OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Love v. Simms's

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
22 U.S. 515
Love v. Simms's
ERROR to the Circuit Court of West Tennessee. Feb. 23d.
This cause was argued by Mr. Eaton, for the plaintiff in error, and Mr. Harper, for the defendant in error. March 10th.
Mr. Justice JOHNSON delivered the opinion of the Court.

## Notes

* ↑ He cited, Cro. Eliz. 321. 1 Burr. 119.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
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# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1825/Valedictory

Literary Gazette, 22nd January, 1825, Page 59
ORIGINAL POETRY. VALEDICTORY STANZAS.
Thy voice is yet upon mine ear,
 I cannot lose the tone,
Altho' I know what vanity
 Has made my heart its own;
For well I know I cannot be
All thou hast made thyself to me.
I flung me on my couch, to sleep,
 But there no slumber came:
I caught a sound, then blush'd to think
 l nam’d aloud thy name:
How could I let one breath of air
The secret of my heart declare!
That is the only blush, whose red
 Has lit my cheek for thee;
And even that blush had not burnt,
 Had there been one to see.
Oh, never might my spirit brook
Another on its depths to look!
I hear thee nam'd by those who keep
 Thy image in their heart;
I envy them, that they may say
 How very dear thou art.
And yet, methinks, Love may not be
Kept better than in secresy.
I blush not when I hear thy name;
 I sigh not for thy sake;
And tho' my heart may break, yet still
 It shall in silence break.
I have, at least, enough of pride,
If not to heal, mу wound to hide.
'Т is strange, how in things most remote
 Love will some likeness find;
It is as an electric chain
 Were flung upon the mind—
Making each pulse in unison,
Till they but thrill and throb as one.
I fly myself, as crowds could steal
 The arrow from my heart;
But there ten thousand things recall
 Scenes in which thou hadst part.
In crowds alone it was we met:
How can they teach me to forget?
Wearied, I turn to solitude;
 But all the dreams are gone,
Which once upon mу quiet hours
 Like fairy pageants shone:
I feel too vividly, to be
Longer amused by phantasy.
I look upon the poet's page,
 My tear-fill'd eye grows dim;
I heard him once their numbers breathe,
 And now they breathe of him.
Less present to mine eye than ear,
His silver voice is all I hear.
Farewell! go join the careless world,
 As gay, as cold, as free;
A passing dream, a moment's thought,
 Is all that I would be.
I wish—but that brief glance allow'd,
We fling upon an evening cloud.
I would not be beloved by thee;
 I know too well the fate
That waits upon the heart, which must
 Its destiny create.
A spirit, passionate as mine,
Lights only to consume its shrine.
I was not born for happiness;
 From my most early hours
My hopes have been too brilliant fires,
 My joys too fragile flow’rs.
An evil star shines over me;
I would not it were felt by thee!
Farewell! Yet wherefore say farewell?
 Mine are no parting words:
I do not wish to wake one tone
 Upon thy memory's chords.
Low, still and deep as mine, can be
Content with its idolatry.L. E. L.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1825/Wreck

Literary Gazette, 10th September, 1825, Page 589
ORIGINAL POETRY. THE WRECK.
The moonlight fell on the stately ship;
 It shone over sea and sky;
And there was nothing but water and air
 To meet the gazing eye.
Bright and blue spread the heaven above,
 Bright and blue spread the sea;
The stars from their home shone down on the wave,  Till they seemed in the wave to be.
With silver foam like a cloud behind,
 That vessel cut her way;
But the shadow she cast, was the sole dark thing  That upon the waters lay.
With steps of power, and with steps of pride,
 The Lord of the vessel paced
The deck, as he thought on the waves below,
 And the glorious heaven he faced.
One moment's pause, and his spirit fell
 From its bearing high and proud—
But yet it was not a thought of fear,
 That the seaman's spirit bow'd:
For he had stood on the deck when washed
 With blood, and that blood his own;
When the dying were pillowed upon the dead,
 And yet you heard not a groan—
For the shout of battle came on the wind,
 And the cannon roar'd aloud;
And the heavy smoke hung round each ship,
 Even like its death shroud.
And he had guided the helm, when fate
 Seemed stepping every wave,
And the wind swept away the wreath of foam,
 To show a yawning grave.
But this most sweet and lighted calm,
 Its blue and midnight hour,
Wakened the hidden springs of his heart,
 With a deep and secret power.
Is there some nameless boding sent,
 Like a noiseless voice from the tomb?—
A spirit note from the other world,
 To warn of death and doom?
He thought of his home, of his own fair land,  And the warm tear rushed to his eye;
Almost with fear he looked around,
 But no cloud was on the sky.
He sought his cabin, and joined his band—
 The wine cup was passing round;
He joined in their laugh, he joined in the song,
 But no mirth was in the sound.
Peaceful they sought their quiet sleep,
 In the soft and lovely night;
But, like life, the sea was false, and hid
 The cold dark rock from sight.
At midnight there came a sudden shock,
 And the sleepers sprang from bed;
There was one fierce cry of last despair—
 The waves closed over head.
There was no dark cloud on the morning sky,
 No fierce wind on the morning air;
The sun shone over the proud ship's track,
 But no proud ship was there! Iole.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1826

