin' the spinnin' o't, She never kenn'd ocht o' the gueed o' the sarks, Frae this aback to the beginnin' o't. Twa-three ell o' plaiden was a' that was socht By our auld-warld bodies, and that bude be bought; For in ilka town siccan things wasna wrocht- Sae little they kenn'd o' the spinnin' o't!
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Smiling Plains

The Smiling Plains.
[William Falconer, author of "The Shipwreck."]
The smiling plains, profusely gay, Are dress'd in all the pride of May; The birds on every spray above To rapture wake the vocal grove. But, ah! Miranda, without thee, Nor spring nor summer smiles on me, All lonely in the secret shade, I mourn thy absence, charming maid!
O soft as love! as honour fair! Serenely sweet as vernal air! Come to my arms; for you alone Can all my absence past atone. O come! and to my bleeding heart The sovereign balm of love impart;
Thy presence lasting joy shall bring, And give the year eternal spring.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Siller Crown

The Siller Crown.
[Miss Blamire.—Air, "The Siller Crown."—First published as a single sheet song by Napier, and afterwards inserted in the third volume of Johnson's Museum.]
And ye shall walk in silk attire, And siller ha'e to spare, Gin ye'll consent to be his bride, Nor think o' Donald mair. ​Oh, wha wad buy a silken goun, Wi' a puir broken heart? Or what's to me a siller croun, Gin frae my love I part?
The mind whase every wish is pure, Far dearer is to me; And ere I'm forced to break my faith, I'll lay me down and dee; For I ha'e pledged my virgin troth, Brave Donald's fate to share, And he has gi'en to me his heart, Wi' a' its virtues rare.
His gentle manners wan my heart, He gratefu' took the gift; Could I but think to see it back, It wad be waur than theft. For langest life can ne'er repay The love he bears to me; And ere I'm forced to break my troth, I'll lay me doun and dee.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Social Cup 2

The Social Cup.
[At page 192 will be found the original version of this popular song, by Captain Charles Gray, which was written for the first anniversary of the Anstruther Musomanik Society, in October, 1814. We here give the author's latest improved copy, as it appears in his "Lays and Lyrics." The two versions, it will be seen, differ materially from each other.— Air, "Andro and his cutty gun."]
Blythe, blythe, and merry are we, Blythe are we, ane and a'; Aften ha'e we cantie been, But sic a nicht we never saw! The gloamin saw us a' sit down, And meikle mirth has been our fa'; Then let the sang and toast gae roun' 'Till chanticleer begins to craw! Blythe, blythe, and merry are we— Pick and wale o' merry men; What care we though the cock may craw, We're masters o' the tappit-hen!
The auld kirk bell has chappit twal— Wha cares though she had chappit twa! We're licht o' heart and winna part, Though time and tide may rin awa! Blythe, blythe, and merry are we— Hearts that care can never ding; Then let time pass—we'll steal his glass, And pu' a feather frae his wing!
Now is the witchin' time of nicht, When ghaists, they say, are to be seen; And fays dance to the glow-worm's licht Wi' fairies in their gowns of green. Blythe, blythe, and merry are we— Ghaists may tak' their midnicht stroll; Witches ride on grooms astride, While we sit by the witchin' bowl!
Tut! never speir how wears the morn— The moon's still blinkin' i' the sky, And, gif like her we fill our horn, I dinna doubt we'll drink it dry! Blythe, blythe, and merry are we— Blythe out-owre the barley bree; And let me tell, the moon hersel' Aft dips her toom horn i' the sea!
Then fill us up a social cup, And never mind the dapple-dawn. Just sit awhile—the sun may smile And licht us a' across the lawn! Blythe, blythe, and merry are we;— See! the sun is keekin' ben; Gi'e time his glass—for months may pass Ere we ha'e sic a nicht again!
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Soldier's Grave

