OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Poems for the Sea/Reef Sails

"REEF SAILS."
I saw a bark, with streamers gay
 O'er Hymen's waters sweep,
Profusion dancing at the helm,
 And Prudence fast asleep,—
Yet not by Labour's ancient chart
 A steady course it bent,
But fed the waves with ether's gold
 When all its own was spent.
Reef sails! Reef sails!—a whirlpool's nigh
 The thundering rapids sound,—
Ho!—change your reckoning, ere ye sink
 In gulfs profound.
Young Beauty, in her gilded barge
 Like Egypt's haughty queen,
For whom, 'tis said, the world was lost,  With graceful form is seen;
The morn is fair, the breeze is rare,
 And gliding on her way,
She deems each billow's flashing crest
 To her, doth homage pay.
Reef sails! Reef sails!—I see a cloud
 Athwart the noontide skies,—
A lonely strand, a wreck-strewn sand,—
 Be timely wise.
Pride steers ahead, with canvas spread,
 And top-mast towering high,
Regardless of the warning winds
 That thro' the shrouds do sigh.
Reef sails!—'tis not for him of dust
 For whom the worm doth wait,
To magnify the fleeting trust
 Of wealth, or high estate.
Reef sails! Reef sails!—time's bubble breaks,
 The dark grave claims its part,
And Heaven's acceptance only crowns
 The lowly heart.
* ↑ This poem, which uses maritime metaphors, is about marriage and counsels thrift and restraint in marriage. Sigourney and her husband experienced difficult financial times and it seems likely that this counsel was born of her experiences. The poem also appears in Whisper to a Bride. (Wikisource contributor note)
* ↑ This is a reference to Hymenaios, a Greek god of marriage ceremonies. Hymen's waters is a reference to marriage.
* ↑ Lavish or imprudent expenditure; extravagance.
* ↑ Ether here refers to the skies or the heavens
* ↑ Reef here means to bring down part or all of the sails. In stormy weather a sailing ship's masts could be torn off if the sails were not brought down or made smaller.
* ↑ Cleopatra
* ↑ For example, Shakespeare's play Antony and Cleopatra: The World Well Lost.
# Poems for the Sea/Prayers at Sea

PRAYERS AT SEA.
Prayer may be sweet in cottage homes,
 Where sire and child devoutly kneel,
And through the open casement nigh
 The vernal blossoms gently steal.
Prayer may be sweet in stately halls,
 Where heart with kindred heart is blent,
And upward to the Eternal Throne
 The hymn of praise melodious sent.
But he, who fain would know how strong,
 The soul's appeal to God may be,
From friends and native land should turn,
 A wanderer o'er the faithless sea;
Should hear its deep imploring tone
 Rise upward o'er the thundering surge,
When breakers threat the reeling bark.
 And winds with waves their conflict urge.
No spot on which his foot can rest,
 No refuge where his form may flee,
How will he turn, O Rock Divine!
 And bind his anchoring soul to Thee.
# Poems for the Sea/Song of the Icelandic Fishermen

SONG OF THE ICELANDIC FISHERMEN.
Yield our bark to the breezes free,—
Point its helm to the far, deep Sea,
Where Heckla's red volcanic light
Like a watch-fire gilds the night,
Where in foaming baths, strange monsters play,
Down to the deep sea—launch away!
Gay over coral reefs we steer,
 Where moulder the bones of the brave,
Where the beautiful sleep on their humid bier,
And the pale pearl gleams in its quenchless sphere,
The lamp of their Ocean grave;
 Swift o'er the crested surge we row;
 Down to the fathomless sea we so.
 King of Day! to thee we turn,
 May our course be blest by thee,
 Eyes bright as thine in our homes shall burn,
 When again our hearths we see;
 When the scaly throng, to our skill a prey
 At the feet of our fur-clad maids we lay.
Thou art mighty in wrath, devouring tide!
The strong ship loves o'er thy foam to ride,
Her banner by bending clouds carest,
The waves at her keel, and a world in her breast;
Thou biddest the blast of thy billows sweep,
Her tall masts bow to the cleaving deep,
And seal'd in thy cells her proud ones sleep.
Our sails are as chaff, when the tempest raves,
And our boat a speck on the mountain waves:
Yet we pour not to thee, the imploring strain,
We soothe not thy anger, relentless Main!
Libation we pour not, nor vow, nor prayer,
 Our hope is in thee,
 God of the sea!
The deep is thy path, and the soul thy care.
# Poems for the Sea/Thanksgiving Day on Shore

