OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Poems of Optimism/Oh, poor, sick world

Lord of all the Universe, when I think of YOU, Flinging stars out into space, moving suns and tides; Then this little mortal mind gets the larger view, And the carping self of me runs away and hides.
Then I see all shadowed paths leading out to Light; See the false things fade away, leaving but the True; See the wrong things slay themselves, leaving only Right; When this little mortal mind gets the larger view.
Cavillings at this and that, censure, doubt and fear, Fly, as fly before the dawn, insects of the night; Life and Death are understood; everything seems clear, All the wrong things slay themselves, leaving only Right.
The World has walked with fever in its veins For many and many a day. Oh, poor, sick world! Not knowing all its dreams of greed and gain, Of selfish conquest and possession, were Disordered visions of a brain diseased.
Now the World’s malady is at its height And there is foul contagion in its breath. It raves of death and slaughter; and the stars Shake with reverberations of its cries, And the sad seas are troubled and disturbed. So must it rave - this sick and suffering world - Until the old secretions in its blood Are emptied out and purged away by war; And the deep seated cankers of the mind Begin the healing process. Then a calm Shall come upon the earth; and that loved word PEACE, shall be understood from shore to shore.
Shriek on, mad world. The great Physician sits Serenely conscious of the coming change, Nor seeks to check the fever; it must run Until its course is finished. He can wait.
In his vast Solar Systems he has seen So many other worlds as sick as this He feels but pity for his ailing charge, Not blame or anger. And he knows the hour Will surely dawn when that sick child shall wake Free from all frenzied fancies, and shall turn Clear-seeing eyes upon the face of God. Then shall begin the new millennium.
Lord of all the Universe, when I think of YOU, Then this little mortal mind gets the larger view; Then I see all shadowed paths leading into Light, Where the wrong things slay themselves, leaving only Right.
Oh, poor, sick world!
# Poems of Optimism/Peace should not come

Peace should not come along this foul, earth way. Peace should not come, until we cleanse the path. God waited for us; now in awful wrath He pours the blood of men out day by day To purify the highroad for her feet. Why, what would Peace do, in a world where hearts Are filled with thoughts like poison-pointed darts? It were not meet, surely it were not meet For Peace to come, and with her white robes hide These industries of death - these guns and swords, - These uniformed, hate-filled, destructive hordes, - These hideous things, that are each nation’s pride. So long as men believe in armèd might Let arms be brandished. Let not Peace be sought Until the race-heart empties out all thought Of blows and blood, as arguments for Right. The world has never had enough of war, Else war were not. Now let the monster stand, Until he slays himself with his own hand; Though no man knows what he is fighting for. Then in the place where wicked cannons stood Let Peace erect her shrine of Brotherhood.
# Poems of Optimism/Praise day

Let us halt now for a space in our hurrying; Let us take time to look up and look out; Let us refuse for a spell to be worrying; Let us decline to both question and doubt. If one goes cavilling, Hair splitting, flaw hunting - ready for strife - All the best pleasure is missed in the travelling Onward through life.
Just for to-day we will put away sorrowing - Just for to-day not a tear shall be shed; Nor will we fear anything, or go borrowing Pain from the future by profitless dread. Thought shall go frolicking, Pleasuring, treasuring everything bright - Tasting the joy that is found just in rollicking On through the light.
Just for to-day all the ills that need bettering We will omit from our notebook of mind; All that is good we will mark by red-lettering; - Those things alone we are seeking to find. Things to be sad over, Pine over, whine over - pass them, I say! Nothing is noted save what we are glad over - This is Praise Day.
# Poems of Optimism/Reward

Fate used me meanly; but I looked at her and laughed, That none might know how bitter was the cup I quaffed. Along came Joy, and paused beside me where I sat, Saying, ‘I came to see what you were laughing at.’
# Popular Science Monthly/Volume 11/June 1877/Sketch of Alfred Russel Wallace

