OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Spirit of the Nation/Western War Song

WESTERN WAR-SONG.
A.D. 1642.
I.
Lo! Freedom again hath appear'd on our hills, Already the isle her divinity fills; The harp wakes—the sword rattles—and kindles the brand— While the breeze of her wings passes over the land.
II.
From the rock guarded mountains—her cradle and throne— She moves in her splendour—she moves not alone; For myriads unsheathing the chain-breaking sword, Now hail the bright vision long vainly ador'd.
III.
The war's nightly blaze from the mountain shall rise, And thine Oriflamme, Ruin! stream red to the skies, Till, numberless, thronging, with torches and swords, We chase back to ocean these foreigner hordes.
IV.
When the foul fetter clanks on the son of the hills, His frame with the rage of a chaf'd tiger thrills— With clenched hand, iron sinews, and fiercely knit brow— Could a harness of adamant baffle him now?
V.
No! thirsting to madness, red vengeance will pass, Like the cloud's subtle fire, thro' a fortress of brass, Let cannon blaze round him, or white billows flow, He will reach, thro' them all, the heart's blood of his foe.
VI.
Do'st thou think Connemara's dark fishers can fear The battle, who nightly thro' hurricane steer— Who unmoor the frail skiff, from the Pin's barren sod, To struggle with ocean, the war-horse of God?
VII.
From the Giant spar caves; from the stormy Kilkee; From where Moher frowns over the fathomless sea, Where the cliffs of Baltard mock the strength of the waves, And the tempest round Arran indignantly raves;
VIII.
Shall come forth to combat a fetterless race, Whom the rocks of the West bear to ocean's embrace— Whose spirits like tempest, resistless and free, Proclaim them the terrible sons of the sea.
IX.
Not the phalanx of Sparta, for threshold and shrine, More nobly has battled, my country, than thine; Our cause is as holy—our bosoms as true— And Erin may have her Thermopylæ too.
# The Spirit of the Nation/The West's Asleep

THE WEST'S ASLEEP.
Air—"The brink of the White Rocks."
I.
When all beside a vigil keep, The West's asleep, the West's asleep— Sing oh! and well may Erin weep, When Conuaught lies in slumber deep.
II.
There lake and plain smile fair and free, 'Mid rocks—their guardian chivalry— Sing oh! let man learn liberty From crashing wind and lashing sea.
III.
That chainless wave and lovely land Freedom and Nationhood demand, Sing on! the great God never plann'd, For slumbering slaves, a home so grand.
IV.
And, long, a brave and haughty race Honored and sentinell'd the place— Sing oh! not even their sons' disgrace Can quite destroy their glory's trace.
V.
For often, in O'Connor's van, To triumph dash'd each Connaught clan— Sing oh! how fleet the Normans ran Through Corlieu's Pass, and Ardrahan!
VI.
And later times saw deeds as brave; And glory guards Clanricarde's grave— Sing oh! they died their land to save, At Aughrim's slopes and Shannon's wave.
VII.
And if, when all a vigil keep, The West's asleep, the West's asleep— Sing oh! poor Erin well may weep, That men so sprung are still asleep.
VIII.
But—hark!—some voice like thunder spake: "The West's awake, the West's awake"— Sing oh! hurra! let England quake, "We'll watch till death for Erin's sake."
# The Spirit of the Nation/The Wexford Massacre, 1649

THE WEXFORD MASSACRE.
1649.
I.
They knelt around the Cross divine, The matron and the maid— They bow'd before redemption's sign, And fervently they prayed— Three hundred fair and helpless ones, Whose crime was this alone— Their valiant husband, sires, and sons, Had battled for their own.
II.
Had battled bravely, but in vain— The Saxon won the fight, And Irish corses strewed the plain Where Valour slept with Right. ​And now, that Man of demon guilt, To fated Wexford flew— The red blood reeking on his hilt, Of hearts to Erin true!
III.
He found them there—the young, the old— The maiden and the wife; Their guardian Brave in death were cold, Who dared for them the strife. They prayed for mercy—God on high! Before they cross they prayed, And ruthless Cromwell bade them die To glut the Saxon blade!
IV.
Three hundred fell—the stifled prayer Was quenched in woman's blood; Nor youth nor age could move to spare From slaughter's crimson flood. But nations keep a stern account Of deeds that tyrants do; And guiltless blood to Heaven will mount, And Heaven avenge it, too!
# The Spirit of the Nation/What's my Thought like?