The Soldier's Grave.
[This first appeared in a small volume of poems by J. Fraser, Edinburgh, published about 1818. It was quoted in the Scotsman newspaper, and became generally popular.]
Dear land of my birth, of my friends, of my love, Shall I never again climb thy mountains: Nor wander at eve through some lone leafy grove, To list to the dash of thy fountains? Shall no hand that I love close my faint beaming eye, That darkens 'mid warfare and danger? Ah, no! for I feel that my last heaving sigh Must fleet on the gale of the stranger.
Then farewell, ye valleys, ye fresh blooming bow'rs, Of childhood the once happy dwelling; No more in your haunts shall I chase the gay hours For death at my bosom is knelling. But proudly the lotus shall bloom o'er my grave, And mark where a freeman is sleeping, And my dirge shall be heard in the Nile's dashing wave, While the Arab his night watch is keeping.
'Twas a soldier who spoke—but his voice now is gone, And lowly the hero is lying; No sound meets the ear, save the crocodile's moan, Or the breeze through the palm-tree sighing. But lone though he rests where the camel is seen, By the wilderness heavily pacing; His grave in our bosoms shall ever be green, And his monument ne'er know defacing.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Spinnin' Wheel

The Spinnin' Wheel.
[This song is by Robert Nicoll, who early distinguished himself as a poet, and early fell a sacrifice to his literary exertions. He was the son of a small farmer in Perthshire, where he was born in January, 1814. When only 21 years of age, he published a volume of poems, which were much admired. He latterly conducted "The Leeds Times." His death took place in the house of his kind friend, patron, and biographer, Mrs. Johnstone of Laverock Bank, in Dec. 1837. The present song, and others by Nicoll extracted elsewhere, we are permitted to give through the courtesy of his publisher, Mr. Tait of Edinburgh.]
I winna sing o' bluidy deeds an' waefu' war's alarms, For glancin' swords and prancin' steeds for me possess nae charms; But I will sing o' happiness, which fireside bosoms feel, While listenin' to the birrin' soun' o' Scotland's Spinnin' Wheel.
The Spinnin' Wheel! the Spinnin' Wheel! the very name is dear— It minds me o' the winter nights— the blythest o' the year— O' cozie hours in hamely ha's, while snaw is on the hill; And sonsie lasses while they ca' auld Scotland's Spinnin' Wheel.
The auld wife by the ingle sits an' draws her cannie thread— It hauds her baith in milk an' meal, an' a' thing she can need; An' gleesome scenes o' early days upon her spirits steal, Brought back to warm her wither'd heart by Scotland's Spinnin' Wheel.
O, there is gladsome happiness, while roun' the fire are set The younkers—when ahint the backs a happy pair are met, Wha wi' a silent kiss o' love their blessed paction seal— While sittin' in their truth beside auld Scotland's Spinnin' Wheel.
O! weal I lo'e the blackbird's sang in spring time o' the year— O! weal I lo'e the cushat's croon in merry May to hear; But o' the soun's o' love an' joy there's nane I lo'e sae weel— There's nane sae pleasant—as the birr o' Scotland's Spinnin' Wheel.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Shipwreck

The Shipwreck.
[William Falconer.—Air, "The Mariner's Dirge."]
Ye lost companions of distress, adieu! Your toils, and pains, and dangers are no more; The tempest now shall howl unheard by you, While ocean smites in vain the trembling shore.
On you the blast, surcharged with rain and snow, In winter's dismal nights no more shall beat; Unfelt by you the vertic sun may glow, And scorch the panting earth with baneful heat.
The thundering drum, the trumpet's swelling strain Unheard, shall form the long embattled line; Unheard, the deep foundations of the main Shall tumble, when the hostile squadrons join.
What though no funeral pomp, no borrowed tear, Your hour of death to gazing crowds shall tell, Nor weeping friends attend your sable bier, Who sadly listen to the passing bell!
What tho' no sculptur'd pile your name displays, Like those who perish in their country's cause! What though no epic muse in living lays, Records your dreadful daring with applause!
Yet shall remembrance from oblivion's veil Believe your scene, and sigh with grief sincere, And soft compassion, at your tragic tale, In silent tribute pay her kindred tear.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Soger Laddie