THANKSGIVING DAY AT SEA.
Sons of the boisterous sea,
 With joyous hearts we share
The blessings of this happy land,
 Which heaven hath made its care;
Whose glorious flag is borne
 High o'er the ocean's breast,
Whose strong-winged eagle proudly makes
 Among the stars his nest.
Not with the cup that drains
 Our best resolves away,
And leaves its poison in our veins,
 We keep the feast this day,
But from the fearful cloud
 Of dark intemperance free,
We thank the Giver of our joys,
 The God of earth and sea;
And if in faithful love
 His precepts we obey,
The whole of life's short voyage may prove
 Like this Thanksgiving day.
# Poems for the Sea/The Angel of the Waters

THE ANGEL OF THE WATERS.
Full flow'd Bethesda's mantling pool
 While forth from hall and bower,
Throng'd the wan victims of disease
 To test its healing power,
Yet still, in calm repose it lay,
 Though many a straining eye
For its first, infant ripple watch'd,
 With pain's impatient sigh.
'Tis troubled!—Man of science say,
 What moves its mystic tide?
Doth some strange planet from its throne
 Attract yon heaving tide?
Thou answerest not. The christian sees
 An Angel break its rest,
And bring the renovating flood,
 O'er each sad sufferer's breast.
Oh! if the fever of the heart,
 Or palsy of the brain,
Should smite us, Father! till we find
 All earthly helpers vain,
Send forth thine Angel to the stream
 That holy health can give;
And bid him stir its blessed wave,
 That we may bathe, and live.
And for our brethren of the Sea,
 Who oft neglected pine,
Incite our sympathizing care
 And wake a zeal divine,
Till we, their penury enrich
 With Heaven's eternal gem,
And what the Angel did for us,
 Delighted, do for them.
# Poems for the Sea/The Brother

THE BROTHER.
The good ship on an iceberg struck  Where northern seas ran high, And midnight in its ebon veil  Encircled earth and sky, It struck! what moment was there then  To waste in sorrow's strife, When but one bold adventurous rush  Remained 'tween death and life!
The boat! the boat! it launches forth
 Upon the mountain wave,
And shrieking throngs, with frantic haste
 Essay its power to save;
A fragile thing, it darkly strives
 Amid the wrathful tide,
And deep, unutter'd pangs are theirs
 Who leave that vessel's side.
A moonbeam pierced the heavy cloud!
 Alas! what sight was there!
Who stood on that forsaken deck
 In calm and mute despair!
A fair, young maiden, just arous'd
 From slumber soft and dear,
Stretched her white arms in wild amaze,
 But found no helper near.
In sad adieu, her hand she wav'd
 As if some friend she blest,
Then closer drew her snowy robe
 Around her gentle breast,
And upward, to the darkened heavens
 Imploring glances cast,
While her rich curls profusely fell,
 And floated on the blast.
Then sudden, in the thronging boat,
 With agonizing scream,
Up sprang a noble, youthful form
 As from a wildering dream,
"Oh Sister! Sister!" echoed loud
 His shrill, unearthly cry,
"How dare I bear a brother's name
 Yet leave thee thus to die?"
He plunged, the crested wave he ruled,
 He climbed the cloven deck,
And clasped her, as the thundering surge
 Swept o'er the sinking wreck.
"Sweet sister, 'tis thy brother's voice,
 His cheek is pressed to thine,
One cradle-bed was ours, my love,
 Thy last, dread couch be mine.
The placid Moon with pitying eye,
 Look'd lone and silent down,
Encircling them with holy light,
 As with a martyr's crown,
Then shrank within a fleecy cloud,—  Hoarse shrieked the impetuous main,
The deep sea closed, and where were they?
 Go ask the angel train!
Ah! dauntless hearts that night were whelmed
 Beneath the billowy high,
And temples white with honored years,
 And woman's love-lit eye,
And clinging to its mother's breast,
 In visions soft and deep,
Unwakened innocence went down
 Amid the pearls to sleep.
The eye that saw that iceberg dread
 Come drifting darkly down,
Destruction in its wintry breath
 And on its monster crown;
The ear that heard the deadly crash,
 And thunder of the wave,
Can never lose that bitter trace
 But in the oblivious grave.
The rescued man to listening groups
 May tell the mournful tale,
And fond affection clasp his hand,
 And childhood's cheek grow pale,
While the sad memory of their fate
 Brother and sister dear,
Who with that buried ship went down
 Shall wake the pitying tear.
# Poems for the Sea/Teachings of the Sea

