OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The American Cyclopædia (1879)/Becker, Wilhelm Gottlieb

Edition of 1879. See also Wilhelm Gottlieb Becker and Wilhelm Adolf Becker on Wikipedia; and the disclaimer.
BECKER. I. Wilhelm Gottlieb, a German archæologist, born at Oberkallenberg, Nov. 4, 1753, died in Dresden, June 3, 1813. He studied at the university of Leipsic, was a teacher in Dessau, and became professor at the Dresden art academy (Ritterakademie) in 1782, director of the gallery of antiquities and of the numismatic museum in 1795, and of the green vaults in 1805. He edited the Encomium Moriæ of Erasmus (Lob der Narrheit, Basel, 1780), and published the works of Holbein (Berlin, 1781). His principal works are: Augusteum, Dresdens antike Denkmäler enthaltend (2 vols., Dresden, 1805-'9; new and enlarged ed., 1832-'7, with 162 engravings), and an illustrated work on the coins of the middle ages in the Dresden numismatic museum (Leipsic, 1813). II. Wilhelm Adolf, son of the preceding, born in Dresden in 1796, died in Meissen, Sept. 30, 1846. He was professor of classical archæology at the university of Leipsic. His Gallus (3d ed., 2 vols., Leipsic, 1863) and Charicles (2d ed., 3 vols., 1854) have been translated into English by the Rev. Frederick Metcalfe, with notes (London, 1844 and 1854).
In these works the life, manners, and customs of the ancient Greeks and Romans are admirably depicted, accompanied by learned and elaborate excursuses. His principal work is Handbuch der römischen Alterthümer, completed after his death by Marquardt (5 vols., 1843-'64).
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/Moonlight Bay

66—MOONLIGHT BAY
We were sailing along On Moonlight Bay, We could hear the voices ringing, They seem to say, "You have stolen her heart Now don't go way," As we sang Love's Old Sweet Song, On Moonlight Bay.
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/Mother Machree

From the musical Barry of Ballymoore (1910), with music by Ernest Ball.
94—MOTHER MACHREE
Sure I love the dear silver that shines in your hair, And the brow that's all furrowed, and wrinkled with care, I kiss the dear fingers, so toil-worn for me, Oh! God bless you and keep you, Mother Machree!
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean

104-MY BONNIE LIES OVER THE OCEAN
My bonnie lies over the ocean, My bonnie lies over the sea, My bonnie lies over the ocean, Oh, bring back my bonnie to me.
Chorus
Bring back, bring back, bring back my bonnie to me, to me Bring back, bring back, oh, bring back my bonnie to me
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/My Heart is Calling You

55—MY HEART IS CALLING YOU
My heart is calling you, Calling with love so true, My dreams the whole night through, Are all of you, My arms are waiting, dear, Waiting to press you near, Near to the heart that is calling for love and you.
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/My Old Kentucky Home

119—MY OLD KENTUCKY HOME
The sun shines bright in the old Kentucky home 'Tis summer, the darkies are gay, The corn top's ripe, and the meadow's in the bloom, While the birds make music all the day. The young folk roll on the little cabin floor, All merry, and happy and bright; By'n by hard times come a knocking at the door Then my old Kentucky home good night.
Chorus
Weep no more, my lady, Oh, weep no more to-day, We will sing one song for my old Kentucky home For my old Kentucky home far away.
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/Mother

Published 1915, with music by Theodore F. Morse
135—MOTHER
"M" is for the million things she gave me, "O" means only that she's growing old, "T" is for the tears she shed to save me, "H" is for her heart of purest gold; "E" is for her eyes, with love-light shining, "R" means right, and right she'll always be, Put them all together, they spell "Mother," A word that means the world to me.
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/Mighty Like A Rose

63—MIGHTY LIKE A ROSE:
Sweetest li'l' feller, Ev'ry-body knows; Dun-no what to call 'im, But he mighty lak' a rose! Lookin' at his Mammy Wid eyes so shiny blue, Mek' you think that heav'n Is comin' clost ter you!
When he's dare a sleeping in his li'l' place, Think I see de Angels lookin through de lace When de dark is fallin, when de shadows creep Then they come on tiptoe to kiss him in his sleep Chorus—Repeat 1st eight lines).
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/My Ain Folk

