OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Book of Scottish Song/The light of Glen Fruin

The light of Glen Fruin.
[This and the following song were written by a young man of the already poetically-occupied name of Dryden, and first appeared in "The Portfolio of British Song," Glasgow, 1824.—Tune, "Braes of Balquither."]
The sun on the billow In glory reposes, And his watery pillow Is garnish'd with roses; The cloud of the twilight Its dew drops are strewing, It will chill my young Flora, The light of Glen Fruin.
Away by the cottage That stands 'neath the mountain— Away by the dark pine That nods o'er the fountain, On the banks of the streamlet That girdles yon ruin— I'll meet my young Flora, The light of Glen Fruin.
Thou maid of the mountain, I love thee—how well, My love-burning eye And my pale cheek can tell; I must love thee for ever Though 'twere my undoing, Thou pride of the hamlet, The light of Glen Fruin.
By the soft beaming ray That gleams from those eyes, By that love blushing cheek, By those murmuring sighs, ​By the bright tear of rapture Those eye-lashes dewing, Thou art mine—thou art mine— Dearest maid of Glen Fruin!
# The Book of the Homeless/Portrait of his Son, wounded in the War

PIERRE-AUGUSTE RÉNOIR
PORTRAIT OF HIS SON, WOUNDED IN THE WAR
FROM A CHARCOAL SKETCH
# The Book of the Homeless/Portrait of Vincent d'Indy

THÉO VAN RYSSELBERGHE
PORTRAIT OF VINCENT D'INDY
FROM A PHOTOGRAPH OF THE ORIGINAL PAINTING
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 1926, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 97 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 Book of the Homeless/Portrait of Émile Verhaeren

THÉO VAN RYSSELBERGHE
PORTRAIT OF ÉMILE VERHAEREN
FROM A PENCIL DRAWING
# The Book of the Homeless/Souvenir d'une marche boche

MUSICAL SCORE
IGOR STRAVINSKY
SOUVENIR d'une MARCHE BOCHE
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 1971, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 52 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 Book of the Homeless/Portrait of Thomas Hardy

JACQUES-ÉMILE BLANCHE
PORTRAIT OF THOMAS HARDY
FROM A PHOTOGRAPH OF THE ORIGINAL PAINTING
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 1942, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 81 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 Book of the Homeless/Portrait of Igor Stravinsky

JACQUES-ÉMILE BLANCHE
PORTRAIT OF IGOR STRAVINSKY
FROM A STUDY IN OILS
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 1942, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 81 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 Book of the Homeless/Portrait of Jean Cocteau

LÉON BAKST
PORTRAIT OF JEAN COCTEAU
FROM AN UNPUBLISHED CRAYON SKETCH
# The Book of the Homeless/Rain in Belgium

RAIN IN BELGIUM
The heavy rain falls down, falls down,
On city streets whence all have fled,
Where tottering ruins skyward frown
Above the staring silent dead.
Here shall ye raise your Kaiser's throne,
Stained with the blood for freedom shed.
Here where men choked for breath in vain
Who in fair fight had all withstood,
Here on this poison-haunted plain,
Made rich with babes' and women's blood,
Here shall ye plant your German grain,
Here shall ye reap your children's food.
The harvest ripens—Reaper come!
Bring children singing Songs of Hate
Taught by the mother in the home—
Fit comrade she for such a mate.
Soon shall ye reap what ye have sown;
God's mills grind thoroughly though late.
The heavy rain beats down, beats down;
I hear in it the tramp of Fate!
Lilla Cabot Perry
# The Book of the Homeless/Portrait of Henry James

JOHN SINGER SARGENT, R.A.
PORTRAIT OF HENRY JAMES
FROM A PHOTOGRAPH OF THE ORIGINAL PAINTING
# The Atlantic Monthly/Volume 17/Number 101/An Old Man's Idyl