Layout 4
ALFRED RUSSEL WALLACE
* SKETCH OF ALFRED RUSSEL WALLACE.
ALFRED RUSSEL WALLACE, an English naturalist, was born at Usk, Monmouthshire, January 8, 1822. He was employed for several years in the architectural office of his brother, and then devoted himself to natural history. In 1848 he accompanied Mr. IL W. Bates in a scientific expedition to Brazil, where, after a protracted sojourn in Para, he explored the primeval forests of the Amazon and Rio Negro, returning to England in 1852. His valuable collections, especially rich in the departments of ornithology and botany, were in great part destroyed by shipwreck. In 1853 he published "Travels on the Amazon and Rio Negro" and "Palm-Trees of the Amazon and their Uses," and in 1854 undertook a journey to the East Indies, where for a period of nearly eight years he explored the greater part of the islands constituting the Malay Archipelago, and portions of Papua. While pursuing his researches relative to the fauna and flora of these regions, Mr. Wallace, unaware of Darwin's previous labors in the same direction, attempted the solution of the problem of the origin of species, and arrived at almost the same general conclusions which were simultaneously reached by that naturalist. His paper "On the Tendency of Varieties to depart indefinitely from the Original Type," transmitted through Sir Charles Lyell to the Linnæan Society, was read before that body on July 1, 1858, coincidently with the reading of Mr, Darwin's paper "On the Tendency of Species to form Varieties, and on the Perpetuation of Species and Varieties by means of Natural Selection." Though recognizing the efficacy of natural selection in producing most of the changes attributed to its action by Mr. Darwin, he denies its competence to effect, without the joint agency of some higher cause, the transition to man from the anthropoid apes. In 1862 Mr. Wallace returned to England, where for several years he was mainly engaged in the classification of his vast collection, which embraced upward of 100,000 entomological specimens, and more than 8,000 birds. The results of his Eastern explorations were partially embodied in "The Malay Archipelago: the Land of the Orang-utan and the Bird-of-Paradise" (1869). Mr. Wallace has of late been prominently associated with the believers in the so-called spiritualistic phenomena, to the examination of which he has devoted special attention. His observations were published in a series of essays in the Fortnightly Review for 1874, reprinted as "Miracles and Modern Spiritualism" (1875). In 1868 he received the royal medal from the Royal Society, and in 1870 the gold medal from the Geographical Society of Paris. In 1870 he published "Contributions to the Theory of Natural Selection." His elaborate work "On the Geographical Distribution of Animals" (2 vols.) appeared in 1876 in English, French, and German.
# Poems (Trask)/Apart

POEMS.
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in The Literary Souvenir, 1825/The Decision of the Flower

The accompanying plate is after one of Moritz Retsch's illustrations to Goethe's Faust.
THE LITERARY SOUVENIR;
OR,
CABINET OF POETRY AND ROMANCE.
* THE DECISION OF THE FLOWER
Page 1
THE
DECISION OF THE FLOWER.
. . . . . ’Tis a history Handed from ages down; a nurse's tale. Southey's Thalaba.
There is a flower, a purple flower
Sown by the wind, nursed by the shower,
O'er which Love has breathed a power and spell
The truth of whispering hope to tell.
Lightly the maiden's cheek has prest
The pillow of her dreaming rest,
Yet a crimson blush is over it spread
As her lover's lip had lighted its red.
Yes, sleep before her eyes has brought
The image of her waking thought,—
That one thought hidden from all the world,
Like the last sweet hue in the rose-bud curled.
The dew is yet on the grass and leaves,
The silver veil which the morning weaves.
To throw o'er the roses, those brides which the sun
Must woo and win ere the day be done.
She braided back her beautiful hair
O'er a brow like Italian marble fair.
She is gone to the fields where the corn uprears
Like an eastern army its golden spears.
The lark flew up as she passed along,
And poured from a cloud his sunny song;
And many bright insects were on wing,
Or lay on the blossoms glistening;
And with scarlet poppies around like a bower,
Found the maiden her mystic flower.
Now, gentle flower, I pray thee tell
If my lover loves me, and loves me well;
So may the fall of the morning dew
Keep the sun from fading thy tender blue.
Now I number the leaves for my lot,
He loves not, he loves me, he loves me not,
He loves me,—yes, thou last leaf, yes,
I'll pluck thee not, for that last sweet guess!
"He loves me," "Yes," a dear voice sighed:—
And her lover stands by Margaret's side.
L. E. L.
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in The Literary Souvenir, 1826/The Forsaken

