OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Bohemian legends and other poems/The Bride of Heaven

THE BRIDE OF HEAVEN.
A BOHEMIAN BALLAD.
“When I used to go and see thee, Stand beneath thy window sill, See, I was quite sure, beloved one, That we were one heart, one will. Never did I think, beloved one, We must part, I loving still.
“And the last time that I saw thee Weaving a fair myrtle wreath, I sat watching, never thinking Why you did not bind the leaf. Now I pray thee, loved one, tell me, Why unfinished is the wreath?
“I was thinking, thinking sadly— Thinking as I think to-day, That we cannot wed, beloved one, That our farewell we must say; So I left the wreath unfinished, Left unfinished to this day.
“They would force me to be married To a youth I cannot love; They would drag me to the altar, Sacrifice me like a dove; They would force me to be wedded To a lad I cannot love.
“They would force me to be married, Though I loath his very sight. Go get ready for the wedding— It will be a merry sight. Go prepare the wedding banquet, While I dress my hair aright.
“Yes, they shall prepare the wedding, In the convent far away. Come, oh bridesmaids, cut my long locks, Let me sup with you to-day. Gladly in your silent convent, I will give my hand away.
“Come and see me, oh beloved— Come and hear me when I sing, Till that fatal day, beloved, When the black robe they will fling Round about my weary shoulders— On my hand the wedding ring.
“They will take my white dress from me, Dress me in the robe of pain; And the image of my bridegroom Now must be my only gain. Vanish from my sight, beloved one, We must never meet again.
“The crucifix is by my side, The rosary in my hand, I raise my weary eyes to Him, Lord of that heavenly band. Oh, glorious bridegroom, I am yours, The wedding ring is on my hand.
“Beyond the convent’s silent walls, Oh, never more shall I stray, No earthly voice shall haunt me more, When I humbly kneel to pray. Heaven’s love will fill my broken heart, The world will have passed away.
“Avaunt from me, beloved of earth, My bridegroom is in the sky; Depart from me, betrothed on earth, To Heaven I fain would fly; Oh, holy bridegroom, fill my heart With your image till I die.
“Oh, vain indeed, the love of earth, To still my poor heart’s aching. Come to me, oh, thou crucificed, And keep my heart from breaking; Oh, take me, Lord, unto Thyself, I, my vain life forsaking.”
She knelt before the crucifix, She called on her lover high. “Oh, loved of God, oh, bridegroom mine, Be my defense till I die. My faint heart yearns to see thy face, And thy glory up on high.”
The heavenly bridegroom heard her voice, He knew, her heart was broken. He said, “Thy prayer is heard, my bride, This is the promised token.” A rapture came within her heart— Men said she died heartbroken.
# Bohemian legends and other poems/The Devil's Bride

THE DEVIL’S BRIDE.
A BOHEMIAN BALLAD.
There was a virtuous lady, Who had daughters three to marry; With two of them she went to church, For the third she would not tarry. The girl laughed loud, and dressed her hair, For she had a mind to marry.
She thought in our little garden There are plenty of roses fair; I will make them into a wreath; A beautiful wreath, I will wear. Said a tall young man, passing by, “Maid, give me the wreath from your hair.”
“The wreath’s not for you, tall young man, I wait for a nobler than you.” And she wandered amidst the flowers, The roses of many hue. Said a bold young man, passing by, “Maid, give me the wreath from your hair.”
“The wreath’s not for you, bold young man, I wait for a nobler than you.” And she smiled a wicked wee smile, A smile that to her was not new. Said a dark young man, riding by, “Maid, give me the wreath from your hair.”
“I’ll give you the wreath from my hair, For a nobler I will not wait.” Then the dark young man stopped his steed, And the vain girl mounted elate, While he whisp ered low in her ears, “I’ll take thee to paradise straight.”
And away they rode through the town, Till they came to an awful way; There were stunted and blasted trees; There were snakes there ready to slay, And there many a poison herb Grew, that hid from the light of day.
And far away in the distance The vain girl saw the flames of hell, That leaped with their tongues of fire ’Gainst the sky they hated so well. And their steed rushed on like the wind, And soon they were standing in hell.
“Open, my comrades, my black ones, I have brought you a vain young girl.” The door flew open, and devils, Yea, hundreds flew out with a whirl. And they danced and capered with glee, And they laughed at the vain young girl.
“Where are your manners, you devils? Bring the lady a glass of wine.” Then one of the devils ran quick, And soon brought her a goblet fine. “Drink, thou vainest of maidens, drink, The health of our prince in this wine.”
She drank of that wine and turned pale; She drank, and flames rushed from her lips. “Oh, prince of this country,” she said, “Oh, moisten with water my lips.” The devils laughed loud at her call, They said, “Take long draughts, make no sips.”
“Let me breathe air but a moment— A moment in pity, I pray.” But the devils, laughing, replied, “That is easy enough to say; Had you but lived a better life, You would not have been here to-day.”
The girl wept aloud in despair: “My soul I have lost now for aye, Oh, would I could tell my mother, To teach my poor sisters to pray; Oh, would I could go to the earth, I would turn them from sin away.”
“Cease from thy fretting and worrying, There are plenty to teach the way. If the sisters choose to listen They can also learn how to pray. You chose to do ill in your life, And your soul is lost now for aye.”
# Bohemian legends and other poems/The Bohemian Monk