Featured in Volume 17, Number 101 of The Atlantic Monthly. (March 1866)
AN OLD MAN'S IDYL.
By the waters of Life we sat together, Hand in hand in the golden days Of the beautiful early summer weather, When skies were purple and breath was praise, When the heart kept tune to the carol of birds And the birds kept tune to the songs which ran Through shimmer of flowers on grassy swards, And trees with voices Æolian.
By the rivers of Life we walked together, I and my darling, unafraid; And lighter than any linnet's feather The burdens of Being on us weighed. And Love's sweet miracles o'er us threw Mantles of joy outlasting Time, And up from the rosy morrows grew A sound that seemed like a marriage chime.
In the gardens of Life we strayed together; And the luscious apples were ripe and red, And the languid lilac and honeyed heather Swooned with the fragrance which they shed. ​And under the trees the angels walked, And up in the air a sense of wings Awed us tenderly while we talked Softly in sacred communings.
In the meadows of Life we strayed together, Watching the waving harvests grow; And under the benison of the Father Our hearts, like the lambs, skipped to and fro. And the cowslips, hearing our low replies, Broidered fairer the emerald banks, And glad tears shone in the daisies' eyes, And the timid violet glistened thanks.
Who was with us, and what was round us, Neither myself nor my darling guessed; Only we knew that something crowned us Out from the heavens with crowns of rest; Only we knew that something bright Lingered lovingly where we stood, Clothed with the incandescent light Of something higher than humanhood.
O the riches Love doth inherit! Ah, the alchemy which doth change Dross of body and dregs of spirit Into sanctities rare and strange! My flesh is feeble and dry and old, My darling's beautiful hair is gray; But our elixir and precious gold Laugh at the footsteps of decay.
Harms of the world have come unto us, Cups of sorrow we yet shall drain; But we have a secret which cloth show us Wonderful rainbows in the rain. And we hear the tread of the years move by, And the sun is setting behind the hills; But my darling does not fear to die, And I am happy in what God wills.
So we sit by our household fires together, Dreaming the dreams of long ago: Then it was balmy summer weather, And now the valleys are laid in snow. Icicles hang from the slippery eaves; The wind blows cold,—'tis growing late; Well, well! we have garnered all our sheaves, I and my darling, and we wait.
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
# The Atlantic Monthly/Volume 17/Number 101/In the Sea

Featured in Volume 17, Number 101 of The Atlantic Monthly. (March 1866)
IN THE SEA.
THE salt wind blows upon my cheek, As it blew a year ago, When twenty boats were crushed among The rocks of Norman's Woe. 'T was dark then; 't is light now, And the sails are leaning low.
In dreams, I pull the sea-weed o'er, And find a face not his, And hope another tide will be More pitying than this: The wind turns, the tide turns,— They take what hope there is.
My life goes on as thine would go, With all its sweetness spilled: My God, why should one heart of two Beat on, when one is stilled? Through heart-wreck, or home-wreck, Thy happy sparrows build.
Though boats go down, men build anew, Whatever winds may blow; If blight be in the wheat one year, We trust again and sow, Though grief comes, and changes The sunshine into snow.
Some have their dead, where, sweet and soon, The summers bloom and go: The sea withholds my dead,—I walk The bar when tides are low, And wonder the grave-grass Can have the heart to grow!
Flow on, O unconsenting sea, And keep my dead below; Though night—O utter night!—my soul, Delude thee long, I know, Or Life comes or Death comes, God leads the eternal flow.
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
# The Atlantic Monthly/Volume 17/Number 101/Snow

Featured in Volume 17, Number 101 of The Atlantic Monthly. (March 1866)
SNOW.
THE Summer comes, and the Summer goes. Wild-flowers are fringing the dusty lanes, The sparrows go darting through fragrant rains, And, all of a sudden,—it snows!
Dear Heart! our lives so happily flow, So lightly we heed the flying hours, We only know Winter is gone—by the flowers, We only know Winter is come—by the Snow!
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
# The Chamois Hunter's Love

* The Chamois Hunter's Love, in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 22, 1828.
* The Chamois Hunter's Love, in Songs of the Affections, with Other Poems (Songs of the Affections), 1830.
# The Chances

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "The Chances."
* 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.
* The Chances by John Fletcher
* The Chances by Wilfred Owen
# The Change (L. E. L.)