TEACHINGS OF THE SEA.
Go, muse beside the Sea  Where white-winged navies ride, While its highest pulse is beating free,  In strong mysterious tide: Where deep in coral cells  The sunless forests weep, And many a wandering child of earth  Hath laid him down to sleep.
Go forth upon the Sea  At the first break of morn, And bless it with the words of prayer  Ere the young day is born.
And when the night grows dim,
 Beguile the billows wild,
With the holy breath of thine evening hymn,
 As the Mother lulls her child.
Go, listen to the Sea
 When its thundering breakers roar,
And a meek hearted pupil be
 Of their terrific lore.
Hark! while the tempests lower,
 To the lessons of the wave,
"One Voice alone, can curb our power,
 One Hand alone, can save."
Go homeward from the Sea,
 With a treasure in thy hand,
A stronger trust in Him who curbs
 Its might, with reins of sand.
And mid earth's darkest snare,
 Safe in thy bosom keep
The pearl-drops thou didst gather there,
 The wisdom of the Deep.
# Poems for the Sea/The Geranium Plant at Sea

THE GERANIUM PLANT AT SEA.
Hold up thy head, thou timid voyager,
 Vex'd by the storm-clouds, as they darkly roll,
And by the fiercely-tossing waves, that stir
 Thy slender root, and try thy trembling soul,
Sad change from thy sweet garden, where the dew
 Each morning glistened in thy grateful eye,
And where the roughest guest thy bosom knew,
 Was earnest bee, or gadding butterfly,
It grieves me sore, to see thy leaflets fade,
 Wearing the plague-spot of the sickening spray,
And know what trouble I for thee have made,
 Yet still bear on, meek partner of my way,
For in thy life, I keep the golden chain,
Of home, and its delights, here on the lonely main.
# Poems for the Sea/Preface

PREFACE
This little book is the result of some personal acquaintance with the element whose name it bears. Might it go forth with the voyager, over the path-less waters, and perchance, tenderly deepen the image of the friend who had made it a parting gift, it would fulfil a pleasant destiny.
L.H.S.
    Hartford, Dec., 1849.
# Popular Science Monthly/Volume 85

Scans
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# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon in The Literary Souvenir, 1827/Monitor

THE MINSTREL'S MONITOR.
I. Silent and dark as the source of yon river,  Whose birth-place we know not, and seek not to know, Though wild as the flight of the shaft from yon quiver,  Is the course of its waves as in music they flow.
II. The lily flings o'er it its silver white blossom,  Like ivory barks which a fairy hath made; The rose o'er it bends with its beautiful bosom,  As though ’t were enamoured itself of its shade.
III. The sunshine, like Hope, in its noontide hour slumbers  On the stream as it loved the bright place of its rest, And its waves pass in song, as the sea shells' soft numbers  Had giv'n to those waters their sweetest and best.
IV. The banks that surround it are flower-dropt and sunny;  There the first birth of violets' odour-showers weep—
There the bee heaps his earliest treasure of honey,  Or sinks in the depths of the harebell to sleep.
V. Like prisoners escaped during night from their prison,  The waters fling gaily their spray to the sun; Who can tell me from whence that glad river has risen?  Who can say whence it springs in its beauty? not one.
VI. Oh my heart, and my song which is as my heart's flowing,  Read thy fate in yon river, for such is thine own; 'Mid those the chief praise on thy music bestowing,  Who cares for the lips from whence issue the tone.
VII. Dark as its birth-place so dark is my spirit,  Whence yet the sweet waters of melody came; 'Tis the long after-course, not the source, will inherit  The beauty and glory of sunshine and fame. L. E. L.
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon in Friendship’s Offering, 1836/The Festival

