OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Poems by Felicia Dorothea Browne/The Spartan Mother and her Son

THE SPARTAN MOTHER AND HER SON.
MOTHER.
My son, let virtue animate thy breast; Fly to the battle—spurn inglorious rest! Take up the spear and lance—with ardour go, March proudly forward to repel the foe! Let all the spirit of thy noble sire, With rising energy thy soul inspire! Thy bleeding country calls thee to the fight, And duty prompts thee to defend the right. Fly swiftly, Isadas, for glory says, "Why dost thou waste in peace thy slothful days?"
SON.
I go my mother, for the deathless crown Which fires the youthful hero to renown! And if thy soldier shall return to thee, And bring the laurel-wreath of victory,
Ah! let the tribute of thy praise impart, The dearest pleasure of my glowing heart. And should I fall—oh! be my glorious grave Crown'd with the patriot-honours of the brave. Think that I died in virtue's sacred cause; Think that I died to win her bright applause.
MOTHER.
My noble Isadas, to me what pride, Wert thou to die—as thy brave father died! Go, young enthusiast, to the battle go, Repel with native zeal the daring foe. Oh! that I were a bird, with thee I'd fly, And search the ranks among with piercing eye, For thee my son: thy actions brave I'd mark, And grave them in my breast.——But hark! oh, hark! The martial trumpet sounds to war's alarms; Farewel! my hero, haste thee from my arms.
SON.
Adieu! my mother, if with glory crown'd Home I return not, scarr'd with many a wound, I'll bravely fall in battle's rushing tide; Conquer or die—"as my brave father died!"
# Poems (Kimball)/As Thou Wilt

Part I. To my Mother, THE HOLY CATHOLIC CHURCH.
POEMS.
# Poetical Fragments from Ethel Churchill Volume III/Happiness Within

CHAPTER I.
THE SEASON.
And yet it is a wasted heart:
 It is a wasted mind
That seeks not in the inner world
 Its happiness to find;
For happiness is like the bird
 That broods above its nest,
And finds beneath its folded wings,
 Life's dearest, and its best.
A little space is all that hope
 Or love can ever take;
The wider that the circle spreads,
 The sooner it will break.
Blanchard’s title is:
HAPPINESS WITHIN
# Poetical Fragments from Ethel Churchill Volume III/Illusion

CHAPTER XV.
DIFFERENT VIEWS OF LIFE.
And thus it is with all that made life fair,
Gone with the freshness that it used to wear.
'Tis sad to mark the ravage that the heart
Makes of itself; how one by one depart
The colours that made hope. We seek, we find;
And find, too, charm has, with the change, declined.
Many things have I loved, that now to me
Are as a marvel how they loved could be;
Yet, on we go, desiring to the last
Illusions vain, as any in the past.
Blanchard’s title is:
ILLUSION
First six lines adapted from Moralising in The London Literary Gazette, 1st July 1826
From line 3, in the Bouquet (1846), under (Harebell) Campanula rotundifolia as Grief
# Poetical Fragments from Ethel Churchill Volume III/Lost Lessons

CHAPTER XIII.
A DECLARATION.
I cannot choose, but marvel at the way
In which we pass our lives from day to day;
Learning strange lessons in the human heart;
And yet, like shadows, letting them depart.
Is misery so familiar, that we bring
Ourselves to view it as "a usual thing?"
We do too little feel each other's pain;
We do too much relax the social chain
That binds us to each other; slight the care
There is for grief, in which we have no share.
Blanchard’s title is:
LOST LESSONS
From The Rose in The Golden Violet
# Poetical Fragments from Ethel Churchill Volume III/Moonlight

CHAPTER XXXI.
THE DUEL.
The moonlight falleth lovely over earth;
And strange, indeed, must be the mind of man
That can resist its beautiful reproach.
How can hate work like fever in the soul
With such entire tranquillity around?
Evil must be our nature to refuse
Such gentle intercession.
Blanchard’s title is:
MOONLIGHT
# Poetical Fragments from Ethel Churchill Volume III/Love a Mystery