* The Change from the Literary Gazette, 16th February 1828.
* The Change from The Vow of the Peacock and Other Poems, 1835.
# The Chambered Nautilus

This poem was originally published in February 1858 in The Atlantic Monthly, as part of the collection The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table.
* "The Chambered Nautilus" in The Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table (1858)
* "The Chambered Nautilus" in Poems That Every Child Should Know (1904)
# The Atlantic Monthly/Volume 2/Number 3/My Children

Featured in Vol 2., No.3 of The Atlantic Monthly.
My Children
Have you seen Annie and Kitty,  Two merry children of mine?  All that is winning and pretty  Their little persons combine.
 Annie is kissing and clinging  Dozens of times in a day,--  Chattering, laughing, and singing,  Romping, and running away.
 Annie knows all of her neighbors.  Dainty and dirty alike,--  Learns all their talk, and, "be jabers,"  Says she "adores little Mike!"
 Annie goes mad for a flower,  Eager to pluck and destroy,--  Cuts paper dolls by the hour,  Always her model--a boy!
 Annie is full of her fancies,  Tells most remarkable lies,  (Innocent little romances,)  Startling in one of her size.
 Three little prayers we have taught her,  Graded from winter to spring;  Oh, you should listen my daughter  Saying them all in a string!
Kitty—ah, how my heart blesses  Kitty, my lily, my rose!  Wary of all my caresses,  Chary of all she bestows.
 Kitty loves quietest places,  Whispers sweet sermons to chairs,  And, with the gravest of faces,  Teaches old Carlo his prayers.
 Matronly, motherly creature!  Oh, what a doll she has built—  Guiltless of figure or feature—  Out of her own little quilt!
 Nought must come near it to wake it;  Noise must not give it alarm;  And when she sleeps, she must take it  Into her bed, on her arm.
 Kitty is shy of a caller,  Uttering never a word;  But when alone in the parlor,  Talks to herself like a bird.
 Kitty is contrary, rather,  And, with a comical smile,  Mutters, "I won't," to her father,—  Eyeing him slyly the while.
 Loving one more than the other  Isn't the thing, I confess;  And I observe that their mother  Makes no distinction in dress.
 Preference must be improper  In a relation like this;  I wouldn't toss up a copper—  (Kitty, come, give me a kiss!)
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
# The Atlantic Monthly/Volume 2/Number 3/To ----. On Receiving His "Few Verses for a Few Friends" (Printed, Not Published)

Featured in Vol 2., No.3 of The Atlantic Monthly. (August 1858.)
To ———.
On Receiving His "Few Verses for a Few Friends."
"(printed, not published)"
Well thought! Who would not rather hear The songs to Love and Friendship sung, Than those which move the stranger's tongue And feed his unselected ear?
Our social joys are more than fame; Life withers in the public look: Why mount the pillory of a book, Or barter comfort for a name?
Who in a house of glass would dwell, With curious eyes at every pane? To ring him in and out again Who wants the public crier's bell?
To see the angel in one's way, Who wants to play the ass's part, Bear on his back the wizard Art, And in his service speak or bray?
And who his manly locks would shave And quench the eyes of common sense, To share the noisy recompense That mocked the shorn and blinded slave?
The heart has needs beyond the head, And, starving in the plenitude Of strange gifts, craves its common food, Our human nature's daily bread.
We are but men: no gods are we To sit in mid-heaven, cold and bleak, Each separate, on his painful peak, Thin-cloaked in self-complacency!
Better his lot whose axe is swung In Wartburg woods, or that poor girl's Who by the Ilm her spindle whirls And sings the songs that Luther sung,
Than his, who, old and cold and vain, At Weimar sat, a demigod, And bowed with Jove's imperial nod His votaries in and out again!
Ply, Vanity, thy wingèd feet! Ambition, hew thy rocky stair! Who envies him who feeds on air The icy splendors of his seat?
I see your Alps above me cut The dark, cold sky,—and dim and lone I see ye sitting, stone on stone, With human senses dulled and shut.
I could not reach you, if I would, Nor sit among your cloudy shapes; And (spare the fable of the Grapes And Fox) I would not, if I could.
Keep to your lofty pedestals! The safer plain below I choose: Who never wins can rarely lose, Who never climbs as rarely falls.
Let such as love the eagle's scream Divide with him his home of ice: For me shall gentler notes suffice,— The valley-song of bird and stream,
The pastoral bleat, the drone of bees, The flail-beat chiming far away, The cattle-low at shut of day, The voice of God in leaf and breeze!
Then lend thy hand, my wiser friend, And help me to the vales below, (In truth, I have not far to go,) Where sweet with flowers the fields extend.
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
# The Ch'un Ts'ew