WHAT'S MY THOUGHT LIKE?
"What's my thought like? "How is it like? &c. "What would you do with it?"
Nursery-Game.
I.
What's my thought like?—What's my thought like? —Like a column tumbled down— Its noble shaft and capital with moss and weeds o'ergrown! How is my thought so like unto a column thus laid low; Because your thought is Ireland now—laid prostrate, even so! What with it would you do?—oh, say—what with it would you do? Upraise it from the earth again, aloft to mankind's view. A sign unto all those that mourn, throughout earth's vast domain, That Heaven rewards the patient, and will make them joy again.
II.
What's my thought like?—What's my thought like? —Like a gallant ship on shore! Dismasted all and helpless now, amid the breakers' roar! Her crew, so faithful once to her, each seeking plank and spar, To 'scape from her and safety seek, upon the land afar. How is my thought like such poor ship in peril and distress? Because your thought is Ireland now, whose peril is no less! What with it would you do?—oh, say—what with it would you do? Like to some few but faithful hearts among such vessel's crew— Stand by her to the last I would! and die, if so decreed, Ere man should dare to say to me, You failed her at her need!
III.
What's my thought like?—What's my thought like? —Like a land by Nature bless'd Beyond most other lands on earth—and yet the most distressed ​A teeming soil—abounding streams—wide havens—genial air— And yet a People ever plunged in suffering and care! Eight millions of a noble race—high-minded, pure, and good— Kept subject to a petty gang—a miserable brood! Strong but in England's constant hate, and help to keep us down, And blast the smiles of Nature fair, with man's unholy frown. How is it like my thought, again?—How is it like my thought? Because your thought is Ireland's self—and even thus her lot! What with it would you do, again—What with it would you do? Work even to the death I would, to rive her chain in two! To help her 'gainst unnatural sons, and foreign foemen's rage, And all her hapless People's woes and bitter griefs assuage; Bid them be happy now, at length, in this their rescued land— That land no longer marked and cursed with slav'ry's withering brand! No longer Slave to England!—but her Sister, if she will— Prompt to give friendly aid at need, and to forget all ill! But holding high her head, and with serenest brow Claiming, amid Earth's nations all, her fitting station now! This is my thought—it is your thought. —If thus each Irish heart Will only think and purpose thus, henceforth, to act its part, Full soon their honest boast shall be—that she was made by them Great, Glorious, Free!—the Earth's first Flower! The Ocean's brightest Gem!
# The Spirit of the Nation/Winter

WINTER—AN ELEGY.
"Most musical, most melancholy."
The lovely rose, the garden's graceful queen; The shining berries of the mountain ash, And all the glories of the sylvan scene, Have gone, I guess, teetotally to smash!
The shuddering hills, enwrapt in lurid fire, With flaming tongues the lambent lightning licks; Whilst all the songsters of the rural choir To New South Wales have cut their precious sticks.
​From sable clouds that veil the dreary skies, The rushing demons of the tempest shout; And Ruin grim to reeking Havoc cries— "Does your mamma, my tulip, know you're out?"
From pole to pole the rumbling thunder runs, Tearing, with horrid voice, the tortur'd sky; And, hark! red Havoc's awful answer comes, Rending the rock, "Old spitfire, axe my eye."
Aloft, among the rent and flutt'ring shrouds, While his barque battles with strong ocean's might, The sailor, gazing on the sable clouds, Prays to the raging Bereas—"Blow me tight!"
Now the ship, madden'd with th' unequal strife, Stagg'ringly, plunges heavily about; The crew, resigning ev'ry hope of life, Cry, "One wave more, and we'll be up the spout!"
Alas! behold the angry winter blast Strikes the tall monarch of the forest fiat; Thus youth's aspiring hopes to earth are cast, And poets' dreams are—all around my hat!
# The Spirit of the Nation/The Vow of Tipperary

THE VOW OF TIPPERARY.
From Carrick streets to Shannon shore— From Slievenamon to Ballindeary— From Longford-pass to Galtymore— Come, hear The Vow of Tipperary.
​"Too long we fought for Britain's cause, And of our blood were never chary; She paid us back with tyrant laws, And thinned The Homes of Tipperary.
"But never more we'll win such thanks; We swear by God, and Virgin Mary, Never to list in British ranks;" And that's The Vow of Tipperary.
# The Spirit of the Nation/When Britain first