THE BOHEMIAN MONK.
I have steeped my soul in knowledge, Till my weary heart is faint; And I sit now in my chamber Gazing sadly at the Saint, At the Saint whose name I bear, With the halo round his hair.
Does he look upon me wondering, That I bartered life for fame. He, the preacher to the Gentiles, Would he have me do the same? Hush, wild thoughts, for I am old, And my weary heart is cold.
In my youth I yearned for knowledge, And I quaffed with burning lips All the learning that the convent Gives its students in small sips. Then I went to college old, And my youth for knowledge sold.
Yes, fame came with laurels crowning This poor head of mine in youth; And my name was held in honor, For my words were words of truth, And my convent cell was sought For the learning that I taught.
Was it wrong to yearn for knowledge? Knowledge that must pass away Sometimes as I sit and ponder, I can see another way, To a glory without end, Never yet by mortal penned.
Sometimes as I sit and think Of the days of long ago, I can see the martyrs kneeling To receive the fatal blow; And I almost seem to hear Angels calling, “Have no fear.”
And I look around my chamber, Stored with books and parchments rare; And my heart is sick of knowledge, And I wish that I was there, Where earth's thirst is quenched for aye, And night turns to endless day.
Oh, my master, midst my learning Seldom I have thought of Thee; And I taught my students knowledge, But I never spoke of Thee. Now I dread to hear Thee say, “Slothful servant, go away.”
Oh, my master, in Thy mercy Spare me yet another year; Let me speak in words undying To the youths who come to hear. Give me strength to warn and guide These few striplings to Thy side.
And if one of them should hearing, Yearn for that high crown of life Which I missed with all my learning, Oh, God, fit him for the strife, And then take me weary, old, Where Thy face I can behold.
# Bohemian legends and other poems/The Daughter's Curse

THE DAUGHTER'S CURSE.
“Why are you so lost in thinking, Daughter mine? Why are you so lost in thinking? You who were so fond of laughing And whose face was always glad!”
“I have killed a little pigeon, Mother mine; I have killed a little pigeon, A forsaken little pigeon; It was white; ah, white like snow.”
“’Twas no pigeon, I misdoubt me, Daughter mine; ’Twas no pigeon, I misdoubt me; But your brain is touched, I fear me, And your look is strange and wild.”
“Oh, I have killed a little child, Mother mine; Oh, I have killed a little child; My new-born babe, my own fair child— Would I could die with remorse!”
“What do you mean to do, I ask, Daughter mine? What do you mean to do, I ask? How will you mend this luckless task— How will you find God’s mercy?”
“I will go seek that flower now, Mother mine; I will go seek that flower now; That soon will cool my criminal brow, And stop my pulses throbbing.”
“And when you find the grass you seek, Daughter mine; And when you find the grass you seek; The flax that grows beside the leek In many a garden round?”
“Behind the bridge, upon the hill, Mother mine; Behind the bridge, upon the hill, In tree I’ll drive a nail with will, And so end all my sinning.”
“What last word will you leave the youth, Daughter mine? What last word will you leave the youth Who used to come to us, forsooth, And loved thee for a season?”
“A blessing on his head, I pray, Mother mine; A blessing on his head, I pray Remorse until his dying day, Because he lightly wooed me.”
“What last word do you leave to me, Daughter mine? What last word do you leave to me, Who loved you when a baby wee And who brought thee up with toil?”
“My curse I leave thee, that is all, Mother mine; My curse I leave thee, that is all, That you may know no peace at all, Because you let me have my way.”
# Bohemian legends and other poems/The Enchanted Maid