A translation of the Spring and Autumn Annals or Chunqiu.
CONTENTS. — preface. I. THE PROLEGOMENA. CHAPTER I. the nature and value of the ch‘un ts‘ew.
| section | | page |
| I. | Disappointment of the expectations raised by the earliest accounts of the Ch‘un Ts·ëw. | 1 |
| II. | The Sources of the Ch‘un Ts‘ëw, and its Nature. Did Confucius allow himself any liberty of addition or retrenchment in the use of his authorities? | 6 |
| III. | Recovery of the Ch‘un Ts‘ëw during the Han dynasty. Was this indeed the Ch‘un Ts‘ëw of Confucius? | 16 |
| IV. | The three early Commentaries on the Ch‘un Ts‘ëw. | 22 |
| V. | The value of the Ch‘un Ts‘ëw. | 38 |
| appendix |
| I. | Specimens of the Commentaries of Kung-yang and Kuh-lëang. | 54 |
| II. | A letter questioning the Confucian authorship of the Ch‘un Ts‘ëw, by Yuen Mei. | 81 |
CHAPTER II. the chronology of the ch‘un ts‘ew.
| section |
| I. | The chronology of the Text;—with tables of solar eclipses, and of the lunar months for the whole period. | 85 |
| II. | The dates in the Tso Chuen. | 97 |
| III. | Lists of the kings of Chow, and of the princes of the principal fiefs, from the beginning to the close of the Chow dynasty. | 102 |
CHAPTER III.
| the china of the ch‘un ts‘ew period:—considered in relation to its territorial extent: the disorder which prevailed; the growth and encroachments of the larger states; and the barbarous tribes which surrounded it. | 112 |
CHAPTER IV. list of the principal works which have been employed in the preparation of this volume.
| section |
| I. | Chinese Works; with brief notices of them. | 136 |
| II. | Translations and other Foreign Works. | 147 |
II. THE BODY OF THE VOLUME.
| book |
| I. | | Duke | Yin | | 1 |
| II. | | ,, | Hwan | | 35 |
| III. | | ,, | Chwang | | 72 |
| IV. | | ,, | Min | | 123 |
| V. | | ,, | He | | 132 |
| VI. | | ,, | Wăn | | 227 |
| VII. | | ,, | Seuen | | 284 |
| VIII. | | ,, | Ch·ing | | 336 |
| IX. | | ,, | Sëang | | 411 |
| X. | | ,, | Ch‘aou | | 568 |
| XI. | | ,, | Ting | | 742 |
| XII. | | ,, | Gae | | 792 |
| | Supplement of Tso | Supplement of Tso | Supplement of Tso | Supplement of Tso | 838 |
III. INDEXES.
| I. | Index of Subjects. | 865 |
| II. | Index of Proper Names. | 876 |
| III. | Index of Chinese characters and phrases | 888 |
# The Ceremonies of the Roman Rite Described

* The Ceremonies of the Roman Rite Described (First Edition) (transcription project)
* The Ceremonies of the Roman Rite Described (Second Edition–New Impression) (transcription project)
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
# The Beautifull Cassandra/Chapter 1

Written when the author was aged 13. Accompanying illustration omitted.
Cassandra was the Daughter and the only Daughter of a celebrated Millener in Bond Street. Her father was of noble Birth, being the near relation of the Duchess of ----'s Butler.
# The Beautifull Cassandra/Chapter 10