* Painted by G.S.Newton Engraved by Chas Heath
* THE FORSAKEN.
* Printed by Hurst Robinson & Co. London, 1825
THE FORSAKEN.
I dreamed a dream, that I had flung a chain Of roses around Love,—I woke, and found I had chained Sorrow. L. E. L.
I have caught the last wave of his snow-white plume,— How fast to-night closes the evening gloom;
I have heard the last sound of his horse's feet,—
Oh, wind! once more the echoes repeat.
I should not weep thus if thou wert gone
Away to the battle as oft thou hast done;
Or, if I wept, my tears would be
But voiceless orisons for thee.
Thou wert wont to part my scarf on thine arm,
My last kiss laid on thy lips like a charm;
I could pray, and believe that thy maiden's prayer
Would be with thee in battle, and guard thee there.
But now thou art gone to the festival,
To the crowded city, the lighted hall,
In the courtly beauty's shining bower,
Little thou 'lt think of thine own wild flower.
Thou wilt join in the midnight saraband,
With thy graceful smile, and thy whisper bland;
And to many another thou wilt be
All thou once wert to only me.
I might have known what would be my share— Silent suffering, and secret care;
I might have known my woman's part—
A faded cheek, and a rifled heart.
Often I'd read in the minstrel-tale,
How bright eyes grow dim, and red lips pale;
Of the tears that wail the fond maiden's lot,
But I loved thee, and all but my love forgot.
And must this be, oh, heart of mine!
Why art thou not too proud to pine? Again I will wreathe my raven hair,
With the red-rose flowers it was wont to wear;
Again I will enter my father's hall;
Again be the gayest and gladdest of all;
Like the falcon that soars at her highest bound,
Though her bosom bear in it its red death-wound!
But what boots it to teach my heart a task
So vain as weeping behind a mask,
Broken, with only ruins to hide,
Little it recks of the show of pride.
Will a smile bring back to my lip its red,
Or the azure light from my blue eye fled?
Efface from the faded brow and cheek
The tale that tells my heart must break?
No! I will away to my solitude,
And hang my head in my darkened mood;
Passing away, with a silent sigh,
Unknown, unwept, and thus will I die!
Farewell, farewell! I have but one prayer—
That no thought may haunt thee of my despair;
Be my memory to thee a pleasant thing,
An odour that came and past with thy spring.
Forget me,—I would not have thee know
Of the youth and bloom thy falseness laid low;
That the green grass grows, the cypresses wave,
And the death-stone lies on thy once love’s grave!
L. E. L.
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in The Literary Souvenir, 1826/Tomb

THE TOMB OF ROMEO AND JULIET.
Ay, moralize on Love, and deem
Its life but as an April gleam,—
A thing of sunshine and of showers,
Of dying leaves and falling flowers.
Who would not bear the darkest sphere
That such a rainbow comes to cheer? Ay, turn and wail above the tomb
Where sleep the wreck of youth and bloom;
And deem it quite enough to say,—
Thus Beauty and thus Love decay.
But I must look upon this spot
With feelings thy cold heart has not;
Those gentle thoughts that consecrate,
Even while they weep, the lover's fate.
I thought upon the star-lit hour,
When leant the maid 'mid leaf and flower,
And blushed and smiled the tale to hear,
Poured from her dark-eyed cavalier;
And yet, I too must moralize,
Albeit with gentler sympathies,
Of all my own fond heart can tell
Of love's despair, and love's farewell—
Its many miseries, its tears
Like lava, not like dew,— its fears,
That make hope painful,— then its trust,
So often trampled in the dust;
Neglected, blighted, and betrayed,
A sorrow and a mockery made.
Then change and adverse fortune, all
That binds and keeps sweet Love in thrall.
Oh, surely, surely, it were best
To be just for one moment blest;
Just gaze upon one worshipped eye,
And know yourself beloved, and die!
L. E. L.
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in The Literary Souvenir, 1828

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
This work is available under the Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication.
The person who associated a work with this deed has dedicated the work to the public domain by waiving all of their rights to the work worldwide under copyright law, including all related and neighboring rights, to the extent allowed by law. You can copy, modify, distribute and perform the work, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in The Literary Souvenir, 1828 compiled by Peter J. Bolton
Contents
* The Lost Star
* Juliet after the Masquerade
* Ballad—My ship is weighing from the land
* The Adieu
* Love Tormenting the Soul
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in The Literary Souvenir, 1826

This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
This work is available under the Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication.
The person who associated a work with this deed has dedicated the work to the public domain by waiving all of their rights to the work worldwide under copyright law, including all related and neighboring rights, to the extent allowed by law. You can copy, modify, distribute and perform the work, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in The Literary Souvenir, 1826
compiled by Peter J. Bolton
Contents
* The Tomb of Romeo and Juliet
* The Forsaken
* L'Amore Dominatore
* Retirement
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in The Literary Souvenir, 1826/Amore