THE ENCHANTED MAID.
A Bohemian legend of the fifteenth century.
The forest leaves were bright and green, And soft the zephyr blew. The mountain peaks were lost to view, In clouds of pearly gray. With happy steps two Checkish boys Went singing of their many joys, As through the wood they went. They might have been two happy guests Upon a wedding bent.
They sang of love, they sang of woe, With voices high and sweet; And oft they sang, that life is fleet, And love as strong as death. At length the eldest one said, “Wait Here is a splendid tree that fate Has thrown into our way. We’ll cut it down and make ourselves Two harps this sunny day."
They set about to cut that tree, With boyish laughter wild. And oft they sang, and oft they smiled, As happily they plied. But when they reached the inmost heart, They both fell back as though a dart Had struck their own young life, For there a beauteous maiden stood And begged of them her life.
But even as the maiden spoke, She shivered and turned pale, And then she sank with a great wail Upon the emerald grass.
“’Tis not your fault, oh, happy boys, So full of life and earthly joys, That takes me from this earth. My mother did enchant me so To keep me from all mirth.
“I had a lover fair like you, And often did we meet, Ah, me! the hours passed so fleet, And we were very young. My mother, with her evil eye, She soon found out the reason why I would not do her will, And gather ’neath the moon’s bright beam The plants that work out ill.
“And so, she turned me to a tree, While I stood with my love. I pray you, youths, by Him above, To grant me but one boon— Make harps from out this fallen tree, And go and tell the world of me— And for my mother play. Oh, play and sing of all my woe, That she may rue her day.”
And so she died, that maiden fair, Upon the emerald grass; And the two youths took up the lass, And laid her in the sod. Then sadly they obeyed her will, And made them harps with Checkish skill, To touch her mother’s heart. Ah, melancholy was the wail Of their new-fashioned harp.
Before her mother’s house they stopped, And struck a solemn strain. It almost seemed a soul in pain, That sang from out their harps: “Oh, brave young men, I bid you go— Your song, it is too full of woe, Like some poor soul in pain; And still it strikes me that I know That tearful song again.”
The youths, they would not leave her side; They played with wilder skill; They sang, “Oh, mother, take thy fill Of malediction now.” And never from her human ears Was hushed that song so full of fears Until she dying lay. And I have heard that devils came And took her soul away.
# Bohemian legends and other poems/The Forest Nymph

THE FOREST NYMPH.
“Wander not in the dark forest, Where a woman roams at will, And that woman is a wood nymph, Charming hearts to every ill.”
“Charming hearts? With what, my mother?” “With her eyes of teuderest blue— But a little while it lasteth— But a day, and then they rue.
“Treacherous is that nymph of forest, Many youths hath led astray; Many she has left heart-broken, Many she has killed away.”
“And where wanders she, my mother?” “By a rock, near fir trees tall. She is queen of all the wood nymphs, And the forest hidden thrall.
“When the moon at full is shining, On the trees and creeping things, She goes wandering in the forest, And a wondrous song she sings.
“Wander not in the dark forest, Where a woman roams at will, And this woman is a wood nymph, Charming hearts to every ill.”
The day is passed, night draweth near, He kissed his mother softly, “Good-night,” he said, “may Heaven send A dream most fair and lovely.”
The night advanced, the moon came forth, Upon his bed he watched her. He thought upon the lovely nymph, He longed to go and see her.
The moon rose high its silvery sheen, Danced in the forest’s gloom; And every dark twig beckoned now, And called him to his doom.
The youth sat up he quickly thought— Too quickly then arose, With hasty care he clothed himself With his best Sunday clothes.
He smoothed his coat, then slipped behind The cottage, walking quickly. He reached the rock, with fir trees dark, That looked down wickedly.
Upon a rock, beneath a fir, The forest nymph is singing. The youth came quickly to her side, In her blue eyes he’s gazing.
Oh, those blue eyes, so soft and fair Entice the poor boy’s passion; His heart throbs with his new-born love, In an unwonted fashion.
Before she ended all was lost— He clasped her in his arms; The forest trees looked darkly down, The moon shone with her charms.
They kissed each other many times, And then the nymph said slowly, “Promise me, youth, no other lips You’ll kiss, however holy?”
He promised—and went home at last, But sleep had fled away. The moon grew pale, his mother rose, He too, rose up that day.
“But why so pale and wan, my son— Say, have you any pain?” “I could not sleep the whole night long, For the moonlight shining plain.”
And when his mother slept in pecae, And all the stars were shining, The youth beheld her once again, Amidst the pine trees sighing.
He saw the woman—heard her song, Resound in forest lonely. Before the youth she glided on, He followed somewhat slowly.
He followed, followed on her steps— A precipice is yawning— She glides before—he steps behind— Alas! love and its longing!
In the dark field, beneath the rock, On moss the youth lies sleeping, On high the pale moon casts her light On the dead face, past weeping.
At home his mother sorrows sad; The wood nymph killed her son. Because he kissed his mother dear, The poor youth’s days were done.
# Bohemian legends and other poems/The Gentleman From Lkouše