Written when the author was aged 13. Accompanying illustration omitted.
Cassandra was next accosted by her freind the Widow, who squeezing out her little Head thro' her window, asked her how she did? Cassandra curtseyed & went on.
# The Beautifull Cassandra

Originally written in 1768, when the author was aged 13.
The Beautifull Cassandra
A Novel in Twelve Chapters
Jane Austen
Dedication Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12
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
# The Beautifull Cassandra/Chapter 11

Written when the author was aged 13. Accompanying illustration omitted.
A quarter of a mile brought her to her paternal roof in Bond Street, from which she had now been absent nearly 7 hours.
# The Beautifull Cassandra/Chapter 12

Written when the author was aged 13. Accompanying illustration omitted.
She entered it & was pressed to her Mother's bosom by that worthy Woman. Cassandra smiled & whispered to herself "This is a day well spent."
Finis.
# The Beautifull Cassandra/Chapter 3

Written when the author was aged 13. Accompanying illustration omitted.
The first person she met, was the Viscount of ---- a young Man, no less celebrated for his Accomplishments & Virtues, than for his Elegance & Beauty. She curtseyed & walked on.
# The Beautifull Cassandra/Chapter 2

Written when the author was aged 13. Accompanying illustration omitted.
When Cassandra had attainted her 16th year, she was lovely & amiable & chancing to fall in love with an elegant Bonnet, her Mother had just compleated bespoke by the Countess of ----, she placed it on her gentle Head & walked from her Mother's shop to make her Fortune.
# The Beautifull Cassandra/Chapter 4

Written when the author was aged 13. Accompanying illustration omitted.
She then proceeded to a Pastry-cooks, where she devoured six ices, refused to pay for them, knocked down the Pastry-cook & walked away.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Cottar's Sang

The Cottar’s Sang.
[From "Summer Months among the Mountains: by Andrew Mercer. Edinburgh, 1838." We are indebted to Patrick Maxwell, Esq. for the following particulars of Mercers life.—Andrew Mercer was born at Selkirk in 1775, and died in Dunfermline on the 11th June 1842, aged 67. When fifteen years old he came to the University of Edinburgh, being destined for the Secession Church. Here he became the intimate associate of his fellow students Dr. John Leyden, and Dr. A. Murray, afterwards Professor of Oriental Languages, and contributed, like them, various essays in prose and verse to the Edinburith and Scots Magazines. Along with his literary pursuits, he conjoined a love of art; and, eventually, abandoning his theological studies, devoted himself to drawing and painting miniatures, but unhappily never attained to eminence. His gentle and amiable manners and unquestioned talents procured him many friends, and in 1804 they began and zealously promoted the publication of "The North British Magazine" for his behoof, but which unfortunately ceased to be continued after thirteen months. He ultimately settled at Dunfermline, where for many years he lived by teaching, and drew patterns for the damask manufacturers. He published a history of Dunfermline and of its celebrated Abbey in 1828, and ten years later the small collection of poems from which we extract the two following songs.—The first is to the tune of "The braes of Balquhidder."]
The hairst now is owre, An' the stacks are a' theekit; The barn-yard is fu', An' the yett's fairly steekit. The potatoes are up, An' are a' snugly pitted; The crap o' the puir man For winter fare fitted.
O how happy the hynd Wha's laid in for the winter, Wi' his eldin an' meal, His cow an' bit grunter. Though he toil a' the day, Through the cauld sleety weather, By his ingle at e'en It's forgot a' thegither.
Syne the bairns are drapin' in Frae the neist farm-steadins, To claver owre the news; Or speak o' new cleadins: Ilk ane tells his tale, The day's simple story; An' the cottar's fireside Is a' in its glory!
The Jockies and Jennies Are joking and jeering, An' proud o' the braws, They ha'e won at the shearing. An' courtship is rife, An' ilk look has a meaning, As an e'e meets an e'e, In the edge o' the e'ening.
There's love in ilka lane, In ilka fine gloamin'; An' bridals there will be, At Martinmas coming. Their minds are a' made up, An' a' thing looks cheerie; O lang may it last,— Ilk lad wi' his dearie.