Set to music by Laura G. Lemon.
108—MY AIN FOLK
Far frae my hame I wander; But still my thoughts return To my ain folk ower yonder, In the sheilding by the burn, I see the cosy ingle, And the mist abune the brae: And joy and sadness mingle, As I list some auld warld lay. And it's oh! but I'm longing for my ain folk, Tho' they be but lowly, puir, and plain folk: I am far beyond the sea, But my heart will ever be At hame in dear auld Scotland, wi' my ain folk!
O' their absent ane they're telling—The auld folk by the fire: And I mark the swift tears welling, As the ruddy flame leap high'r. How the mither wad caress me, Were I but by her side: Now she prays that Heav'n will bless me, tho' the stormy sea divide. And its oh! but I'm longing for my ain folk, Tho' they be but lowly, puir, and plain folk: I am far beyond the sea, But my heart will ever be At hame in dear auld Scotland, wi' my ain folk!
A bonnie lass is greeting, Tho' she strives to stay the tears: Ah! sweet will be our meeting After mony weary years. Soon my fond arms shall enfold ye, As I ca' you ever mine— Still abides the love I told ye In the days of auld lang syne. And it's oh! but I'm longing for my ain folk, tho' they be but lowly, puir, and plain folk: I am far across the sea, But soon I'll be At hame in dear auld Scotland wi' my ain folk!
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/My Wild Irish Rose

From the musical A Romance of Althlone (1899).
88—MY WILD IRISH ROSE
My wild Irish Rose, The sweetest flower that grows You may search everywhere, But none can compare With my wild Irish Rose, My wild Irish Rose, The dearest flower that blows And some day, for my sake, She may let me take The bloom from my wild Irish Rose.
# The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book/My Tunic is Out at the Elbows

36—MY TUNIC IS OUT AT THE ELBOWS
Tune—My Bonnie Lies Over the Ocean
My tunic is out at the elbows, My trousers are out at the knee, My puttees are ragged and frazzled But the Q.M. says nothing for me.
My Tummy knocks hard on my backbone, My dial is thin as can be; Still all we get handed at mealtimes, Is bully and Machonochie.
# The Black Riders & Other Lines/A spirit sped

This poem was published in 1905 in the volume The Black Rider & Other Lines.
A spirit sped Through spaces of night; And as he sped, he called, "God! God!" He went through valleys Of black death-slime, Ever calling, "God! God!" Their echoes From crevice and cavern Mocked him: "God! God! God!" Fleetly into the plains of space He went, ever calling, "God! God!" Eventually, then, he screamed, Mad in denial, "Ah, there is no God!" A swift hand, A sword from the sky, Smote him, And he was dead.
# The Black Riders & Other Lines/A youth in apparel that glittered

This poem was published in 1905 in the volume The Black Rider & Other Lines.
A youth in apparel that glittered Went to walk in a grim forest. There he met an assassin Attired all in garb of old days; He, scowling through the thickets, And dagger poised quivering, Rushed upon the youth. "Sir," said this latter, "I am enchanted, believe me, To die, thus, In this medieval fashion, According to the best legends; Ah, what joy!" Then took he the wound, smiling, And died, content.
# The Black Riders & Other Lines/Behold, from the land of the farther suns

This poem was published in 1905 in the volume The Black Rider & Other Lines.
Behold, from the land of the farther suns I returned. And I was in a reptile-swarming place, Peopled, otherwise, with grimaces, Shrouded above in black impenetrableness. I shrank, loathing, Sick with it. And I said to him, "What is this?" He made answer slowly, "Spirit, this is a world; This was your home."
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 Black Riders & Other Lines/Friend, your white beard sweeps the ground

This poem was published in 1905 in the volume The Black Rider & Other Lines.
Friend, your white beard sweeps the ground. Why do you stand, expectant? Do you hope to see it In one of your withered days? With your old eyes Do you hope to see The triumphal march of justice? Do not wait, friend! Take your white beard And your old eyes To more tender lands.
# The Black Riders & Other Lines/Charity thou art a lie,

This poem was published in 1905 in the volume The Black Rider & Other Lines.
Charity thou art a lie, A toy of women, A pleasure of certain men. In the presence of justice, Lo, the walls of the temple Are visible Through thy form of sudden shadows.
# The Black Riders & Other Lines/And you love me