The Soger Laddie.
[The tune and first verse of this song are old. The rest is by Ramsay.]
My soger laddie is over the sea, And he will bring gold and money to me:
And when he comes hame, he'll make me a lady; My blessing gang wi' my soger laddie. ​My doughty laddie is handsome and brave, And can as a soger and lover behave; True to his country, to love he is steady; There's few to compare with my soger laddie.
Sh'eld him, ye angels, frae death in alarms, Return him with laurels to my langing arms; Syne frae all my care ye'll pleasantly free me, When back to my wishes my soger ye gi'e me.
O soon may his honours bloom fair on his brow, As quickly they must, if he gets his due: For in noble actions his courage is ready, Which makes me delight in my soger laddie.
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/Saviour, Again to Thy Dear Name We Raise

156—SAVIOUR, AGAIN TO THY DEAR NAME WE RAISE
Saviour, again to Thy dear name we raise, With one accord our parting hymn of praise; We stand to bless Thee ere our worship cease, Then, lowly kneeling, wait Thy word of peace.
Grant us Thy peace upon our homeward way; With Thee began, with Thee shall end the day; Guard Thou the lips from sin, the hearts from shame, That in this house have called upon Thy name.
Grant us Thy peace through this approaching night; Turn Thou for us its darkness into light; From harm and danger keep Thy children free, For dark and light are both alike to Thee.
Grant us Thy peace throughout our earthly life, Our balm in sorrow, and our stay in strife; Then, when Thy voice shall bid our conflict cease, Call us, O Lord, to Thine eternal peace.Amen.
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/Shadows

157—SHADOWS
When we cross the valley there need be no shadows, When life's day is ended and its sorrows o'er; When the summons comes to meet the blessed Saviour, When we rise to dwell with Him for evermore.
Shadows! no need of shadows! When at last we lay life's burdens down; Shadows! no need of shadows! When at last we gain the victor's crown.
When our loved ones leave us there need be no shadows If their faith is fixed in Jesus as their Lord: For they go to be with Jesus, their Redeemer, To be with the One whom they have long adored.
When he comes to meet us there need be no shadows. When He comes in all His glorious array; When the trump of God shall sound and loved ones waken When He leads us onward with triumphant sway.
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/Sing, Sing! Why Shouldn't We Sing?

70—SING, SING! WHY SHOULDN'T WE SING?
Sing, sing, why shouldn't we sing? Tho' days are dreary, let us be cheery, Sing, sing! let melody flow, For are the "Home Fires" out yet? No, No, No, Sing, sing! why shouldn't we sing? For there's one thing we never should forget; Old John Bull is still alive and kicking And we have'nt pull'd the blinds down yet:
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/Scots Wha Hae

107—SCOTS WHA HAE
Scots wha hae wi' Wallace bled, Scots wham Bruce has aften led, Welcome to your gory bed, Or to victory; Now's the day and now's the hour, See the front of battle lour, See approach proud Edward's power, Chains and slavery.
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/Soldiers of Christ Arise!

158—SOLDIERS OF CHRIST ARISE!
Soldiers of Christ! arise And put your armor on! Strong in the strength which God supplies Through His eternal Son;
Strong in the Lord of hosts, And in his mighty power: Who in the strength of Jesus trusts Is more than conqueror.
Stand, then, in His great might, With all His strength endued; And take, to arm you for the fight, The panoply of God.
To keep your armor bright Attend with constant care, Still walking in your Captain's sight, And watching unto prayer.
​From strength to strength go on; Wrestle, and fight, and pray; Tread all the powers of darkness down, And win the well-fought day;—
That, having all things done, And all your conflicts past, Ye may o'ercome through Christ alone, And stand complete at last.Amen.
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/Roamin' in the Gloamin'

101—ROAMIN' IN THE GLOAMIN'
Roamin' in the gloamin' On the bonnie banks o' Clyde, Roamin' in the gloamin' Wae my lassie by my side; When the sun has gone to rest, That's the time that we love best, O, it's lovely roamin' in the gloamin'.
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/Roaming in the Gloaming

Based on the song "Roamin' in the Gloamin'".
42—ROAMING IN THE GLOAMING
Roaming in the trenches, Ross Rifle by my side, Roaming in the trenches couldn't fire if I tried, It's worse than all the rest, the Lee Enfield I like best, I'd like to lose it roaming in the trenches.
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/Roses of Picardy