IRISH ARE NO LONGER SLAVES.
Air—"Rule Britannia."
I.
When Britain first, at hell's command, Prepar'd to cross the Irish main, Thus spoke a prophet in our land, 'Mid traitors' scoff, and fools' disdain, "If Britannia, Britannia cross the waves, Irish ever shall be slaves.
II.
And suff'ring still with slav'ry found, Shall bruise your heart, and sere your brain— Lost Isle! with matchless beauty crown'd But wanting strength to break your chain; If Britannia, Britannia cross the waves, Irish ever shall be slaves."
III.
In vain the warning patriot spoke, In treach'rous guise Britannia came, Divided, bent us to her yoke, Till Ireland rose, in Freedom's name, And Britannia, Britannia boldly braves, Irish are no longer slaves!
# The Strand Magazine/Volume 2/Issue 12/The Winding Walk

Illustrations by Allan Barraud.
Layout 4
Words and Music by Frank L. Moir.
# The Reminiscences of Carl Schurz (book)

The Index also includes entries for A Sketch of Carl Schurz's Political Career 1869-1906. A version of these volumes with more illustrations and fuller captions, but without the scans and the index, is available at The Reminiscences of Carl Schurz (without scans).
Volume One 1829-1852 Volume Two 1852-1863 Volume Three 1863-1869
# The Reminiscences of Carl Schurz/Volume Two/List of Illustrations

In addition to illustrations from Volume Two, illustrations have been taken from the serialization in McClure's Magazine. These illustrations are listed in a separate section below.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
| | FACING PAGE |
| Carl Schurz in 1861 Frontispiece |
| New York City in 1854 | 6 |
| The City of Washington in 1852 | 20 |
| Jefferson Davis, 1853 | 22 |
| Carl Schurz Shortly After His Arrival in America | 30 |
| Louis Kossuth and Giuseppe Mazzini | 50 |
| Jenny Lind | 58 |
| Abraham Lincoln | 84 |
| Chief Justice Taney and Major-General Benjamin F. Butler | 108 |
| Oliver Wendell Holmes in 1859 and Henry Wadsworth Longfellow in 1860 | 126 |
| Judge Aaron Goodrich and John Greenleaf Whittier in 1859 | 130 |
| Francis P. Blair and Galusha Grow | 148 |
| John F. Potter, Roger A. Pryor, Caleb Cushing, and Edward Everett | 162 |
| Senator Salmon P. Chase | 170 |
| George William Curtis, William Henry Seward, Joshua R. Giddings, and Thurlow Weed | 176 |
| President Buchanan | 210 |
| Abraham Lincoln | 220 |
| Lieutenant-General Winfield Scott | 230 |
| Isabella of Spain and the Prince Consort | 252 |
| Henry Seward and his Daughter Fanny | 280 |
| Charles Sumner | 310 |
| George B. McClellan | 334 |
| Franz Sigel and Carl Schurz | 348 |
| General J. E. B. Stuart | 356 |
| President Lincoln and General McClellan in McClellan's Headquarters After Antietam | 390 |
| Ambrose E. Burnside and General Joseph Hooker | 404 |
| ONLY IN MCCLURE'S MAGAZINE |
| James and Lucretia Mott |
| William H. Seward |
| Friedrich Hecker |
| Chicago in 1858 |
| Milwaukee in 1858 |
| Stephen A. Douglas in 1858 |
| Scene of the Lincoln-Douglas Debate at Quincy, Illinois |
| The Wigwam |
| Charles Francis Adams |
| Facsimile of a Cartoon and Note by Thackeray |
| General John C. Frémont |
| Lieutenant-General “Stonewall” Jackson |
| Major-General Carl Schurz |
| Major-General H. W. Slocum |
| The Battlefield of Chancellorsville |
* ↑ In this copy, the photos for Galusha Grow and Francis P. Blair were found opposite p. 347.
* ↑ In this copy, the photos for John F. Potter, Roger A. Pryor, Caleb Cushing and Edward Everett were found opposite p. 136.
# The Reminiscences of Carl Schurz/Volume Two/Note

NOTE
In giving this second volume of our father's Reminiscences to the press, we have left it as it came from his pen. He would undoubtedly have wished to revise it, perhaps even to change the character of certain passages, for he wrote down at random the recollections as they came to his mind. But we, upon whom the task he left unfinished has now devolved, believe it best to leave what he wrote as it stood.
We cannot, however, allow these pages to go from us without acknowledging gratefully the devoted assistance of Miss Ruth Putnam, without whose aid we should not have been able so soon to prepare the work for publication.
| | Agathe Schurz Marianne Schurz Carl Lincoln Schurz |
| New York, October, 1907. |
# The Secret Glory