L'AMORE DOMINATORE
They built a temple for the God,
 'Twas in a myrtle grove,
Where the bee and the butterfly
 Vied for each blossom's love.
The marble pillars rose like snow,
 Glittering in the sunshine;
A thousand roses shed their breath,
 Like incense, o'er the shrine.
And there were censers of perfume,
 Vases with their sweet showers,
And wreaths of every blended hue
 That lights the summer flowers.
And, like the breathing of those flowers
 Made audible, a sound
Came, lulling as a waterfall,
 From lutes and voices 'round.
I looked upon the altar,—there
 The pictured semblance lay
Of him the temple's lord; it shone
 More beautiful than day.
It was a sleeping child, as fair  As the first-born of spring;
Like Indian gold waved the bright curls
 In many a sunny ring.
His cheek was flushed with its own rose,
 And with the crimson shed
From the rich wings that like a cloud
 Were o'er his slumbers spread.
And by him lay his feathered shafts,
 His golden bow unbent;—
Methought that, even in his sleep,
 His smile was on them sent.
I heard them hymn his name—his power,—  I heard them, and I smiled;
How could they say the earth was ruled
 By but a sleeping child?
I went then forth into the world
 To see what might be there;
And there I heard a voice of woe,
 Of weeping, and despair.
I saw a youthful warrior stand
 In his first light of fame,—
His native city filled the air
 With her deliverer's name.
I saw him hurry from the crowd,
 And fling his laurel crown,
In weariness, in hopelessness,
 In utter misery, down.
And what the sorrow, then I asked,
 Can thus the warrior move
To scorn his meed of victory?
 They told me it was Love.
I sought the forum, there was one
 With dark and haughty brow,—
His voice was as the trumpet's tone,
 Mine ear rings with it now.
They quailed before his flashing eye,—
 They watched his lightest word,—
When suddenly that eye was dim,
 That voice no longer heard.
I looked upon his lonely hour,
 The weary solitude;
When over dark and bitter thoughts
 The sick heart's left to brood.
I marked the haughty spirit's strife
 To rend its bonds in vain:
Again I asked the cause of ill,
 And heard Love's name again.
Yet on I went: I thought that Love
 To woman's gentle heart,
Perhaps, had flung a lighter shaft,
 Had given a fairer part.
I looked upon a lovely face,
 Lit by a large dark eye;
But on the lash there was a tear,
 And on the lip a sigh.
I asked not why that form had drooped,  Nor why that cheek was pale:
I heard the maiden's twilight song,
 It told me all her tale.
I saw an urn, and round it hung
 An April diadem
Of flowers, telling they mourned one
 Faded and fair like them.
I turned to tales of other days,
 They spoke of breath and bloom;
And proud hearts that were bowed by Love  Into an early tomb.
I heard of every suffering
 That on this earth can be:
How can they call a sleeping child
 A likeness, Love, of thee?
They cannot paint thee;—let them dream
 A dark and nameless thing.
Why give the likeness of the dove
 Where is the serpent's sting?
L. E. L.
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in The Literary Souvenir, 1826/Retirement

RETIREMENT.
A PICTURE IN THE BRITISH GALLERY, BY LEAKY.
It was a stream in Thessaly, the banks
Were solitary, for the cypress trees
Closed o'er the waters; yet at times the wind
Threw back the branches, and then a sunbeam
Flung down a golden gift upon the wave,
And showed its treasures; for the pebbles shone
Like pearls and purple gems, fit emblems they
For the delights that hope holds up to youth,
False in their glittering, and when they lose
The sparkle of the water and the sun,
They are found valueless. Is it not thus
With pleasures, when the freshness and the gloss
That young life threw o'er them has dried away?
 One only flower grew in that lonely place,
The lily, covered with its shadowy leaves,
Even as some Eastern beauty with her veil,
And like the favourite urns of spring; its bells
Held odours that the zephyrs dared not steal.
And by the river was a maiden leant,
With large dark eyes, whose melancholy light
Seemed as born of deep thought which had gone through
Full many a stage of human wretchedness,—
Had known the anxious misery of love,—
The sickness of the hope which pines and dies
From many disappointments,—and the waste
Of feelings in the gay and lighted hall;—
But more, as knowledge grew but from report
Than its own sad experience; for she loved
The shelter of the quiet mountain valley,
The shadow of the scented myrtle grove,
And, more than all, the solitary bend,
Hidden by cypresses, of her own river.—
They called the nymph—Retirement.
L. E. L.
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in The Literary Souvenir, 1827