CHAPTER VII.
It matters not its history—Love has wings,
Like lightning, swift and fatal; and it springs,
Like a wild flower, where it is least expected;
Existing, whether cherished or rejected.
A mystery art thou!—thou mighty one!
We speak thy name in beauty; yet we shun
To say thou art our guest; for who will own
His life thy empire, and his heart thy throne?
Blanchard’s title is:
LOVE A MYSTERY
From A Girl at her Devotions in The Troubadour
# Poetical Fragments from Ethel Churchill Volume III/Genius

CHAPTER XVII.
A SECRETARYSHIP.
Alas! and must this be the fate
That all too often will await
The gifted hand, which shall awake
The poet's lute? and, for its sake,
All but its own sweet self resign,
Thou loved lute, to be only thine!
For what is genius, but deep feeling,
Wakening to glorious revealing?
And what is feeling, but to be
Alive to every misery?
Blanchard’s title is:
GENIUS
Adapted from the opening passages to The Golden Violet
# Poetical Fragments from Ethel Churchill Volume III/Lost Love

LOST LOVE
CHAPTER IX.
A SCENE BY MOONLIGHT,
Thou canst not restore me
 The depth and the truth
Of the love that came o'er me
 In earliest youth.
Their gloss is departed,
 Their magic is flown;
And sad, and faint-hearted,
 I wander alone.
Not in Blanchard
From The Lily of the Valley in Fisher’s Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1836
Set to music by Mrs Barrett Lennard, 184?, Cramer, Addison & Beale
# Poetical Fragments from Ethel Churchill Volume III/Love’s Slaves

CHAPTER XXIX.
MIDNIGHT.
Where is the heart that has not bowed
 A slave, eternal Love, to thee?
Look on the cold, the gay, the proud,
 And is there one among them free?
And what must love be in a heart
 All passion's fiery depths concealing,
Which has in its minutest part
 More than another's whole of feeling!
Blanchard’s title is:
LOVE’S SLAVES
From The Troubadour, Canto II
# Poetical Fragments from Ethel Churchill Volume III/Love’s Unselfishness

LOVE’S UNSELFISHNESS
CHAPTER XXXIX.
PARTING.
That is love
Which chooseth from a thousand only one
To be the object of that tenderness
Natural to every heart; which can resign
Its own best happiness for one dear sake;
Can bear with absence; hath no part in hope,
For hope is somewhat selfish: love is not,
And doth prefer another to itself.
Not in Blanchard
From The History of the Lyre in The Venetian Bracelet
In the Bouquet (1846), under (Chrysanthemum-Red) Chrysanthemum Indicum as I Love
# Poetical Fragments from Ethel Churchill Volume III/Neglect

NEGLECT
CHAPTER XXV.
LORD MARCHMONT'S JEALOUSY.
You never loved me! never cared for me!
Had I been taken kindly to your heart,
This present misery were all unknown:
But I have been neglected and repelled;
My best affections chilled, or left to feed
Upon themselves. I have so needed love,
I should have loved you but from gratitude,
If you had let me.
Not in Blanchard
# Poems (Toke)/Lines (Once more, my love, once more)

Hythe, October 6, 1852.
# Poems (Toke)/Lines (See yonder Star! that brilliant orb of light)

Torquay, December 21, 1830.
# Poems (Toke)/Lines (Strange, strange! what rushing memories come)

March 3, 1839.
# Poems (Toke)/Lines (Thou moon, that now with melancholy grace)

December, 1839,
# Poems (Toke)/Lines (Once more, mine own beloved, the ray)

October 6, 1839.
# Poems (Toke)/Lines (The noon of Autumn now with chastened mirth)

October 6. 1849.
# Poems (Toke)/Lines (Oh yes! 'tis sweet indeed to gaze)

Elphin, 1830.
# Poems (Toke)/Lines (Oh, nature! beautiful to me art thou)