New York: Alfred A. Knopf, pages iii–vii
The Secret Glory
By Arthur Machen
New York
Alfred · A · Knopf
Mcmxxii
TO VINCENT STARRETT
Note
One of the schoolmasters in "The Secret Glory" has views on the subject of football similar to those entertained by a well-known schoolmaster whose Biography appeared many years ago. That is the only link between the villain of invention and the good man of real life.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1947, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 76 years or less. 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
# The Seven Seas/The Shut-Eye Sentry

THE SHUT-EYE SENTRY
Sez the Junior Orderly Sergeant To the Senior Orderly Man: 'Our Orderly Orf'cer's hokee-mut. You 'elp 'im all you can. For the wine was old and the night is cold, An' the best we may go wrong, So, 'fore 'e gits to the sentry-box, You pass the word along.'
So it was 'Rounds! What rounds?' at two of a frosty night, 'E's 'oldin on by the sergeant's sash, but, sentry, shut your eye. An' it was 'Pass! All's well!' Oh, ain't 'e drippin' tight! 'E'll need an affidavit pretty badly by-an'-by.
The moon was white on the barricks. The road was white an' wide, An' the Orderly Orf'cer took it all, An' the ten-foot ditch beside. An' the corporal pulled an' the sergeant pushed, An' the three they danced along, But I'd shut my eyes in the sentry-box, So I didn't see nothin' wrong.
Though it was 'Rounds! What Rounds?' O corporal, 'old 'im up! 'E's usin' 'is cap as it shouldn't be used, but, sentry, shut your eye. An' it was 'Pass! All's well!' Ho, shun the foamin' cup! 'E'll need, etc.
'Twas after four in the mornin'; We 'ad to stop the fun, An' we sent 'im 'ome on a bullock-cart, With 'is belt an' stock undone; ​But we sluiced 'im down an' we washed 'im out, An' a first-class job we made, When we saved 'im, smart as a bombardier, For six o'clock parade.
It 'ad been 'Rounds! What Rounds?' Oh, shove 'im straight again! 'E's usin' 'is sword for a bicycle, but, sentry, shut your eye. An' it was 'Pass! All's well!' 'E's called me 'Darlin' Jane'! 'E'll need, etc.
The drill was long an' 'eavy, The sky was 'ot an' blue, An' 'is eye was wild an' 'is 'air was wet, But 'is sergeant pulled 'im through. Our men was good old trusties— They'd done it on their 'ead; But you oaght to 'ave 'eard 'em markin' time To 'ide the things 'e said!
For it was 'Right flank—wheel!' for ''Alt, an' stand at ease!' An' 'Left extend!' for 'Centre close!' O marker, shut your eye! An' it was, ''Ere, sir, 'ere! before the Colonel sees!' So he needed affidavits pretty badly by-an'-by.
There was two-an'-thirty sergeants, There was corp'rals forty-one, There was just nine 'undred rank an' file To swear to a touch o' sun. There was me 'e 'd kissed in the sentry-box, As I 'ave not told in my song, But I took my oath, which were Bible truth, I 'adn't seen nothin' wrong.
There's them that's 'ot an' 'aughty, There's them that's cold an' 'ard, But there comes a night when the best gets tight, And then turns out the Guard. ​I've seen them 'ide their liquor In every kind o' way, But most depends on makin' friends With Privit Thomas A.!
When it is 'Rounds! What rounds?' 'E's breathin through 'is nose. 'E's reelin', rollin', roarin' tight, but, sentry, shut your eye. An' it is 'Pass! All's well!' An that's the way it goes: We'll 'elp 'im for 'is mother, an' 'e'll 'elp us by-an'-by!
# The Seven Sleepers of Ephesus

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "The Seven Sleepers of Ephesus."
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
This is a disambiguation page. It lists works that share the same title. If an article link referred you here, please consider editing it to point directly to the intended page.
* Translation:Seven Sleepers
* Baring-Gould, Sabine (1866), "The Seven Sleepers of Ephesus" in Curious Myths of the Middle Ages
* "Seven Sleepers of Ephesus, The," in Encyclopædia Britannica (11th ed., 1911)
* "The Seven Sleepers of Ephesus," by Adrian Fortescue in Catholic Encyclopedia, (ed.) by Charles G. Herbermann and others, New York: The Encyclopaedia Press (1913)
* "Seven Sleepers," in The New Student's Reference Work, Chicago: F.E. Compton and Co. (1914)
# The Seven Studious Sisters