This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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Landon in The Literary Gazette 1826
Poems in The London Literary Gazette during the year 1826 by Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) (and as Iole) compiled by Peter J. Bolton
Contents - The Literary Gazette, 1826
| 7th January 1826 | Iole | 1 |
| | To Ianthe | 2 |
| 14th January 1826 | Lezione per l'Amore | 3 |
| 21st January 1826 | Io Triumphe | 4 |
| | The Worshipper | 6 |
| | Song | 7 |
| | Song | 8 |
| 4th February 1826 | The Past | 9 |
| | From the French of Milleroye | 10 |
| 18th February 1826 | A Dream | 11 |
| 25th February 1826 | King Henry the Second's Death Bed | 12 |
| 11th March 1826 | Greek Song | 14 |
| 25th March 1826 | Moon | 15 |
| | Ianthe - A Portrait | 16 |
| 22nd April 1826 | The Death-Feast | 17 |
| 29th April 1826 | | 19 |
| | Song | 20 |
| 20th May 1826 | | 21 |
| | Life | 22 |
| 10th June 1826 | The Past | 23 |
| 1st July 1826 | Moralising | 24 |
| 5th August 1826 | Fragment I | 26 |
| | Fragment II | 27 |
| 19th August 1826 | The World as it is | 28 |
| | Metrical Fragments - No.1 | 29 |
| | (A Young French Renegade) | |
| 26th August 1826 | Metrical Fragments - No.2 | 31 |
| | (Tasso's last interview with Princess Leonora) | |
| 2nd September 1826 | Metrical Fragments - No.3 | 34 |
| | (Iole to his Love) | |
| 9th September 1826 | Metrical Fragments - No.4 | 35 |
| | (The Redeemed Captive) | |
| 16th September 1826 | The Shadow | 38 |
| | Metrical Fragments - No.5 | 39 |
| | (The Frozen Ship) | |
| 7th October 1826 | The Tumuli | 41 |
| 14th October 1826 | Changes | 43 |
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1825/Stanzas 1

Literary Gazette, 5th February, 1825, Page 92
ORIGINAL POETRY. STANZAS.
“And art thou gone! Ah! life was never made
For one like thee!"
I turn'd into the olive grove
Where first I said my vow of love;
The leaves were fresh, the flowers were fair,
As in our first sweet wand'ring there.
And as I look'd on the blue sky,
And saw the gem-clear stream pass by,
How did I wish that, like these, fate
Had formed the heart inanimate.
And all around was breath and bloom,
And colour'd lamps of rich perfume
Flowers mixt with the green leaves, and made
A varied light amid the shade.
It seem'd like wrong that they could be
So fair, and yet not fair for thee!
I thought upon thy tenderness,
No chance could change, no wrong make less,
When madden'd brain, and tortur'd mind,
Made even me almost unkind
To one, for whom I would have given
A death-bed certainty of Heaven!
I thought on the sweet smile, which stole
Amid the tempest of my soul,
And, like the moonlight on the tide,
Smooth'd what was rough to all beside.
And then I thought how, day by day,
I mark'd some fresh sign of decay,
Upon the cheek, upon the brow,
Which only thou wouldst not allow;
The temple, where the veins shone through,
The clearness of the eyes' deep blue,
Like stars, whose brightest rays have met,
For one last blaze before they set;
And, when I wept this worst of ill,
To find a ruin deeper still—
To leave thee, or to see thee die,
In the last wants of poverty.
We parted, dear one; thou wast left,
Of him thou hadst so lov'd bereft,
To coldness, misery, and pain,
All the worn heart endures in vain,
And yet too gentle to complain;
Left, 'mid the cold and proud—behind—
Friends even more than fate unkind ;
And then, thy solitude of death,
No lip to catch thy parting breath,
No clasp, fond as that it would press
Life to stay for love's last caress;
And then, the years of toil and care
Thy gentleness had had to bear;
All, all the faithlessness and wrong
That have pursu'd my path so long;
Desolate, as I feel alone,
How can I weep that thou art gone?
L. E. L.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1825/The Slave Ship