Milden, August 29, 1835.
# Poems (Toke)/Lines (Though many a joy with sunny glow)

June 26, 1833,
# Poems (Toke)/Lines (Oh! would that thou wert here, my love)

Tunbridge Wells, June 4, 1849.
# Popular Astronomy: A Series of Lectures Delivered at Ipswich/Preface

PREFACE TO THE FIFTH EDITION.
I am informed by the Publishers that this Ffith Edition is required to meet the demand of a somewhat wider class of students than those for whom the Lectures were originally intended.
This circumstance, as well as the advances made in Astronomical science during the period which has elapsed since the Lectures were delivered, have rendered it desirable that some very slight modifications should be made in the text, and that some additions should be made in the form of Appendix.
I am happy to state that Mr. Stirling has been at liberty to prepare the modifications and additions ​to which I allude, and to undertake the general editing of the book. And I now issue the work to the public, with the increased confidence derived from the assistance of a friend on whose ability I place complete reliance.
G. B. AIRY.
Royal Observatory,
       Greenwich, 1866, June 9th.
# Poems (Victor)/Lines to a Vase

LINES TO A VASE.
Thou art a dainty dream Of Eastern art, To make a sorrow seem Of joy a part.
Within thy graceful curves What hopes were urned!— The ashes of lost loves Once passioned-burned.
'Tis thus the Poet's heart Entombs desire, And seals from life apart Promethean fire.
Behind his well-turned phrase, His studied lines, Hidden as in a vase His soul's soul pines.
# Poems (Victor)/Oaths are but Words

OATHS ARE BUT WORDS.
"Oaths are but words," the Spaniards said, "And words but air"; and so they broke Both word and oath, as I have read.
In truth I think that words are air, And scarcely worthy to be spoke 'Twixt friend and friend whose hearts we share.
Far sweeter language speaks the eye, And truer than the pliant tongue; And by this we are friends for aye.
I see your gentle heart, and you Are sure that mine is kind and strong And each believes the other true.
What need is there for me to say, "Remember me in times to come?" You will remember, come what may.
And I—I have no pledge to give, My lips when I would speak are dumb, But you will trust, nor I deceive.
# Poems (Victor)/Parted Love

PARTED LOVE.
When we parted in our youth, Parted not to meet again, Did you doubt my love or truth, Doubt my passion or my pain?
Have you never on your breast Felt my kisses as of yore, And awaked from blissful rest To be sadder evermore?
Through the long and weary years Have you never felt my hand Brush away the bitter tears Duty, will, could not command?
Love, I doubt you not, and you Surely feel my presence near, Through the years have I been true, Through the years have you been dear.
# Poems (Victor)/On San Francisco Bay

ON SAN FRANCISCO BAY.
O perfect day, O sunlit Bay, Whene'er our souls are called to sail The sunless strait where shadows wait, May we emerge into a vale Where Angel Islands guard the gate!
San Francisco, September 1886.
# Poems (Victor)/Love

LOVE.
Love robs the "dread unknown" of any dread; "We live in deeds, not years, not years," the poet said; And loving deeds in widening cycles move Until they climb to God, the fount of love.
# Poems (Victor)/Music

MUSIC.
Music's first anthem was the song the stars Chanted together when God said "Amen" To the earth s morning loveliness. It jars All sentience to its depths now, even as then.
# Poems (Victor)/Palma