This poem was published in 1905 in the volume The Black Rider & Other Lines.
And you love me
I love you.
You are, then, cold coward.
Aye; but, beloved, When I strive to come to you, Man's opinions, a thousand thickets, My interwoven existence, My life, Caught in the stubble of the world Like a tender veil -- This stays me. No strange move can I make Without noise of tearing I dare not.
If love loves, There is no world Nor word. All is lost Save thought of love And place to dream. You love me?
I love you.
You are, then, cold coward.
Aye; but, beloved --
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 Black Riders & Other Lines/Behold, the grave of a wicked man

This poem was published in 1905 in the volume The Black Rider & Other Lines.
Behold, the grave of a wicked man, And near it, a stern spirit.
There came a drooping maid with violets, But the spirit grasped her arm. "No flowers for him," he said. The maid wept: "Ah, I loved him." But the spirit, grim and frowning: "No flowers for him."
Now, this is it -- If the spirit was just, Why did the maid weep?
# The Black Riders & Other Lines/Blustering God

This poem was published in 1905 in the volume The Black Rider & Other Lines.
i
Blustering God, Stamping across the sky With loud swagger, I fear You not. No, though from Your highest heaven You plunge Your spear at my heart, I fear You not. No, not if the blow Is as the lightning blasting a tree, I fear You not, puffing braggart.
ii
If Thou canst see into my heart That I fear Thee not, Thou wilt see why I fear Thee not, And why it is right. So threaten not, Thou, with Thy bloody spears, Else Thy sublime ears shall hear curses.
iii
Withal, there is One whom I fear: I fear to see grief upon that face. Perchance, friend, He is not your God; If so, spit upon Him. By it you will do no profanity. But I -- Ah, sooner would I die Than see tears in those eyes of my soul.
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 Black Riders & Other Lines/God fashioned the ship of the world carefully

This poem was published in 1905 in the volume The Black Rider & Other Lines.
God fashioned the ship of the world carefully. With the infinite skill of an All-Master Made He the hull and the sails, Held He the rudder Ready for adjustment. Erect stood He, scanning His work proudly. Then -- at fateful time -- a wrong called, And God turned, heeding. Lo, the ship, at this opportunity, slipped slyly, Making cunning noiseless travel down the ways. So that, forever rudderless, it went upon the seas Going ridiculous voyages, Making quaint progress, Turning as with serious purpose Before stupid winds. And there were many in the sky Who laughed at this thing.
# The Black Riders & Other Lines/Black riders came from the sea.

This poem was published in 1905 in the volume The Black Rider & Other Lines.
Black riders came from the sea. There was clang and clang of spear and shield, And clash and clash of hoof and heel, Wild shouts and the wave of hair In the rush upon the wind: Thus the ride of sin.
# The American Cyclopædia (1879)/Aa

Edition of 1879. See also Aa (Meuse), Aa (river, France), Aabach and Sarner Aa (river) on Wikipedia; and the disclaimer.
​AA, the name of a number of small rivers in central and northern Europe, derived from the Celtic ach, or Teutonic aa, flowing water. The most important are: I. A river of the Netherlands, province of North Brabant, which joins the Dommel at Bois-le-Duc. II. A river of Russia, government of Livonia, flowing into the gulf of Riga. III. A river of France, department of Le Nord, flowing into the North sea near Gravelines. IV. A river of Switzerland, canton of Aargau, which forms the lakes of Baldegg and Hallwyl, and flows into the Aar. V. A river of Switzerland, canton of Unterwalden, which flows through the lake of Sarnen, and empties into the lake of Lucerne.
# The American Cyclopædia (1879)/Aalborg

Edition of 1879. See also Aalborg on Wikipedia; and the disclaimer.
​AALBORG (Eel Town), a seaport and city of Denmark, in Jutland, capital of a district of the same name, on the S. shore of the Lymfiord, 15 m. from its outlet in the Cattegat; pop. in 1870, 11,721. It has a school of navigation, manufactories, and a large herring fishery. It was a celebrated seaport as early as 1070, and for a long time the most important mart of Jutland for all native products.
# The American Cyclopædia (1879)/A