50—ROSES OF PICARDY
She is watching by the poplars, Colinette with the sea-blue eyes, She is watching and longing and waiting, Where the long white road-way lies, And a song stirs in the silence, As the wind in the boughs above, She listen and starts and trembles, 'Tis the first little song of love—
Chorus;—
Roses are shining in Picardy, In the hush of the silver dew, Roses are flow'ring in Picardy, But there's never a rose like you! And the roses will die with the summer-time And our roads may be far apart, But there's one rose that dies not in Picardy, 'Tis the rose that I keep in my heart!
And the years fly on for ever, Till the shadows veil their skies, But he loves to hold her little hands, And look in her sea-blue eyes. And she sees the road by the poplars, Where they met in the by-gone years, For the first little song of the roses, Is the last little song she hears;— Chorus—
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/Rule Britannia

2—RULE BRITANNIA
When Britain first at Heaven's command, Arose from out the azure main, Arose, arose, arose from out the azure main This was the charter, the charter of the land, And guardian angels sang this strain, Rule Britannia! Britannia rules the waves, Britons never, never, never shall be slaves.
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/Rose in the Bud

59—ROSE IN THE BUD
Rose in the bud, The June air's warm and tender, Why do you shrink, your petals to display? Are you afraid to bloom in crimson splendour Lest someone come and steal your heart away?
Rose in the bud, The evening sun is sinking, Wait not too long and trifle not with fate, Life is so short and love is all, I'm thinking, Love comes but once, and then, perhaps, too late.
# The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night/Mohammed el Amin and Jaafer Ben el Hadi

First-level story, told by Shehrzad
MOHAMMED EL AMIN AND JAAFER BEN EL HADI.
Jaafer ben Mousa el Hadi once had a slave-girl, a lute-player, called El Bedr el Kebir, than whom there was not in her time a fairer of face nor a better-shaped nor a more elegant of manners nor a more accomplished in singing and smiting the strings; she was indeed perfect in beauty and charm. Mohammed el Amin, son of Zubeideh, heard of her and was instant with Jaafer to sell her to him; but he replied, ‘Thou knowest it beseems not one of my rank to sell slave-girls nor traffic in concubines; but, were it not that she was reared in my house, I would send her to thee, as a gift, nor grudge her to thee.’
Some days after this, El Amin went to Jaafer’s house, to make merry; and the latter set before him that which it behoves to set before friends and bade El Bedr sing to him and gladden him. So she tuned the lute and sang right ravishingly, whilst El Amin fell to drinking and making merry and bade the cupbearers ply Jaafer with wine, till he became drunken, when he took the damsel and carried her to his own house, but laid not a finger on her. On the morrow, he sent to invite Jaafer; and when he came, he set wine before him and bade the girl sing to him, from behind the curtain. Jaafer knew her voice and was angered at this, but, of the nobleness of his nature and the ​greatness of his mind, he dissembled his vexation and let no change appear in his demeanour.
When the carousel was at an end, El Amin commanded one of his servants to fill the boat, in which Jaafer had come, with dirhems and dinars and all manner jewels and jacinths and rich clothes and other treasures of price. So he laid therein a thousand myriads of money and a thousand fine pearls, each worth twenty thousand dirhems; nor did he give over loading the barge with all manner of precious things, till the boatmen cried out for quarter, saying, ‘The boat cannot hold any more;’ whereupon he bade them carry all this to Jaafer’s palace. Such are the fashions of the magnanimous, may God have mercy on them!
* ↑ First cousin of Haroun er Reshid.
* ↑ Son and successor of Er Reshid.
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night/Musab Ben ez Zubeir and Aaïsheh Daughter of Telheh

