OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier/Garden

GARDEN
A hymn for the American Horticultural Society, 1882. [Originally written to be sung at an agricultural and horticultural fair in Amesbury in 1853. It was translated into Portuguese by Dom Pedro, Emperor of Brazil, and read at a harvest festival. It has been translated into Italian also and sung by peasants at the gathering of the vintage.]
O Painter of the fruits and flowers, We own Thy wise design, Whereby these human hands of ours May share the work of Thine!
Apart from Thee we plant in vain The root and sow the seed; Thy early and Thy later rain, Thy sun and dew we need.
Our toil is sweet with thankfulness, Our burden is our boon; The curse of Earth’s gray morning is The blessing of its noon.
Why search the wide world everywhere For Eden’s unknown ground? That garden of the primal pair May nevermore be found.
But, blest by Thee, our patient toil May right the ancient wrong, And give to every clime and soil The beauty lost so long.
Our homestead flowers and fruited trees May Eden’s orchard shame; We taste the tempting sweets of these Like Eve, without her blame.
And, North and South and East and West, The pride of every zone, The fairest, rarest, and the best May all be made our own.
Its earliest shrines the young world sought In hill-groves and in bowers, The fittest offerings thither brought Were Thy own fruits and flowers.
And still with reverent hands we cull Thy gifts each year renewed; The good is always beautiful, The beautiful is good.
# The Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier/Hampton Beach

HAMPTON BEACH
The sunlight glitters keen and bright, Where, miles away, Lies stretching to my dazzled sight A luminous belt, a misty light, Beyond the dark pine bluffs and wastes of sandy gray.
The tremulous shadow of the Sea! Against its ground Of silvery light, rock, hill, and tree, Still as a picture, clear and free, With varying outline mark the coast for miles around.
On—on—we tread with loose-flung rein Our seaward way, Through dark-green fields and blossoming grain, Where the wild brier-rose skirts the lane, And bends above our heads the flowering locust spray.
Ha! like a kind hand on my brow Comes this fresh breeze, Cooling its dull and feverish glow,
While through my being seems to flow The breath of a new life, the healing of the seas!
Now rest we, where this grassy mound His feet hath set In the great waters, which have bound His granite ankles greenly round With long and tangled moss, and weeds with cool spray wet.
Good-by to Pain and Care! I take Mine ease to-day: Here where these sunny waters break, And ripples this keen breeze, I shake All burdens from the heart, all weary thoughts away.
I draw a freer breath, I seem Like all I see— Waves in the sun, the white-winged gleam Of sea-birds in the slanting beam, And far-off sails which flit before the south-wind free.
So when Time’s veil shall fall asunder, The soul may know No fearful change, nor sudden wonder, Nor sink the weight of mystery under, But with the upward rise, and with the vastness grow.
And all we shrink from now may seem No new revealing; Familiar as our childhood’s stream, Or pleasant memory of a dream The loved and cherished Past upon the new life stealing.
Serene and mild the untried light May have its dawning; And, as in summer’s northern night The evening and the dawn unite, The sunset hues of Time blend with the soul’s new morning.
I sit alone; in foam and spray Wave after wave Breaks on the rocks which, stern and gray, Shoulder the broken tide away, Or murmurs hoarse and strong through mossy cleft and cave.
What heed I of the dusty land And noisy town? I see the mighty deep expand From its white line of glimmering sand To where the blue of heaven on bluer waves shuts down!
In listless quietude of mind, I yield to all The change of cloud and wave and wind; And passive on the flood reclined, I wander with the waves, and with them rise and fall.
But look, thou dreamer! wave and shore In shadow lie; The night-wind warns me back once more To where, my native hill-tops o’er, Bends like an arch of fire the glowing sunset sky.
So then, beach, bluff, and wave, farewell! I bear with me No token stone nor glittering shell, But long and oft shall Memory tell Of this brief thoughtful hour of musing by the Sea.
# The Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier/Hymn ("O Holy Father! just and true")

HYMN
Written for the celebration of the third anniversary of British emancipation, at the Broadway Tabernacle, New York, first of August, 1837. [Originally entitled Lines.]
O Holy Father! just and true Are all Thy works and words and ways, And unto Thee alone are due Thanksgiving and eternal praise! As children of Thy gracious care, We veil the eye, we bend the knee, With broken words of praise and prayer, Father and God, we come to Thee.
For Thou hast heard, O God of Right, The sighing of the island slave; And stretched for him the arm of might, Not shortened that it could not save. The laborer sits beneath his vine, The shackled soul and hand are free; Thanksgiving! for the work is Thine! Praise! for the blessing is of Thee!
And oh, we feel Thy presence here, Thy awful arm in judgment bare! Thine eye hath seen the bondman’s tear; Thine ear hath heard the bondman’s prayer. Praise! for the pride of man is low, The counsels of the wise are naught, The fountains of repentance flow; What hath our God in mercy wrought?
Speed on Thy work, Lord God of Hosts! And when the bondman’s chain is riven, And swells from all our guilty coasts The anthem of the free to Heaven, Oh, not to those whom Thou hast led, As with Thy cloud and fire before, But unto Thee, in fear and dread, Be praise and glory evermore.
# The Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier/Godspeed