Literary Gazette, 20th August, 1825, Page 541
[It has been the good fortune of the Literary Gazette to introduce several young poets to the public, whose talents have speedily procured them fame of a high and permanent order. We this week (we are persuaded) begin a new career of the same kind; and in this belief beg to recommend the signature of "Iole" to the attention of our readers.— Ed. L. G.]
This unique introduction is a smokescreen to cover Letitia Landon’s writing incognito under another name. Why she chose to do so requires further research but obviously, William Jerdan, the editor was quite happy to go along with it. She continued to use the pseudonym Iole until early in 1827. Iole is a name that has already arisen in her poetry (Hercules and Iole), as is Ianthe. Also, possibly the ‘le’ in Iole is meant for Letitia Elizabeth. Whilst the style is quintessentially Landon, the ultimate proof is that two Iole poems are included in Landon’s collection, The Vow of the Peacock and Other Poems, in 1835. As in other instances, she claimed poetry that was not immediately
Literary Gazette, 20th August, 1825, Page 541
"While at the anchorage at Zanzibar," says a private letter from an officer of the Andromache, "a vessel or two arrived, with at least from 150 to 200 slaves each on board; which vessels were, in fact, (had any idea of humanity or kindness prevailed among the dealers,) incapabie of containing more than 20 or 25 persons. The wretched cargoes were literally stowed in bulk*; all sexes and ages wedged together at the bottom of the vessel, and their feet only kept from the water occasioned by the usual leakage, by a cargo of rhinoceros’ hides and horns, gums of several kinds, (particularly copal,) and elephants' teeth."
THE SLAVE SHIP.
No surge was on the sea,
No cloud was on the day,
When the ship spread her white wings,
Like a sea-bird on her way.
Ocean lay bright before,
The shore lay green behind,
And a breath of spice and balm
Came on the landward wind.
There rose a curse and wail, As that vessel left the shore;
And last looks sought their native land,
Which should dwell there no more!
Who seeing the fair ship
That swept through the bright waves, Would dream that tyrants trod her deck,
And that her freight was slaves!
By day was heard the lash,
By night the heavy groan;
For the slave's blood was on the chain
That festered to the bone!
Was one in that dark ship,
A prince in his own land;
He scorned the chain, he scorned the threat —
He scorned his fetter'd hand.
He called upon his tribe,
And said they might be free!
And his brow was cold and stern,
As he pointed to the sea.
Next night a sullen sound
Was heard amid the wave!
The tyrants sought their captives,--- They only found their grave.Iole.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1825/Vision