First-level story, told by Shehrzad
MUSAB BEN EZ ZUBEIR AND AAÏSHEH DAUGHTER OF TELHEH.
It is told of Musab ben ez Zubeir that he met Izzeh, who was one of the shrewdest of women, in Medina and said to her, ‘I have a mind to marry Aaïsheh, daughter of Telheh, and I would have thee go to her and spy out for me how she is made.’ So she went and returning to Musab, said, ‘I have seen her, and her face is more beautiful than health; she hath large and well-opened eyes, an aquiline nose and smooth, oval cheeks and a mouth like a cleft pomegranate, a neck like an ewer of silver and a bosom with two breasts like twin pomegranates, a slim waist and a slender belly, with a navel therein as it were a casket of ivory, and backside like a hummock of sand. Moreover, she hath plump thighs and legs like columns of alabaster; but I saw her feet to be large, and thou wilt fall short with her in time of amorous dalliance.’ Night ccclxxxviUpon this report, he married her and Izzeh invited Aaïsheh and ​the women of the tribe of Kureish to her house, when Aaïsheh sang the following, with Musab standing by:
The mouths of girls, with their odoriferous, Sweet breath and their witching smiles, are sweet to buss; Yet ne’er have I tasted them, but in thought of him; And by thought, indeed, the Ruler rules over us.
The night of his going in to her, he departed not from her, till after seven courses; and on the morrow, a freed-woman of his met him and said to him, ‘May I be thy ransom! Thou art perfect, even in this.’
Quoth a certain woman, ‘I was with Aaïsheh, when her husband came in to her, and she lusted to him; so he fell upon her and she puffed and snorted and made use of all manner of rare motions and strange inventions, and I the while within hearing. So when he came out from her, I said to her, “How canst thou, with thy rank and nobility and condition, do thus, and I in thy house?” Quoth she, “A woman should bring her husband all of which she is mistress, by way of excitations and rare motions. What mislikest thou of this?” And I answered, “I would have this anights.” “Thus is it by day,” rejoined she, “and by night I do more than this; for, when he sees me, desire stirs in him and he falls on heat; so he puts out his hand to me and I obey him, and it is as thou seest.”’
* ↑ Half-brother of Abdallah ben ez Zubeir, the celebrated pretender to the Khalifate, see Vol. III. p. 194, note 3.
* ↑ Grand-daughter of the Khalif Aboubekr and the most beautiful woman of her day.
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night/Maan Ben Zaïdeh and the Three Girls

First-level story, told by Shehrzad
MAAN BEN ZAÏDEH AND THE THREE GIRLS.
It is told of Maan ben Zaïdeh that, being out one day a-hunting, he became athirst and would have drunk, but his men had no water with them. Night cclxxi.Presently, he met three damsels, bearing three skins of water; so he begged drink of them, and they gave him to drink. Then he sought of ​his men somewhat to give the damsels; but they had no money; so he gave each girl ten golden-headed arrows from his quiver. Whereupon quoth one of them to her mates, ‘Harkye! These fashions pertain to none but Maan ben Zaïdeh; so let each of us recite somewhat of verse in his praise.’ Then said the first:
He heads his shafts with gold and shooting at his foes, Dispenses thus largesse and bounties far and wide, Giving the wounded man wherewith to get him cure And grave-clothes unto him must in the tombs abide.
And the second:
A warrior, for the great excess of his magnificence, Both friends and foes enjoy the goods his liberal hands dispense. His arrowheads are forged of gold, that so his very wars May not estop his generous soul from its munificence.
And the third:
With arrows he shoots at his foes, of his generosity, Whose heads are fashioned and forged of virgin gold, in steel’s room; That those whom he wounds may spend the price of the gold for their cure And those that are slain of his shafts may buy them the wede of the tomb.
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# The Botany of the Antarctic Voyage/Plate CXV

Gentiana Magellanica Gaud.
# The Botany of the Antarctic Voyage/Plate CXVIII

Ourisia Antarctica Hook. fil.
# The Botany of the Antarctic Voyage/Plate CXX

Primula Magellanica Lehm.
# The Botany of the Antarctic Voyage/Plate CXXII

Lyallia Kerguelensis Hook. fil.
# The Botany of the Antarctic Voyage/Plate CXLVIII

Carpha schœnoides Banks & Sol.
# The Botany of the Antarctic Voyage/Plate CXVI

Gaultheria Antarctica Hook. fil.
# The Botany of the Antarctic Voyage/Plate CXXI

Plantago monanthos D'Urv.
# The Botany of the Antarctic Voyage/Plate CXXIII

Fagus Antarctica Forst.
# The Botany of the Antarctic Voyage/Plate CXXIV

Fagus betuloides Mirb.