Edition of 1879. See also A on Wikipedia; and the disclaimer.
​A, THE first of the vowels, and the first letter of all written alphabets except the Amharic or Abyssinian, of which it is the thirteenth, and the Runic, of which it is the tenth. This almost universal precedence appears to be due to the fact that its typical and probably only original sound (ah) is the most easily uttered of all sounds, being produced by a simple expulsion of the breath through the freely opened throat and mouth. In English, A has at least four distinct sounds, as heard in mate, mat, mart, ball; and that heard in mare is usually reckoned a fifth. In the words any, many, it has exceptionally the sound of short e. In combination with other vowels, it is sometimes heard alone, as in maid, aunt, pear; and is sometimes silent, as in boat, head, beauty. The historical features of A are interesting. Its sound (probably that which we now have in mart) was disliked by Cicero, and in the treatise De Oratore, c. xlix., he terms it insuavissima littera. By the ancients, A was employed as a numeral, and stood for 500, and when a dash was placed over it, thus, Ā, for ten times that number, or 5,000. It is the first of the seven Dominical letters in the Julian calendar—an imitation of the litteræ nundinales, which were in use among the Romans long before the introduction of Christianity. In logic, the letter A denotes a universal affirmative. In the comitia of the Romans, it was used in giving suffrages. In criminal trials it represented Absolvo, I acquit; hence Cicero, in his speech for Milo, terms it littera salutaris. In ancient inscriptions, A stands for Augustus, Augustalis, ager, agit, aiunt, aliquando, antique, assolet, aut; AA for Augusti, Augustæ, Aulus Agerius, æs alienum, ante audita, apud agrum, aurum argentum; AAA for Augusti when three in number, and for aurum, argentum, æs. On the reverse of ancient medals, it indicates the city in which they were issued, as Argos or Athens; on modern coins it is the mark of the city of Paris, doubtless taken anagrammatically from the last letter of the name Lutetia. A is also a frequent abbreviation, as in A. D. for Anno Domini, A. M. for Artium Magister or Anno Mundi, &c. In medical prescriptions it is used thus, ā, or āā, for ana, of each. In bills of exchange it is in England and France an abbreviation for accepted. AAA is the chemical abbreviation for amalgama.—A, in music, is the nominal of the sixth diatonic interval of the first octave of the modern scale. It corresponds to the La of Guido. A was the lowest note of the ancient Greek scale, and for many centuries represented the deepest tone used in music. Alterations in the scale were made, however, in the 10th century by Guido, and subsequently by others, so that at present C is the first note of the natural scale, and A the sixth diatonic interval; a marks the same interval in the second octave. A is also the nominal of one of the two natural modes.
# The American Cyclopædia (1879)/Aachen

Edition of 1879. See also the disclaimer.
​AACHEN. See Aix-la-Chapelle.
# The American Cyclopædia (1879)/Abracadabra

Edition of 1879. See also Abracadabra on Wikipedia; and the disclaimer.
ABRACADABRA, a magical word with the ancients, supposed to possess some talismanic properties when inscribed and partially repeated in a triangular form, so as to be read in different directions, upon a square piece of paper or linen, folded and worn as an amulet or variously used in incantations.
# The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë/Gods of the old mythology

UNPUBLISHED POEMS
I
Gods of the old mythology Arise in gloom and storm; Adramalec, bow down thy head, Reveal, dark fiend, thy form, The giant sons of Anakim Bowed lowest at thy shrine, And thy temple rose in Argola, With its hallowed groves of vine; And there was eastern incense burnt, And there were garments spread, With the fine gold decked and broidered, And tinged with radiant red, With the radiant red of furnace flames That through the shadows shone As the full moon when on Sinai's top Her rising light is thrown.
# The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë/Had there been falsehood in my breast

LXVI
Had there been falsehood in my breast No doubt had marr'd my word; This spirit had not lost its rest, These tears had never flowed.
I gazed upon the cloudless moon And loved her all the night, Till morning came and radiant noon, And I forgot her light.
No, not forgot eternally Beneath its mighty glare: But could the day seem dark to me Because the night was fair?
July 26, 1843.
# The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë/Faith and Despondency