PALMA.
What tellest thou to heaven, Thou royal tropic tree? At morn or noon or even, Proud dweller by the sea, What is thy song to heaven?
The homesick heart that fainted In torrid sun and air, With peace becomes acquainted Beholding thee so fair— With joy becomes acquainted:
And charms itself with fancies About thy kingly race, With gay and wild romances That mimic thee in grace Of supple, glorious fancies.
I feel thou art not tender, Scion of sun and sea— The wild-bird does not render To thee its minstrelsy— Fearing thou art not tender:
But calm, serene and saintly, As highborn things should be, ​Who, if they love us faintly, Make us love reverently, Because they are so saintly.
To be loved without loving, O proud and princely palm, Is to fancy our ship moving With the ocean at dead calm— The joy of love is loving.
Because the sun did sire thee, The ocean nurse thy youth, Because the stars desire thee, The warm winds whisper truth, Shall nothing ever fire thee?
What is thy tale to heaven In the sultry tropic noon? What whisperest thou at even To the dusky Indian moon— Has she sins to be forgiven?
Keep all her secrets, loyal As only great souls are— As only souls most royal, To the flower or to the star Alike are purely loyal.
​O Palma, if thou hearest, Thou proud and princely tree, Thou knowest that my Dearest Is emblemed forth in thee— My kingly Palm, my Dearest.
I am his Moon admiring, His wooing Wind, his Star; And I glory in desiring My Palm-tree from afar— Glad as happier lovers are, Am happy in desiring.
Acapulco, Mexico, 1863.
# Poems (Victor)/Palo Santo

PALO SANTO.
In the deep woods of Mexico, Where screams the painted paroquet, And mocking-birds flit to and fro With borrowed notes they half forget; Where brilliant flowers and noxinoes vines Are mingled in a firm embrace, And the same gaudy plant entwines Some reptile of a poisonous race; Where spreads the itos' icy shade, Benumbing, even in summer's heat, The thoughtless traveler who hath laid Himself to noonday slumbers sweet;
Where skulks unseen the beast of prey, The native robber glares and hides, And treacherous death keeps watch alway On him who flies, or he who bides: In these deep tropic woods there grows A tree, whose tall and silvery bole Above the dusky forest shows, As shining as a saintly soul Among the souls of sinful men, Lifting its milk-white flowers to heaven, And breathing incense out, as when The passing saints of earth are shriven.
​The skulking robber drops his eyes, And signs himself with holy cross, If, far between him and the skies, He sees its pearly blossoms toss. The wanderer halts to gaze upon The lovely vision, far or near, And smiles and sighs to think of one He wishes for the moment here. The Mexic native fears not fang Of poisonous serpent, vine, or bee, If he may soothe the baleful pang With juices of this "holy tree."
How do we all, in life's wild ways, Which oft we traverse lost and lone, Need that which heavenward draws the gaze, Some Palo Santo of our own!
# Poems (Victor)/Nevada

NEVADA.
Sphinx, down whose rugged face The sliding centuries their furrows cleave By sun, and frost, and cloudburst, scarce to leave Perceptible a trace Of age or sorrow; Faint hints of yesterdays with no tomorrow;— My mind regards thee with a questioning eye, To know thy secret, high.
If Theban mystery, With head of woman, soaring, birdlike wings And serpent's tail on lion's trunk, were things Puzzling in history; And men invented For it an origin which represented Chimera and a monster double-headed, By myths Phenician wedded—
Their issue being this— This most chimerical and wondrous thing, From whose dumb mouth not even the gods could wring Truth, nor anthithesis: Then what I think is, This creature—being chief among men's sphinxes— Is eloquent, and overflows with story, Beside thy silence hoary!
​Nevada, desert, waste, Mighty, and inhospitable, and stern; Hiding a meaning over which we yearn In eager, panting haste, Grasping and losing, Still being deluded ever by our choosing, Answer us Sphinx: What is thy meaning double But endless toil and trouble?
Inscrutable, men strive To rend thy secret from thy rocky breast; Breaking their hearts, and periling heaven's rest For hopes that cannot thrive; Whilst unrelenting, From thy unlovely throne, and unrepenting, Thou sittest, basking in a fervid sun, Seeing or hearing none.
I sit beneath thy stars, The shallop moon beached on a bank of clouds, And see thy mountains wrapped in shadowy shrouds, Glad that the darkness bars The day's suggestion— The endless repetition of one question; Glad that thy stony face I cannot see, Nevada—Mystery!
Shermantown, Nev., 1869.
# Poems of Mr. John Milton, Both English and Latin, Compos'd at several times/Sonnets