Literary Gazette, 24th September, 1825, Page 620
ORIGINAL POETRY. THE VISION.
I will, I must believe, that they, the dead,
The shadowy beings of a shadowy world,
Hold intercourse, a pitying intercourse, With us who pant yet with our load of clay.
There was one whom I loved in early youth,
A boyish love perhaps,— it matters not,
’Twas true, and has out-lasted many a change
In others.—and that love has made me gaze
On many lovely faces with the look
We give to lovely pictures. 'Twas a time
When war and bloodshed were abroad, and men
Thought shame to sit in quiet by the hearth
Which soon might smoke with other fires than those Round which the tale is told, the laugh is pass’d,
But for the guard and struggle of brave swords.
And firm steps falter'd, tears stood in bold eyes,
Which could have seen the musket flush, yet watched The ball upon its fiery path, and stood
With sabres sweeping like a lightning storm
Over their heads, with war-steeds rushing on
Like thunder, and not moved;—but now, last looks
Were on the land which henceforth would but be
Their own in memory and hope;—they left
Old habits, grown affections by long use,
All the kind feelings and the ties of home;
But yet they went. And soon we were in Spain.
It was an autumn midnight, and the Moon
Was solitary in the sky, as all
The stars, her fair companions, shrank abashed
Before her zenith radiance; save the blaze
Of the red watch-fires, all was silvered o'er;
The chesnut's dark and shining leaves were moved
But languidly by the departing wind;
The far hills lay in shadow; but the tents,
The fair white tents, (how little they looked War)
Were like snow; and the current of the stream
By which they stood was like the face of heaven,
A deep, clear lighted, purple element.
—The night was sultry, and I left the camp,
And leant beside the river, while my heart
Caught the sweet stillness of the hour, and dreamed
Of gentle things, of all that it had loved,
And, like the moonlight, softened what it touched, Turning the harsh and bitter into sad
But tranquil thought. My memory was with one Who loved me as a mother and a friend,
But whom I loved with wild idolatry, Fiercer from its suppression. I recalled
The burning cheek, and the pale lip she wore
When I last looked on her, and the low tone,
Almost prophetic in its touchingness,
Of her farewell, till I dared think no more.
I started from my seat, and hurriedly
Gathering green leaves from branches o'er my head, Flung them upon the waters, while I watched
How far they sailed. There came upon mine ear
A long deep sigh: I turned, and saw the face, Which was the buried treasure of my heart;
A shadow or a Spirit fronted me, Cold, pale and motionless, but still the brow
Had its own melancholy loveliness,
And the dark beauty of the eyes were bent
On me with all the pensive tenderness
They used to wear. I spoke—the shape was gone!
Weeks afterwards, I heard that she was dead,
And that my name had been upon her lips,
With kind anxiety and gentle wishes—
Even upon her death bed. - - - Iole.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1825/Song 8

Literary Gazette, 31st December, 1825, Page 843
ORIGINAL POETRY. SONG.
There's a shade upon that fountain;
 It will not linger there;
But the cloud now resting on it
 Will leave it yet more fair.
Not thus the shade may pass
 That is upon thy heart,
There is no sun in earthly skies  Can bid its gloom depart;
For falsehood's stain is on it,
 And cruelty and guile—
And these are stains that never pass,
 And shades that never smile.L. E. L.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1825/Stanzas 3

Literary Gazette, 27th August, 1825, Page 557
STANZAS.
Grace and beauty had crown'd thee,
When first thy magic bound me;
 In its zenith of power
 Was thy summer hour,
And a light like sunshine was round thee.
The world seem'd made to adore thee,
Proud hearts grew humble before thee;
 I thought of thee
 As a deity
From the blue sky shining o'er thee.
Thy youth and thy days of gladness
Were wasted by early sadness;
 Falsehood and care,
 And thoughts that wear
The brain to death or madness.
But these were days departed;
And if thou wert broken-hearted,  Thou wert too proud
 To let the crowd
Know when the rebel tear started.
But once I saw thee weeping,
Thy black hair round thee sweeping
 Like the shadow of night,
 To hide from sight
The secret grief thou wer't keeping.
Thy heart in its spring had been blighted
By the hope in which it delighted;
 Yet thou had'st pardon'd, and kept
 Thy love, and had wept
For him who had thus love requited.
I thought I would then have given,
Hopes of earth, aye, and hopes of heaven,
 For the precious tears
 Thou hadst shed thro' years,
For him thou hadst loved and forgiven.
I never breathed passion to thee,
A boy, I dared not woo thee;
 Enough that my breast
 For its secret guest,
And its treasured idol knew thee.
Once I felt the caressing
Of thy soft lips my forehead pressing;
 And a fire and pain
 Past thro' my brain,
Though 'twas but as a mother's blessing.
Long year's time has been telling,—
Now the dark grave is thy dwelling;
 And my heart is as still,
 And almost as chill
As the cold sod over thee swelling.
Iole.
# Landon in The Literary Gazette 1825/Stanzas 2