GODSPEED
Written on the occasion of a voyage made by my friends Annie Fields and Sarah Orne Jewett.
Outbound, your bark awaits you. Were I one Whose prayer availeth much, my wish should be Your favoring trade-wind and consenting sea. By sail or steed was never love outrun, And, here or there, love follows her in whom All graces and sweet charities unite, The old Greek beauty set in holier light; And her for whom New England’s byways bloom, Who walks among us welcome as the Spring, Calling up blossoms where her light feet stray. God keep you both, make beautiful your way, Comfort, console, and bless; and safely bring, Ere yet I make upon a vaster sea The unreturning voyage, my friends to me.
# The Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier/Greeting

GREETING
Originally prefixed to the volume, The King’s Missive and other Poems. [Entitled there, The Prelude.]
I spread a scanty board too late; The old-time guests for whom I wait Come few and slow, methinks, to-day. Ah! who could hear my messages Across the dim unsounded seas On which so many have sailed away!
Come, then, old friends, who linger yet, And let us meet, as we have met, Once more beneath this low sunshine; And grateful for the good we ’ve known, The riddles solved, the ills outgrown, Shake hands upon the border line.
The favor, asked too oft before, From your indulgent ears, once more I crave, and, if belated lays To slower, feebler measures move, The silent sympathy of love To me is dearer now than praise.
And ye, O younger friends, for whom My hearth and heart keep open room, Come smiling through the shadows long. Be with me while the sun goes down, And with your cheerful voices drown The minor of my even-song.
For, equal through the day and night, The wise Eternal oversight And love and power and righteous will
Remain: the law of destiny, The best for each and all must be, And life its promise shall fulfil.
# The Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier/Help

HELP
Dream not, O Soul, that easy is the task Thus set before thee. If it proves at length, As well it may, beyond thy natural strength, Faint not, despair not. As a child may ask A father, pray the Everlasting Good For light and guidance midst the subtle snares Of sin thick planted in life’s thoroughfares, For spiritual strength and moral hardihood; Still listening, through the noise of time and sense, To the still whisper of the Inward Word; Bitter in blame, sweet in approval heard, Itself its own confirming evidence: To health of soul a voice to cheer and please, To guilt the wrath of the Eumeuides.
# The Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier/Giving and Taking

GIVING AND TAKING
I have attempted to put in English verse a prose translation of a poem by Tinnevaluva, a Hindoo poet of the third century of our era.
Who gives and hides the giving hand, Nor counts on favor, fame, or praise, Shall find his smallest gift outweighs The burden of the sea and land.
Who gives to whom hath naught been given, His gift in need, though small indeed As is the grass-blade’s wind-blown seed, Is large as earth and rich as heaven.
Forget it not, O man, to whom A gift shall fall, while yet on earth; Yea, even to thy seven-fold birth Recall it in the lives to come.
Who broods above a wrong in thought Sins much; but greater sin is his Who, fed and clothed with kindnesses, Shall count the holy alms as naught.
Who dares to curse the hands that bless Shall know of sin the deadliest cost; The patience of the heavens is lost Beholding man’s unthankfulness.
For he who breaks all laws may still In Sivam’s mercy be forgiven; But none cane save, in earth or heaven, The wretch who answers good with ill.
# The Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier/Hazel Blossoms