* THE FESTIVAL
* Drawn by W. PurserEngraved by E. Finden
THE FESTIVAL.
BY L. E. L.
It is a festal meeting,
 For flask and fruit are there;
The wind, in its retreating,
 Brings music through the air.
It is an hour for gladness,
 So golden is the day,
If there are signs of sadness.
 Their gloom is done away.
Tho' the past has many a token
 That destruction has been here;
Tho' the column lieth broken,
 And the ruined shrine be near;
The acanthus twines above them,
 The wild flowers know their place;
And we only feel we love them
 For their beauty and their grace.
We think not of their splendour,—
 They are lovelier in decline;
And a dream, the fair and tender,
 Floats o'er the fallen shrine.
If haunted by the beauty
 Of Oreades long past by,
We turn with sweeter duty
 To the soft eyes shining nigh.
Now God be praised that flowers
 In the summer days have birth;
And for the lovely hours
 He sendeth to the earth.
That ilex, whose dark sweeping
 Flings down so sweet a shade,
Seems as if for its sole keeping
 A fairy world were made.
Amid the wild flowers lying
 There is a graceful band;
The green leaves round them sighing,
 And the lute is in their hand.
They are singing sweetest singing,
 It riseth on the air;
Its way to heaven winging
 As if its home were there.
Such hours are more than pleasure;
 When the song itself is o'er,
It lingers like a treasure
 In the heart it cheered before;
And still its memory cheereth,
 And keepeth its sweet hold,
When the weary world appeareth
 Too absolute and cold.
Two apart are standing lonely,
 Watching each other's eyes,
As if the world held only
 The space that in them lies.
You can see her graceful stooping,
 As if she feared to speak;
You can see the long lash drooping
 Upon her rose-red cheek.
The heaven now shining over,
 Has entered in each heart:
That maiden and her lover!
 How little earth has part
In the young and earnest feeling
 Which, like a star, hath shone,
'Mid the spirit's depths revealing
 A world as yet unknown.
This hour will pass—all passes,
 On this life's fleeting scene;
But still the future glasses
 All that the past has been.
This hour will pass, not perish,
 From the heart which now it stirs;
For memory will cherish
 The sweetest which was hers.
When silence has been broken
 By a joy hope could not reach,
And words of love have spoken
 Their first and softest speech.
Forgotten!—never—never—
 They will soothe all after pain,
And life's loveliest things will ever
 Bring back that hour again.
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon in The Literary Souvenir, 1827/Inconstant

THE INCONSTANT.
And deem'st thou that my heart could be A trifle and a toy for thee; A trophy, to be wooed and won; Taken but to be trampled on!
And deem'st thou that my heart would spring, A young bird on its summer wing, To be one moment caged in thine, Then left, poor prisoner, to pine.
You knew me not if you could deem I should weep o'er a vanished dream; The willow was not made for me, My wreath is of the aspen tree.
There is in southern lands a breeze Which sweeps with changeless course the seas; Fixed to one point, oh, faithful gale, Thou art not for my wandering sail!
I will not own a brighter eye Than mine has caught your truant sigh,— I will not own a fairer brow Than mine has made you captive now.
I deem my eye is still as bright As when it fixed your charmed sight; I deem my brow is still as fair As when you gazed and worshipped there.
But well I know that they have been Once, twice, or thrice already seen,— I know the charm of change too well Not to bow down to such a spell.
Love's vows are writ upon the wave, And are unto themselves a grave. They call Love ever young; but he Is as old age in memory.
Farewell then, sometime love of mine, Yet claim I gratitude of thine; Surely that love is something worth Whose death is laughing as its birth.
L. E. L.
# Poems of Letitia Elizabeth Landon in The Literary Souvenir, 1827/Lord Byron

* LORD BYRON
III.---The Last Portrait painted of Lord Byron. By  Francis Engleheart; from an original Picture, by  W. E. West, in that gentleman's possession..33
STANZAS.
Written beneath the portrait of Lord Byron, painted by Mr. West.
'Tis with strange feelings that I gaze  Upon this brow of thine, Magnificent as if the mind  Herself had carved her shrine: An altar unto which was given The flowers of earth, the light of heaven.
At the first glance, that eye is proud,  But, if I read aright, A fountain of sweet tears lies hid  Beneath its flashing light: Tenderness, like a gushing rill Subdued, represt, but flowing still.
That lip is curled with sneering smile,—  Alas! what doth it prove?— Not in the warfare of the world  Are lessons taught of love. So much is there hard to be borne, The heart must either break or scorn.
And differently the poison works  On every differing mind, Some grow false as the false they blamed,  And thus 'tis with mankind: But there are some whose loftier mood Grows maddened on such things to brood.
The young warm heart whose faith and love  Were all too prompt at first, What must it feel when these are turned  To darkness and distrust? Wormwood to know that heart has been Dupe of the false, prey of the mean.
Such will not ask for sympathy,  Knowing they ask in vain,— Nor yield to softer feelings way  To be deceived again; And bitter laugh, and scornful sneer, Become at once their shield and spear.
Such, methinks, was the destiny  That threw its chill o'er thee; Thou hadst mixed with the false, till all  Seemed but alike to be. Could not the workings of thine heart Another, holier creed impart?
I read it in thy gifted page,  In every noble thought, Each lofty feeling, and sweet song  With tenderness deep fraught; For there thine inmost soul was shown,— Their truth, their beauty, were thine own.
For out on the vain worldling's speech  Which saith the poet's skill But sets forth feelings he has not;  Worked up, wrought out at will. What knows he of that sacred feeling? He hath no part in its revealing.
And if sometimes he is not all  That his own song has sung, It is but part of that great curse  Which still to earth has clung. Whoe'er has seen, who yet shall see Himself as he deemed he could be?
The mind can win eternity  With its immortal name, But all too often happiness  Is the price paid for fame: For not a barbed shaft can fly But aims to strike the mark on high.
Oh, if there be one sullied page  Unworthy of thy name, The weakness of a mighty one,  To dwell on it were shame; Were cruelty, when thy fine mind Has left such nobler store behind.
But thou art with the dead,—thy life  In such a cause was given, Most glorious in the sight of man,  Precious in that of heaven. Marathon, and Thermopylæ: Such soil was fitting grave for thee!
Oh, England! to thy young and brave  Is not this stirring call, To free the fallen from the chain,  To break the tyrant's thrall, His life has not been spent in vain If Greece shall burst the Moslem chain. L. E. L.
# Poems of Mr. John Milton, Both English and Latin, Compos'd at several times/A Paraphrase on Psalm 114