Literary Gazette, 12th March, 1825, Page 173
ORIGINAL POETRY. STANZAS.
Is this your Creed of Love? It is enough
To make one loathe the very name of love.
Love is too great a stake for this child’s play—
This trifling with your happiness. What! win,
And then not wear, the heart that you have won,
Till you have rackt each nerve, till you have wrung
The life blood forth in tears; and this forsooth,
For that its depths of passion will be food
To the most selfish of all vanity:
Oh shame;—deep shame!———
Well, indeed, may you deem,
 That Love is woe and pain,
That all its griefs are real,
 And all its joys are vain.
While your Creed of Love is like
 What you say that creed to be,
It is the heart creates
 Its own bliss and misery.
To try, but not to trust—
 To doubt, and to deride—
To trifle, and to torture;
 And can this be your pride?
To bid the cheek grow pale,
 The lip lose its gaiety, The eye forget its light,
 So it is for love of thee.
This could but teach the heart,
 Its tenderness to hide,
For, deep as is a woman's love,
 'Tis equall'd by her pride.
What must a woman feel,  Whose very soul is given
To that wild love—whose world must be
 Her all of Hell or Heaven?
Then to meet the careless smile,
 Look on the altered eye, See it on others dwell, and pass
 Herself regardless by.
And having drained the bitter dregs,
 All bitterness above,
Of slighted love—then to be told,
 'Twas but to try your love.
The heart that could bear this
 Must be of stone or steel;
The heart that broke not with such wrong,
 Was not made love to feel.
Alas! for her whose love
 Is fated thine to be;
Better the heart should break
 Than beat for one like thee.L. E. L.
# Manners and customs of ye Englyshe/Blackwall. Showynge ye Pvblick a Dinynce ox Whytebait.

Manners and Customs of ye Englyshe in 1849. No. 26
Blackwall Showynge ye Pvblick A Dinynge on Whytebait.
MR. PIPS HIS DIARY.
Blackwall. Showynge ye Pvblick a Dinynce ox Whytebait.
[Saturday, Auguſt 18, 1849.]
COMES Mr. Gollope, this being his Birth-Day, to bid me to go dine with him and a Company of ſome Half-dozen of our Acquaintance, off Whitebait at Blackwall. So we firſt to London Bridge, on Foot, walking for an Appetite, and there took Water, and down the River in a Steam-Boat, with great Pleaſure, enjoying the Breeze, and the View of the Shipping, and alſo the Proſpect of a good Dinner. Landed at the Pier, and as faſt as we could to Lovegrove's, where our Table engaged in the large Room. But good Lack! to ſee the Fulneſs of the Place, every Table almoſt crowded with eager Eaters, and Heaps of Whitebait among them, and they with open Mouths and Eyes ſhovelling Spoonful after Spoonful into their Plates and thence thruſting them five or ſix at a Time into their Chaps. Then, here and there, a fat Fellow, ſtopping, out of Breath, to put down his Knife and Fork, and gulp a Goblet of iced Punch, was mighty droll: alſo to hear others ſpeaking with their Mouths full. But Dinner coming, I cared not to look about me, there being on Table ſome dozen different Dimes of him, whereof the Sight did at firſt bewilder me, like the Donkey between the I Hayſtacks, not knowing which to chooſe; and Mr. Gobblestone do lament that at a Feaſt with Plenty of Things he never was able to eat his Fill of every one. A Diſh of Salmon with India​Pickle did pleaſe me mightily, alſo ſome Eels, ſpitchcocked, and a ſtewed Carp, and ate heartily of them with much Reliſh; but did only nibble at the Reſt by way of a Taſte, for I felt exceeding full, and methought I ſhould have no Stomach for the Whitebait. But Lack! to ſee when it came, how my Appetite returned, and I did fall to upon it, and drink iced Punch, and then at the Whitebait again. Pretty, the little Slices of brown Bread and Butter, they did bring us to eat it withal, and truly, with a Squeeze of Lemon and Cayenne Pepper, it is delicate Eating. After the Whitebait plain, Whitebait devilled made us to eat the more, and drink too, which we did in Champagne and Hock, pledging each other with great Mirth. After the Fiſh comes a Courſe of Ducks, and a Haunch of Mutton, and divers made Diſhes; and then Tarts and Cuſtards and Grouſe; and laſtly, a Deſſert, and I did partake of all, as much as I had a Mind to, and after Dinner drank Port and Claret, when much Joking and rare Stories, and very merry we were. Pretty to look out of Window as we ſat, at the Craft and the White Sails in the Sunſet on the River. Back in a Railway Carriage, ſhouting and ſinging, and in a Cab Home, where Dr. Sharpe called to ſee my Wife for her Vapours. Pretty Diſcourfe with him touching the Epidemic, he telling me that of all Things to bring it on the likelieſt was Exceſs in Food and Drink, which did trouble me, and ſo with a Draught of Soda and a Doſe of Pills to Bed.