HAZEL BLOSSOMS
The summer warmth has left the sky, The summer songs have died away; And, withered, in the footpaths lie The fallen leaves, but yesterday With ruby and with topaz gay.
The grass is browning on the hills; No pale, belated flowers recall The astral fringes of the rills, And drearily the dead vines fall, Frost-blackened, from the roadside wall.
Yet through the gray and sombre wood, Against the dusk of fir and pine, Last of their floral sisterhood, The hazel’s yellow blossoms shine, The tawny gold of Afric’s mine!
Small beauty hath my unsung flower, For spring to own or summer hail; But, in the season’s saddest hour, To skies that weep and winds that wail Its glad surprisals never fail.
O days grown cold! O life grown old! No rose of June may bloom again; But, like the hazel’s twisted gold, Through early frost and latter rain Shall hints of summer-time remain.
And as within the hazel’s bough A gift of mystic virtue dwells, That points to golden ores below, And in dry desert places tells Where flow unseen the cool, sweet wells,—
So, in the wise Diviner’s hand, Be mine the hazel’s grateful part To feel, beneath a thirsty land, The living waters thrill and start, The beating of the rivulet’s heart!
Sufficeth me the gift to light With latest bloom the dark, cold days; To call some hidden spring to sight That, in these dry and dusty ways, Shall sing its pleasant song of praise.
O Love! the hazel-wand may fail, But thou canst lend the surer spell, That, passing over Baca’s vale, Repeats the old-time miracle, And makes the desert-land a well.
# The Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier/How the Robin Came

HOW THE ROBIN CAME
AN ALGONQUIN LEGEND
Happy young friends, sit by me, Under May’s blown apple-tree, While these home-birds in and out Through the blossoms flit about. Hear a story, strange and old, By the wild red Indians told, How the robin came to be: Once a great chief left his son,— Well-beloved, his only one,— When the boy was well-nigh grown, In the trial-lodge alone. Left for tortures long and slow Youths like him must undergo, Who their pride of manhood test, Lacking water, food, and rest.
Seven days the fast he kept, Seven nights he never slept. Then the young boy, wrung with pain, Weak from nature’s overstrain, Faltering, moaned a low complaint: “Spare me, father, for I faint!” But the chieftain, haughty-eyed, Hid his pity in his pride. “You shall be a hunter good, Knowing never lack of food:
You shall be a warrior great, Wise as fox and strong as bear; Many scalps your belt shall wear, If with patient heart you wait Bravely till your task is done. Better you should starving die Than that boy and squaw should cry Shame upon your father’s son!”
When next morn the sun’s first rays Glistened on the hemlock sprays, Straight that lodge the old chief sought, And boiled samp and moose meat brought. “Rise and eat, my son!” he said. Lo, he found the poor boy dead! As with grief his grave they made, And his bow beside him laid, Pipe, and knife, and wampum-braid, On the lodge-top overhead, Preening smooth its breast of red And the brown coat that it wore, Sat a bird, unknown before. And as if with human tongue, “Mourn me not,” it said, or sung; “I, a bird, am still your son, Happier than if hunter fleet, Or a brave, before your feet Laying scalps in battle won. Friend of man, my song shall cheer Lodge and corn-land; hovering near, To each wigwam I shall bring Tidings of the coming spring; Every child my voice shall know In the moon of melting snow, When the maple’s red bud swells, And the wind-flower lifts its bells. As their fond companion Men shall henceforth own your son, And my song shall testify That of human kin am I.”
Thus the Indian legend saith How, at first, the robin came With a sweeter life than death, Bird for boy, and still the same. If my young friends doubt that this Is the robin’s genesis, Not in vain is still the myth If a truth be found therewith: Unto gentleness belong Gifts unknown to pride and wrong; Happier far than hate is praise,— He who sings than he who slays.
# The Complete Poetical Works of John Greenleaf Whittier/How the Women went from Dover

HOW THE WOMEN WENT FROM DOVER
You, and every one of you, are required, in the King’s Majesty’s name, to take these vagabond Quakers, Anne Colman, Mary Tomkins, and Alice Ambrose, and make them fast to the cart’s tail, and driving the cart through your several towns, to whip them upon their naked backs not exceeding ten stripes apiece on each of them, in each town; and so to convey them from constable to constable till they are out of this jurisdiction, as you will answer it at your peril; and this shall be your warrant.
Richard Waldron.
Dated at Dover, December 22, 1662.
​This warrant was executed only in Dover and Hampton. At Salisbury the constable refused to obey it. He was sustained by the town's people, who were under the influence of Major Robert Pike, the leading man in the lower valley of the Merrimac, who stood far in advance of his time, as an advocate of religious freedom and an opponent of ecclesiastical authority. He had the moral courage to address an able and manly letter to the court at Salem, remonstrating against the witchcraft trials.
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 5/Epistles - First Series/CIII Mary