POEMS PUBLISHED IN 1846
I
FAITH AND DESPONDENCY
'The winter wind is loud and wild, Come close to me, my darling child; Forsake thy books, and mateless play; And, while the night is gathering grey, We'll talk its pensive hours away;—
'Iernë, round our sheltered hall November's gusts unheeded call; Not one faint breath can enter here Enough to wave my daughter's hair, And I am glad to watch the blaze Glance from her eyes, with mimic rays, To feel her cheek, so softly pressed, In happy quiet on my breast.
'But, yet, even this tranquillity Brings bitter, restless thoughts to me; And, in the red fire's cheerful glow, I think of deep glens, blocked with snow; ​I dream of moor, and misty hill, Where evening closes dark and chill; For, lone, among the mountains cold, Lie those that I have loved of old. And my heart aches, in hopeless pain, Exhausted with repinings vain, That I shall greet them ne'er again!'
'Father, in early infancy, When you were far beyond the sea, Such thoughts were tyrants over me! I often sat, for hours together, Through the long nights of angry weather, Raised on my pillow, to descry The dim moon struggling in the sky; Or, with strained ear, to catch the shock, Of rock with wave, and wave with rock; So would I fearful vigil keep, And, all for listening, never sleep. But this world's life has much to dread, Not so, my Father, with the dead.
'Oh! not for them, should we despair, The grave is drear, but they are not there: Their dust is mingled with the sod, Their happy souls are gone to God! You told me this, and yet you sigh, And murmur that your friends must die. Ah! my dear father, tell me why? For, if your former words were true, How useless would such sorrow be; ​As wise, to mourn the seed which grew Unnoticed on its parent tree, Because it fell in fertile earth, And sprang up to a glorious birth— Struck deep its root, and lifted high Its green boughs in the breezy sky.
'But, I'll not fear, I will not weep For those whose bodies rest in sleep,— I know there is a blessed shore, Opening its ports for me and mine; And, gazing Time's wide waters o'er, I weary for that land divine, Where we were born, where you and I Shall meet our dearest, when we die; From suffering and corruption free, Restored into the Deity.'
'Well hast thou spoken, sweet, trustful child! And wiser than thy sire; And worldly tempests, raging wild, Shall strengthen thy desire— Thy fervent hope, through storm and foam, Through wind and ocean's roar, To reach, at last, the eternal home, The steadfast, changeless shore!'
# The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë/Fall, leaves, fall, die flowers away

XXXVIII
Fall, leaves, fall; die, flowers, away; Lengthen night and shorten day; Every leaf speaks bliss to me, Fluttering from the autumn tree. I shall smile when wreaths of snow Blossom where the rose should grow; I shall sing when night's decay Ushers in a drearier day.
# The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë/Grave in the Ocean

LI
GRAVE IN THE OCEAN
Where beams the sun the brightest In the hours of sweet July? Where falls the snow the lightest From bleak December's sky?
Where can the weary lay his head, And lay it soft the while; In a grave that never shuts its dead From heaven's benignant smile?
Upon the earth is sunlight; Spring grass grows green and fair; But beneath the earth is midnight— Eternal midnight there.
Then why lament that those we love Escape earth's dungeon tomb? As if the flowers that blow above Could charm its undergloom.
From morning's faintest dawning Till evening's deepest shade, Thou wilt not cease thy mourning To know where she is laid. ​But if to weep above her grave Be such a priceless boon, Go, shed thy tears in Ocean's wave And they will reach it soon.
Yet midst thy wild repining, Mad though that anguish be, Think heaven on her is shining Even as it shines on thee.
With thy mind's vision pierce the deep, Look now she rests below, And tell me, why such blessed sleep Should cause such bitter woe?
May 1, 1843.
# The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë/Harp of wild and dream-like strain

XXXI
Harp of wild and dream-like strain, When I touch thy strings, Why dost thou repeat again Long-forgotten things?
Harp, in other earlier days I could sing to thee, And not one of all my lays Vexed my memory.
But now if I awake a note That gave me joy before, Sounds of sorrow from thee float, Changing evermore.
Yet still steeped in memory's dyes They come sailing on, Darkening all my summer skies, Shutting out my sun.
# The Complete Poems of Emily Brontë/Fair sinks the summer evening now

XXXVIII
Fair sinks the summer evening now In scattered glory round; The sky upon its holy brow Wears not a cloud that speaks of gloom.
The old tower, shrined in golden light, Looks down on the descending sun; So softly evening blends with night, You scarce can say when day is done.
And this is just the joyous hour When we were wont to burst away T' escape from labour's tyrant power And cheerfully go out to play.
Then why is all so sad and lone? No merry footstep on the stair, No laugh, no heart-awaking tone, But voiceless silence everywhere.
I've wandered round our garden ground, And still it seemed at every turn That I should greet approaching feet, And words upon the breezes hung. ​In vain, they will not come to-day, And morning's beams will rise as drear. Then tell me, are they gone for aye, Or gleams the sun amongst the mists of care?
Be still, reviving hope doth say, Departed joys 'tis fond to mourn, Think every storm that rides its way Prepared a more divine return.
August 30, 1839.