1904
* "The Seven Studious Sisters", Scribner's Magazine, Vol. 35, No. 5, illustrated by J. J. Gould, Nov. 1904
* "The Seven Studious Sisters" , in a collection of works, illustrated by J. J. Gould, 1907
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1955, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 68 years or less. 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
# The Seventeen Thieves of El-Kalil

[Book 3 in the Jimgrim/Ramsden/Ommony series.] Extracted from the Adventure magazine, February 20 1922, pp. 3-56; first published in book form in 1935. Some background material on the story is in the Discussion page.
by TALBOT MUNDY
Author of "Guns of the Gods," "Under the Dome of the Rock," etc.
* Chapter I
* “Get the vote an’ everything.”
* Chapter II
* “These are two good boys.”
* Chapter III
* “But we be honest men!”
* Chapter IV
* “I feel like Pontius Pilate!”
* Chapter V
* “The mummery they call the fire-gift.”
* Chapter VI
* “Fortune favors the man who favors fortune.”
* Chapter VII
* “Your friends, Jimgrim, don’t forget it!”
* Chapter VIII
* “Carry on, boys!”
* Chapter IX
* “I am Rabbi, not governor!”
* Chapter X
* “We must score the last trick with the deuce of spades!”
* Chapter XI
* “Allahu akbar! La illahah il-allah!”
* Chapter XII
* “Let’s have supper now and drink to them seventeen thieves!”
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1940, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 83 years or less. 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
# The Seven Seas/To the True Romance

TO THE TRUE ROMANCE
(From 'Many Inventions.')
Thy face is far from this our war, Our call and counter-cry, I shall not find Thee quick and kind, Nor know Thee till I die. Enough for me in dreams to see And touch Thy garments' hem: Thy feet have trod so near to God I may not follow them.
Through wantonness if men profess They weary of Thy parts, E'en let them die at blasphemy And perish with their arts; ​But we that love, but we that prove Thine excellence august, While we adore discover more Thee perfect, wise, and just.
Since spoken word Man's Spirit stirred Beyond his belly-need, What is is Thine of fair design In thought and craft and deed; Each stroke aright of toil and fight, That was and that shall be, And hope too high, wherefore we die, Has birth and worth in Thee.
Who holds by Thee hath Heaven in fee To gild his dross thereby, And knowledge sure that he endure A child until he die— For to make plain that man's disdain Is but new Beauty's birth— For to possess in loneliness The joy of all the earth.
​As Thou didst teach all lovers speech And Life all mystery, So shalt Thou rule by every school Till love and longing die, Who wast or yet the Lights were set, A whisper in the Void, Who shalt be sung through planets young When this is clean destroyed.
Beyond the bounds our staring rounds, Across the pressing dark, The children wise of outer skies Look hitherward and mark A light that shifts, a glare that drifts, Rekindling thus and thus, Not all forlorn, for Thou hast borne Strange tales to them of us.
Time hath no tide but must abide The servant of Thy will; Tide hath no time, for to Thy rhyme The ranging stars stand still— ​Regent of spheres that lock our fears Our hopes invisible, Oh 'twas certes at Thy decrees We fashioned Heaven and Hell!
Pure Wisdom hath no certain path That lacks thy morning-eyne, And captains bold by Thee controlled Most like to Gods design; Thou art the Voice to kingly boys To lift them through the fight, And Comfortress of Unsuccess, To give the dead good-night—
A veil to draw 'twixt God His Law And Man's infirmity, A shadow kind to dumb and blind The shambles where we die; A rule to trick th' arithmetic Too base of leaguing odds— The spur of trust, the curb of lust, Thou handmaid of the Gods!
​O Charity, all patiently Abiding wrack and scaith! O Faith, that meets ten thousand cheats Yet drops no jot of faith! Devil and brute Thou dost transmute To higher, lordlier show, Who art in sooth that lovely Truth The careless angels know!
Thy face is far from this our war, Our call and counter-cry, I may not find Thee quick and kind, Nor know Thee till I die.
Yet may I look with heart unshook On blow brought home or missed— Yet may I hear with equal ear The clarions down the List; Yet set my lance above mischance And ride the barriere— Oh, hit or miss, how little 'tis, My Lady is not there!