CIII
The Math, Belur, Howrah Dist., Bengal, India, 18th May, 1901.
My Dear Mary,
Sometimes it is hard work to be tied to the shoestrings of a great name. And that was just what happened to my letter. You wrote on the 22nd January, 1901. You tied me to the latchet of a great name, Miss MacLeod. Consequently the letter has been following her up and down the world. Now it reached me yesterday from Japan, where Miss MacLeod is at present. Well, this, therefore, is the solution of the sphinx's riddle. "Thou shalt not join a great name with a small one."
So, Mary, you have been enjoying Florence and Italy, and I do not know where you be by this time. So, fat old "laidy", I throw this letter to the mercy of Monroe & Co., 7 rue Scribe.
Now, old "laidy" — so you have been dreaming away in Florence and the Italian lakes. Good; your poet objects to its being empty though.
Well, devoted sister, how about myself ? I came to India last fall, suffered all through winter, and went this summer touring through Eastern Bengal and Assam — through a land of giant rivers and hills and malaria — and after hard work of two months had a collapse, and am now back to Calcutta slowly recovering from the effects of it.
The Raja of Khetri died from a fall a few months ago. So you see things are all gloomy with me just now, and my own health is wretched. Yet I am sure to bob up soon and am waiting for the next turn.
I wish I were in Europe, just to have a long chat with you, and then return as quick to India; for, after all, I feel a sort of quiet nowadays, and have done with three-fourths of my restlessness.
My love to Harriet Woolley, to Isabel, to Harriet McKindley; and to mother my eternal love and gratitude. Tell mother, the subtle Hindu's gratitude runs through generations.
Ever yours in the Lord, Vivekananda.
PS. Write a line when you feel like it.
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 5/Epistles - First Series/CIV Shashi

CIV
(Translated from Bengali)
Math, Belur, Dist., Howrah, 3rd June, 1901.
My Dear Shashi,
Reading your letter I felt like laughing, and also rather sorry. The cause of the laughter is that you had a dream through indigestion and made yourself miserable, taking it to be real. The cause of my sorrow is that it is clear from this that your health is not good, and that your nerves require rest very badly.
Never have I laid a curse on you, and why should I do so now? All your life you have known my love for you, and today are you doubting it? True, my temper was ever bad, and nowadays owing to illness it occasionally becomes terrible — but know this for certain that my love can never cease.
My health nowadays is becoming a little better. Have the rains started in Madras? When the rains begin a little in the South, I may go to Madras via Bombay and Poona. With the onset of the rains the terrible heat of the South will perhaps subside.
My great love to you and all others. Yesterday Sharat returned to the Math from Darjeeling — his health is much better than it was before. I have come here after a tour of East Bengal and Assam. All work has its ups and downs, its periods of intensity and slackness. Again it will rise up. What fear? . . . .
Whatever that may be, I say that you stop your work for some time and come straight back to the Math. After you have taken a month's rest here, you and I together will make a grand tour via Gujarat, Bombay, Poona, Hyderabad, Mysore to Madras. Would not that be grand? If you cannot do this, stop your lectures in Madras for a month. Take a little good food and sleep well. Within two or three months I shall go there. In any case, reply immediately as to what you decide to do.
Yours with blessings, Vivekananda.
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 5/Epistles - First Series/CIX Christine

CIX
The Math, Belur, 6th July, 1901.
Dear Christine,
Things come to me by fits — today I am in a fit of writing. The first thing to do is, therefore, to pen a few lines to you. I am known to be nervous, I worry much; but it seems, dear Christine, you are not far behind in that trick. One of our poets says, "Even the mountains will fly, the fire will be cold, yet the heart of the great will never change." I am small, very, but I know you are great, and my faith is always in your true heart. I worry about everything except you. I have dedicated you to the Mother. She is your shield, your guide. No harm can reach you — nothing hold you down a minute. I know it.
Ever yours in the Lord, Vivekananda.
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 5/Epistles - First Series/CVIII Mary

CVIII
The Math, 5th July, 1901.
My Dear Mary,
I am very thankful for your very long and nice letter, especially as I needed just such a one to cheer me up a bit. My health has been and is very bad. I recover for a few days only; then comes the inevitable collapse. Well, this is the nature of the disease anyway.
I have been touring of late in Eastern Bengal and Assam. Assam is, next to Kashmir, the most beautiful country in India, but very unhealthy. The huge Brahmaputra winding in and out of mountains and hills, studded with islands, is of course worth one's while to see.
My country is, as you know, the land of waters. But never did I realise before what that meant. The rivers of East Bengal are oceans of rolling fresh water, not rivers, and so long that steamers work on them for weeks. Miss MacLeod is in Japan. She is of course charmed with the country and asked me to come over, but my health not permitting such a long voyage, I desisted. I have seen Japan before.
So you are enjoying Venice. The old man must be delicious; only Venice was the home of old Shylock, was it not?
Sam is with you this year — I am so glad! He must be enjoying the good things of Europe after his dreary experience in the North. I have not made any interesting friends of late, and the old ones that you knew of, have nearly all passed away, even the Raja of Khetri. He died of a fall from a high tower at Secundra, the tomb of Emperor Akbar. He was repairing this old grand piece of architecture at his own expense at Agra, and one day while on inspection, he missed his footing, and it was a sheer fall of several hundred feet. Thus we sometimes come to grief on account of our zeal for antiquity. Take care, Mary, don't be too zealous for your piece of Indian antiquity.
In the Mission Seal, the snake represents mysticism; the sun knowledge; the worked up waters activity; the lotus love; the swan the soul in the midst of all.
With love to Sam and to mother,
Ever with love, Vivekananda.
PS. My letter had to be short; I am out of sorts all the time; it is the body!
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 5/Epistles - First Series
## Epistles - First Series