A Paraphrase on Psalm 114.
This and the following Psalm were don by the Author at fifteen yeers old.
WHen the blest seed of Terah's faithfull Son, After long toil their liberty had won, And past from Pharian fields to Canaan Land, Led by the strength of the Almighties hand,
Jehovah's wonders were in Israel shown, His praise and glory was in Israel known. That saw the troubl'd Sea, and shivering fled, And sought to hide his froth-becurled head Low in the earth, Jordans clear streams recoil, As a faint host that hath receiv'd the foil. The high, huge-bellied Mountains skip like Rams Amongst their Ews, the little Hills like Lambs. Why fled the Ocean? And why skipt the Mountains? Why turned Jordan toward his Crystall Fountains? Shake earth, and at the presence be agast Of him that ever was, and ay shall last, That glassy flouds from rugged rocks can crush, And make soft rills from the fiery flint-stones gush.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Poems of Mr. John Milton, Both English and Latin, Compos'd at several times/An Epitaph on the Marchioness of Winchester

An Epitaph on the Marchioness of Winchester
THis rich Marble doth enterr The honour'd Wife of Winchester, A Vicounts daughter, an Earls heir, Besides what her vertues fair Added to her noble birth, More then she could own from Earth. Summers three times eight save one She had told, alas too soon, After so short time of breath, To house with darknes, and with death.
Yet had the number of her days Bin as compleat as was her praise, Nature and fate had had no strife In giving limit to her life. Her high birth, and her graces sweet, Quickly found a lover meet; The Virgin quire for her request The God that sits at marriage feast He at their invoking came But with a scarce-wel lighted flame; And in his Garland as he stood, Ye might discern a Cipress bud. Once had the early Matrons run To greet her of a lovely son, And now with second hope she goes, And calls Lucina to her throws; But whether by mischance or blame Atropos for Lucina came; And with remorsles cruelty, Spoil'd at once both fruit and tree: The haples Babe before his birth Had burial, yet not laid in earth, And the languisht Mothers Womb Was not long a living Tomb.
So have I seen som tender slip Sav'd with care from Winters nip, The pride of her carnation train, Pluck't up by som unheedy swain, Who onely thought to crop the flowr New shot up from vernall showr; But the fair blossom hangs the head Side-ways as on a dying bed, And those Pearls of dew she wears, Prove to be presaging tears Which the sad morn had let fall On her hast'ning funerall. Gentle Lady may thy grave Peace and quiet ever have; After this thy travail sore Sweet rest sease thee evermore, That to give the world encrease, Shortned hast thy own lives lease, Here besides the sorrowing That thy noble House doth bring, Here be tears of perfect moan Weept for thee in Helicon, And som Flowers, and som Bays, For thy Hears to strew the ways,
Sent thee from the banks of Camo, Devoted to thy vertuous name; Whilst thou bright Saint high sit'st in glory, Next her much like to thee in story, That fair Syrian Shepherdess, Who after yeers of barrennes The highly favour'd Joseph bore To him that serv'd for her before, And at her next birth much like thee, Through pangs fled to felicity, Far within the boosom bright Of blazing Majesty and Light, There with thee, new welcom Saint, Like fortunes may her soul acquaint, With thee there clad in radiant sheen, No Marchioness, but now a Queen.