* related portals: Czech literature.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
THE GENTLEMAN FROM LKOUŠE, 1571.
Šamonice’s bells are gladly ringing— The farmers mourn, but their lords are laughing.
From out the castle to the church they go, Lorecký Lkouše has two sons, you know.
Carriage on carriage drive from out the gate. The gentleman of Lkouše looks elate.
He oft had thought to die without an heir, Now he drives through the village with a pair.
But see, the way is blocked with village men, And Peter Dulík stops the steeds just then.
Širák bows, and fain would now have spoken. Šamonický waits not, calls out “Open!”
“Coachman, beat the knave! Whip him from the way! Let my horses tramp them down this glad day.”
But Peter Dulík will not loose his hold, But calls out in a voice both loud and bold:
“God has given you twins—will you mercy show, Mercy, for God’s sake, mercy to us show.
“Free us from the tenth part—lighten our way, For we starve and fast, as on Good Friday.
“Faint we are with labor—toiling for you— Oh, bless us this day—twins God gave to you!”
“Yes, God gave me twins!” Lorecký now cried, “They will be whips for your lazy hide.
“They will help me drive you rascals, low born— To help me in this task, see, they were born.
“Two God gave to me, one was not enough— To dare to speak of mercy, and such stuff.
“Wait till they grow up—Clear the way I say, And take care that we meet no more to-day.”
Dulík dropped the reins and all turned aside; Dazed he looked around, wrath he could not hide.
Then he quickly spoke in the common speech, “Never as whips will your son’s manhood reach.
“No more we will murmur—this we will do, Cut your whips before they grow strong and true.
“For our children’s backs scorpions we’ll not rear— Nor see them made to cripples—have no fear!”
Šamonice’s bells are gladly ringing— The lords mourn, but the farmers are laughing.
The castle is in flames—blood is flowing, On a cask Peter Dulík is judging.
With pitchforks round about him stood the men, It was the farmer’s sigh of justice then.
Beneath him in a pool of blood there lay Šamonice’s lord, with his sons that day.
# Bohemian legends and other poems/Sweet Death

Folk song
SWEET DEATH.
A youth rides quickly on his steed— He rides to battle. The war-horse gladly neighs and leaps, But his poor mother at home weeps, For her darling son, For her darling son.
“Weep not, weep not, my loved mother, For your dearest son; I must go, you all to defend, And my loved country’s flag attend, Even if I die, Even if I die.
“After a time I’ll come again, On my battle steed. Bohemians cannot cowards be, But the thick of the battle see, Both I and my steed, Both I and my steed.
“But should I in battle sinking N’er come home again, Then remember, mother dearest, No Bohemian ever fearest For his land to die, For his land to die."
# Bohemian legends and other poems/The Body and the Soul

THE BODY AND THE SOUL.
A BOHEMIAN LEGEND.
In the churchyard, by the chapel, A lost soul was heard disputing With its body lying rigid, In its coffin calmly sleeping. “Oh, you body, wretched body, In rich silks you flaunted gayly. Wanton were your ways and pastimes— Now I suffer for you sadly.
“Every thing you saw you wanted— Every pleasure you have tasted, Clothed in gold and costly raiments, See, your life was wholly wasted. In the dance your feet were quickest, Where the tambourines were playing, And the wayward youth were singing, Tender words, in sooth, were saying.
“At the feast the flowing goblet, You have emptied without number, Never did you think of praying, When you lay you down to slumber. You have danced to sweetest music— I must writhe in mortal anguish. While your body sleeps there calmly, I in hell am doomed to languish.”
Then the body answered coldly, “Tell me, soul, were you not with me When I lived in wanton splendor, Was there anything kept from thee?”
Then the soul said, speaking sadly, “You say truly I was with you, But not mistress of my actions— They were forced upon me by you”
“Waste no time in speaking to me,” Said the body, growing weary; “Let me rest and haste thee thither, Where the endless years stretch dreary.’ “I will go,” the soul said, calmly, “Leaving thee to worms and foulness, Bearing all the pains that must be, Till I find God’s mercy endless.”
# Book of Dede Korkut