* Note
* I Fakir
* II Panditji Maharaj
* III Alasinga
* IV Alasinga
* V Alasinga
* VI Haripada
* VII Friends
* VIII Alasinga
* IX Sharat
* X Alasinga
* XI Alasinga
* XII Sister
* XIII Alasinga
* XIV Alasinga
* XV Kidi
* XVI Sister
* XVII Alasinga
* XVIII Alasinga
* XIX Vehemia
* XX Sister
* XXI Blessed and Beloved
* XXII Alasinga
* XXIII Kidi
* XXIV Blessed and Beloved
* XXV Alasinga
* XXVI Dharmapala
* XXVII Alasinga
* XXVIII Mrs. Bull
* XXIX G. G.
* XXX Alasinga
* XXXI Mrs. Ole Bull
* XXXII Sister
* XXXIII Alasinga
* XXXIV Sister
* XXXV Alasinga
* XXXVI Sister
* XXXVII Alasinga
* XXXVIII S_
* XXXIX Alasinga
* XL Alasinga
* XLI Friend
* XLII Kidi
* XLIII Alasinga
* XLIV Mrs. William Sturges
* XLV Mother
* XLVI Friend
* XLVII Maharaja of Khetri
* XLVIII Friend
* IL Alasinga
* L Mrs. Bull
* LI Friend
* LII Alasinga
* LIII Alasinga
* LIV Alasinga
* LV Alasinga
* LVI Sister
* LVII Blessed and Beloved
* LVIII Alasinga
* LIX Alasinga
* LX Alasinga
* LXI Dr. Nanjunda Rao
* LXII Dr. Nanjunda Rao
* LXIII Alasinga
* LXIV Alasinga
* LXV Blessed and Beloved
* LXVI Nanjunda Rao
* LXVII Alasinga
* LXVIII Alasinga
* LXIX Alasinga
* LXX Indian Mirror
* LXXI Alasinga
* LXXII Alasinga
* LXXIII Madam
* LXXIV Honoured Madam
* LXXV Doctor Shashi
* LXXVI Mr.—
* LXXVII Sarat Chandra
* LXXVIII Sister
* LXXIX Mother
* LXXX Joe
* LXXXI Jagmohanlal
* LXXXII M.
* LXXXIII Your Highness
* LXXXIV Your Highness
* LXXXV Your Highness
* LXXXVI Your Highness
* LXXXVII Your Highness
* LXXXVIII Your Highness
* LXXXIX Mother
* XC Joe
* XCI Friend
* XCII —
* XCIII Shashi
* XCIV Mother
* XCV Sturdy
* XCVI Mother
* XCVII Shashi
* XCVIII Mother
* IC Joe
* C Joe
* CI Mother
* CII Swarup
* CIII Mary
* CIV Shashi
* CV Joe
* CVI Joe
* CVII Joe
* CVIII Mary
* CIX Christine
* CX Mary
* CXI Blessed and Beloved
* CXII Blessed and Beloved
* CXIII Joe
* CXIV Swarup
* CXV Mrs. Ole Bull
* CXVI Sister Nivedita
* CXVII Rakhal
* CXVIII Rakhal
* CXIX Rakhal
* CXX Brahmananda
* CXXI Joe
* CXXII Joe
* CXXIII Dhira Mata
# The Complete Works of Swami Vivekananda/Volume 5/Epistles - First Series/CII Swarup

CII
The Math, 15th May, 1901.
My Dear Swarup (ânanda),
Your letter from Naini Tal is quite exciting. I have just returned from my tour through East Bengal and Assam. As usual I am quite tired and broken down.
If some real good comes out of a visit to H. H. of Baroda I am ready to come over, otherwise I don't want to undergo the expense and exertion of the long journey Think it well over and make inquiries, and write me if you still think it would be best for the Cause for me to come to see H. H. . . .
Yours with love and blessings, Vivekananda.