* "O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy Spray"
* "Donna leggiadra il cui bel nome honora"
* Canzone
* "Diodati, e te’l dirò con maraviglia"
* "Per certo i bei vostr’occhi Donna mia"
* "Giovane piano, e semplicetto amante"
* "How soon hath Time the suttle theef of youth"
* "Captain or Colonel, or Knight in Arms"
* "Lady that in the prime of earliest youth"
* "Daughter of that good Earl, once President"
# Poems of Mr. John Milton, Both English and Latin, Compos'd at several times/Psalm 136

Psalm 136
LEt us with a gladsom mind, Praise the Lord, for he is kind, For his mercies ay endure, Ever faithfull, ever sure.
Let us blaze his Name abroad, For of gods he is the God; For, &c.
O let us his praises tell, That doth the wrathfull tyrants quell. For, &c.
That with his miracles doth make Amazed Heav'n and Earth to shake. For, &c.
That by his wisdom did create The painted Heav'ns so full of state. For, &c.
That did the solid Earth ordain To rise above the watry plain. For his, &c.
That by his all-commanding might, Did fill the new-made world with light. For his, &c.
And caus'd the Golden-tressed Sun, All the day long his cours to run. For his, &c.
The horned Moon to shine by night, Amongst her spangled sisters bright. For his, &c.
He with his thunder-clasping hand, mote the first-born of Egypt Land. For his, &c.
And in despight of Pharao fell, He brought from thence his Israel. For, &c.
The ruddy waves he cleft in twain, Of the Erythræan main. For, &c.
The floods stood still like Walls of Glass, While the Hebrew Bands did pass. For, &c.
But full soon they did devour The Tawny King with all his power. For, &c.
His chosen people he did bless In the wastfull Wildernes. For,&c.
In bloody battail he brought down Kings of prowess and renown. For, &c.
He foild bold Seon and his host, That rul'd the Amorrean coast. For, &c.
And large-lim'd Og he did subdue, With all his over hardy crew. For, &c.
And to his Servant Israel, He gave their Land therin to dwell. For, &c.
He hath with a piteous eye Beheld us in our misery. For, &c.
And freed us from the slavery Of the invading enimy. For, &c.
All living creatures he doth feed, And with full hand supplies their need. For, &c.
Let us therfore warble forth His mighty Majesty and worth. For, &c.
That his mansion hath on high Above the reach of mortall ey. For his mercies ay endure, Ever faithfull, ever sure.
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
# Poems of Mr. John Milton, Both English and Latin, Compos'd at several times/Sonnets/Sonnet 7

VII.
Stoln on his wing my three and twentith year!
My hafting dayes flie on with full career,
But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'd;
Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth,
That I to manhood am arriv'd so near,
And inward ripenes doth much less appear,
That som more timely-happy spirits indu'th.
Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,
It shall be still in strictest measure eev'n,
To that same lot, however mean, or high.
Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heav'n;
All is, if I have grace to use it so,
As ever in my great task Masters eye.
# Poems of Mr. John Milton, Both English and Latin, Compos'd at several times/Sonnets/Sonnet 9

IX.
Wisely hast shun'd the broad way and the green, And with those few art eminently seen, That labour up the Hill of heav'nly Truth, The better part with Mary, and the Ruth, Chosen thou hast, and they that overween, And at thy growing vertues fret their spleen, No anger find in thee, but pity and ruth. Thy care is fixt, and zealously attends To fill thy odorous Lamp with deeds of light, And Hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be sure Thou, when the Bridegroom with his feastfull friends Passes to bliss at the mid hour of night, Hast gain'd thy entrance, Virgin wife and pure.
# Poems of Mr. John Milton, Both English and Latin, Compos'd at several times/Sonnets/Sonnet 1