The Book of Dede Korkut is the most famous epic of the Oghuz Turks. It commemorates struggles for freedom at a time when the Oghuz were a herding people who lived in tents. Warning: template has been deprecated.

## Contents

* Prologue
* Legend I: The Story of Bugach Khan, Son of Dirse Khan
* Legend II: The Story of Bamsi Beyrek, Son of Bay Bure
* Legend III: The Story of Delu Dumrul, Son of Duha Khoja
* Legend IV: The Story of Yigenek, Son of Kazilik Khoja
* Legend V: The Story of Emren, Son of Begil
* Legend VI: The Story of Seghrek, Son of Ushun Khoja
# Book of Common Prayer (ECUSA)/The Ratification of the Book of Common Prayer

​The Ratification of The Book of Common Prayer (1789)
By the Bishops, the Clergy, and the Laity of the Protestant Episcopal Church in the United States of America, in Convention, this Sixteenth Day of October, in the Year of Our Lord One Thousand Seven Hundred and Eighty-Nine.
This Convention having, in their present session, set forth A Book of Common Prayer, and Administration of the Sacraments, and other Rites and Ceremonies of the Church, do hereby establish the said Book: And they declare it to be the Liturgy of this Church: And require that it be received as such by all the members of the same: And this Book shall be in use from and after the First Day of October, in the Year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and ninety
# Brooklyn Eagle/1908/Richard B. Patterson

* related portals: Richard Barnsley Patterson.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
Richard Barnsley Patterson (1835-1908) obituary in Brooklyn Eagle of Brooklyn, New York City on 8 September 1908
Richard B. Patterson. Richard Barnsley Patterson died on Sunday, of pneumonia, at his residence, 686 Jefferson avenue. He was a resident of Brooklyn for sixty years and for many years was in the shoe business in Manhattan. For nine years he was manager of a chain of shoe stores. He was born in Lisburn, Ireland, May 5, 1835. He is survived by his wife, Cornelia A. Betts to whom he had been married 53 years, three sons, John C., Robert L. and Richard B., all of Philadelphia, and five daughters, Cornelia, Mrs. Robert D. Coile, Mrs. Edwin Webb, Mrs. Donald Miller and Mrs. Edgar Bouson.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
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
# Brooklyn Eagle/1918/Sergeant William E. Ensko

* related portals: William Edward Ensko.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
William Edward Ensko (1888-1918) in Brooklyn Eagle on August 15, 1918.
Sergeant William E. Ensko. Mrs. Mary E. Ensko, of 1383 Dean street, has been notified by the War Department that her son, Sergeant William Edward Ensko of Company A, 318th Pioneer Engineers, was killed in an automobile accident at the front on July 28, 1918. He was born in New York City, 30 years ago, where he was educated. Sergeant Ensko resigned a responsible position to enlist at Fort Slocum last September. He lived at Freeport, New York, where he was a member of the Freeport Lodge of Elks. A brother, Corporal LaMont N. Ensko, is in France with Company B, 304th Machine Gun Battalion.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
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
# Brooklyn Eagle/1926/Edward F. Kershaw Dies

* related portals: Edward F. Kershaw.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
Edward F. Kershaw (1835-1926) obituary in Brooklyn Eagle of Brooklyn, New York City on October 19, 1926
Edward F. Kershaw Dies. Edward F. Kershaw, 91 years old, of 295 Quincy Street, died Sunday at his home. He was for 53 years a ferryman on the East River Ferry Company, and was a charter member of St. Elmo Commandery, K. T., and the oldest member of Island City Lodge, No. 686, F. & A. M. He Is survived by his wife, Emily R. Kershaw, and two daughters, Mrs. A. K. Greir and Edna M. Kershaw, and a grandson, Harold Greir. Services will be held tonight at 8 o'clock at his late home. Interment will be in the burying ground of Zion P. E. Church in Douglaston, Long Island.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
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