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
This work is available under the Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication.
The person who associated a work with this deed has dedicated the work to the public domain by waiving all of their rights to the work worldwide under copyright law, including all related and neighboring rights, to the extent allowed by law. You can copy, modify, distribute and perform the work, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in The Literary Souvenir, 1827 compiled by Peter J. Bolton
Contents
* Stanzas. Written beneath the Portrait of Lord Byron, painted by Mr. West
* The Minstrel’s Monitor
* The Inconstant
* Cupid and Psyche
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in The Literary Souvenir, 1828/Adieu

THE ADIEU.
It was not in the winter, our loving lot was cast;
It was the time of roses—we plucked them as we passed.
T. Hood.
I. A fair good-night to thee, love, a fair good-night to thee;
And pleasant be thy path, love, though it end not with me.
Liking light as ours, was never meant to last—
It was a moment's phantasy, and as such it hath past.
II.
We met in lighted halls, and our spirits took their tone;
Like other dreams of midnight, with colder morning flown;—
And thinkest thou to ever win a single tear from me?
Lightly won and lightly lost, love, I shed no tear for thee!
III.
Thy words were courtly flattery, such sink like morning dew;
But oh! love takes another tone, the tender and the true.
I knew thee light as foam that plays the ocean waves among,
I knew thee vain as ever gaze upon the mirror flung.
IV.
And he the light and vain one, for him there never wakes
That love for which a woman's heart will beat until it breaks;
But yet the spell was pleasant, though it be broken now,
Like shaking down loose blossoms from off the careless bough.
V.
They never came to fruit, and their sweet lives soon were o'er,
But we lived an hour beneath them, we never dreamed of more:
No vow was ever plighted, we had no farewell to say,
Gay were we when we met at first, and we parted just as gay.
VI.
Our last was even as our first—light, volatile and vain; The dance was done, the song was sung, we never met again;—
There was little to remember, and nothing to regret,
Love touches not the flatterer, love chains not the coquette.
VII. Twas of youth's fairy follies, by which no shade is cast,
One of its airy vanities, and like them it hath past.
Then a fair good-night to thee, love, a fair good-night the while,
I have no parting sigh to give, so take my parting smile! L. E. L.
# Popular Science Monthly/Volume 26/Advertisements

Layout 4
# Popular Science Monthly/Volume 26

Scans
Layout 4
# Poems on Several Occasions (Broome)/Daphnis and Lycidas. A Pastoral

Daphnis and Lycidas.
A
PASTORAL.
They sing the different Success and Absence of their Loves.
To the Right Honourable the Lord Viscount Townshend, of Rainham in Norfolk.
-Sylvæ sunt Consule dignæ. Virg.
# Poems on Several Occasions (Broome)/Part of the Tenth Book of the Iliads of Homer. In the Stile of Milton

Part of the Tenth Book of the Iliads of HOMER.
In the Stile of MILTON.
# Poems on Several Occasions (Broome)/From the Eleventh Book of the Iliads of Homer. In the Stile of Milton

From the Eleventh Book of the Iliads of Homer.
In the Stile of MILTON.
* ↑ V. 48.
* ↑ Agamemnon, v. 148.
# Poems on Several Occasions (Broome)/On the Birth-Day of a Gentleman when three Years old

On the Birth-Day of a Gentleman when three Years old.
# Poems on Several Occasions (Broome)/Melancholy: An Ode, occasion'd by the Death of a beloved Daughter, 1723

MELANCHOLY:
An ODE,
Occasion'd by the Death of a beloved Daughter, 1723.
# Poems on Several Occasions (Broome)/On a Flower which Belinda gave me from her Bosom

On a Flower which Belinda gave me from her Bosom.
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$
$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$
* ↑ Ambrosiæque comæ divinum vertice odorem Spiravêre.Virg.
* ↑ See Ovid's Metamorph.
# Poems on Several Occasions (Broome)/Monsieur Maynard imitated. To the Right Honourable the Lord Cornwallis

Monsieur Maynard Imitated.
To the Right Honourable
The Lord CORNWALLIS.