SONNETS.
I.
O Nightingale, that on yon bloomy Spray Warbl'st at eeve, when all the Woods are still, Thou with fresh hope the Lovers heart dost fill, While the jolly hours lead on propitious May, Thy liquid notes that close the eye of Day, First heard before the shallow Cuccoo's bill Portend success in love; O if Jove's will Have linkt that amorous power to thy soft lay, Now timely sing, ere the rude Bird of Hate Foretell my hopeles doom in som Grove ny: As thou from yeer to yeer hast sung too late
For my relief, yet hadst no reason why, Whether the Muse, or Love call thee his mate, Both them I serve, and of their train am I.
# Poems of Mr. John Milton, Both English and Latin, Compos'd at several times/Sonnets/Sonnet 8

VIII.
Whose chance on these defenceless dores may sease.
If ever deed of honour did thee please,
Guard them, and him within protect from harms,
He can requite thee, for he knows the charms
That call Fame on such gentle acts as these,
And he can spred thy Name o're Lands and Seas,
What ever clime the Suns bright circle warms.
Lift not thy spear against the Muses Bowre, The great Emathian Conqueror bid spare The house of Pindarus, when Temple and Towre Went to the ground: And the repeated air Of sad Electra's Poet had the power To save th' Athenian Walls from ruine bare.
# Poems of Mr. John Milton, Both English and Latin, Compos'd at several times/The Stationer to the Reader

THE
STATIONER
TO THE
READER.
T is not any private respect of gain, Gentle Reader, for the slightest Pamphlet is now adayes more vendible then the Works of learnedest men; but it is the love I have to our own Language that hath made me diligent to collect, and set forth ​such Peeces both in Prose and Vers, as may renew the wonted honour and esteem of our English tongue: and it's the worth of these both English and Latin Poems, not the flourish of any prefixed encomions that can invite thee to buy them, though these are not without the highest Commendations and Applause of the learnedst Academicks, both domestick and forrein: And amongst those of our Countrey, the unparallel'd attestation of that renowned Provost of Eaton, Sir Henry Wootton: I know not thy palat how it relishes such dainties, nor how harmonious thy ​soul is; perhaps more trivial Airs may please thee better. But howsoever thy opinion is spent upon these, that incouragement I have already received from the most ingenious men in their clear and courteous entertainment of Mr. Wallers late choice Peeces, hath once more made me adventure into the World, presenting it with these ever-green, and not to be blasted Laurels. The Authors more peculiar excellency in these studies, was too well known to conceal his Papers, or to keep me from attempting to sollicit them from him. Let the event guide it self which way it will, I shall ​deserve of the age, by bringing into the Light as true a Birth, as the Muses have brought forth since our famous Spencer wrote; whose Poems in these English ones are as rarely imitated, as sweetly excell'd. Reader if thou art Eagle-eied to censure their worth, I am not fearful to expose them to thy exactest perusal.
Thine to command
Humph. Moseley.
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
# Poems of Mr. John Milton, Both English and Latin, Compos'd at several times/Upon the Circumcision

Upon the Circumcision.
YE flaming Powers, and winged Warriours bright, That erst with Musick, and triumphant song
First heard by happy watchful Shepherds ear, So sweetly sung your Joy the Clouds along Through the soft silence of the list'ning night; Now mourn, and if sad share with us to bear Your fiery essence can distill no tear, Burn in your sighs, and borrow Seas wept from our deep sorrow, He who with all Heav'ns heraldry whileare Enter'd the world, now bleeds to give us ease; Alas, how soon our sin Sore doth begin His Infancy to sease! O more exceeding love or law more just? Just law indeed, but more exceeding love! For we by rightfull doom remediles Were lost in death, till he that dwelt above High thron'd in secret bliss, for us frail dust Emptied his glory, ev'n to nakednes; And that great Cov'nant which we still transgress Intirely satisfi'd, And the full wrath beside Of vengeful Justice bore for our excess, And seals obedience first with wounding smart This day, but O ere long
Huge pangs and strong Will pierce more neer his heart.