OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Patriotic pieces from the Great War/Old Glory

OLD GLORY
Permission of the author
A group of stars on an azure field— There the bond of the Union stands revealed; With bars of red and bars of white, That spurn the earth and seek the light— 'Tis the flag that men have died for!
That star-flecked banner marked the line From Bunker Hill to Brandywine; We fancy that its bars of red Proclaim the blood our grandsires shed, For this is the flag they died for!
It graced the heights of Monterey; It fluttered at Manila Bay. "The flag is there!" Thus ran the news From Pekin and from Vera Cruz— And this is the flag they died for!
Blow on o'er land; blow on o'er sea, O starlit banner of the free; Though foes abound and tyrants rave, Blow on, O banner of the brave! And this is the flag we'll die for.
—George B. Hynson
# Poems (David)/The Standard Bearer's Letter

September 1st, 1870.
"While going over the Field," writes the Correspondent of an English paper, "I noticed the body of a French Officer lying a little apart from a heap of dead by the road-side. In one hand he tightly grasped the Standard of France, torn and stained, across which he had fallen; in the other he still held a letter, which on examination proved to be from his wife; and at the bottom was written in a child's hand, a message, promising obedience and kindness to her mother until her father returned home."
# Poems, Chiefly Lyrical/The Mermaid

THE MERMAID.
# Poems, Chiefly Lyrical/The Mystic

THE MYSTIC.
# Poems, Chiefly Lyrical/The Deserted House

THE DESERTED HOUSE.
# Poems, Chiefly Lyrical/The Dying Swan

THE DYING SWAN.
# Poems, Chiefly Lyrical/The Kraken

THE KRAKEN.
# Poems, Chiefly Lyrical/The Merman

THE MERMAN.
# Poems, Chiefly Lyrical/The Grasshopper

THE GRASSHOPPER.
# Poems, Chiefly Lyrical/The Poet

THE POET.
# Poems, Chiefly Lyrical/The Poet's Mind

THE POET'S MIND.
# Poems, Chiefly Lyrical/The Sea-Fairies

THE SEA-FAIRIES.
# Personal Recollections of Joan of Arc/Book II

BOOK II
IN COURT AND CAMP
# Poems (Davidson)/The Origin of Chivalry

THE ORIGIN OF CHIVALRY.
When society first began to-form itself, rank and authority became necessary to subdue the wild and impetuous passions which raged unbridled in the savage bosom of man. Oppression and vassalage first appeared in the form of feudal government; each family looked up to its head, as each kingdom does now to its sovereign; his will was absolute, and his power unbounded in his castle and dominions
In this way the rights of man were partially secured; the vassal was bound to serve and succor his lord in the hour of danger, as it was that lord's only duty to support and protect his serf. But in those rude and barbarous ages, where was weak and helpless woman to find a shelter from the wild and lawless multitude? and what tribunal was there to which she could appeal if injured? When man was contending with man for superiority, or right, where could she fly for redress? could the feeble voice of woman be heard amid the uproar? No! but it arose, though in murmurs, to the ear of her Maker, and that very evil which menaced her destruction, proved her blessing.
In the dark ages of the world, woman held not that rank in society which a more enlightened age has allotted her; she was deemed merely the slave of man's tyrannical will, the tool of his pleasure,—too weak to defend herself, and too insignificant to claim the pro​tection of the lords of the creation. As the sun of Religion arose upon the world, the dark clouds of contention arose with its light; arms were the arguments which were unanimously chosen to decide every controversy; the sword was the test of merit; and the hand which wielded it with the greatest dexterity was chosen to direct the community.
The youthful soldier, ardent and enthusiastic, was ever in. search of some object on which to display his valor; the fair sex at length caught and fixed his attention; tournaments and feats of arms were instituted to display his devotion to the cause of beauty and virtue in distress, and love and religion were blended; love became wildly romantic, religion was enthusiastically venerated; the name of woman was held sacred as that of religion; and both, as dear to the heart of every knight-errant as that of the idol, Honor! they were blended with each other; the passions held the reins, and religion, though contemplated with enthusiasm, was too often made to bow before the shrine of love and romance.
# Pharos and Pharillon/Conclusion

​A serious history of Alexandria has yet to be written, and perhaps the foregoing sketches may have indicated how varied, how impressive, such a history might be. After the fashion of a pageant it might marshal the activities of two thousand two hundred and fifty years. But unlike a pageant it would have to conclude dully. Alas! The modern city calls for no enthusiastic comment. Its material prosperity seems assured, but little progress can be discerned elsewhere, while as for the past such links as remain are being wantonly snapped: for instance, the Municipality has altered name of the Rue Rosette to the meaningless Rue Fouad Premier, and has destroyed a charming covered Bazaar near the Rue de France, and out at Canopus the British Army of Occupation has done its bit by breaking up the Ptolemaic ruins to make roads. Everything passes, or almost everything. Only the climate, only the north wind and the sea remain as they were when Menelaus, the first visitor, landed upon Ras el Tin, and exacted from Proteus the promise of life everlasting. He was to escape death, on his wife's account: he was not to descend into the asphodel with the other shades whom Hermes conducts, himself a shade. Immortal, yet somehow or other unsatisfactory, Menelaus accordingly leads the Alexandrian pageant with solid tread; cotton-brokers conclude it;the intermediate space is thronged with phantoms, noiseless, insubstantial, innumerable, but not without interest for the historian.
# Pharos and Pharillon/Introduction

​Before there was civilization in Egypt, or the delta of the Nile had been formed, the whole country as far south as modern Cairo lay under the sea. The shores of this sea were a limestone desert. The coast line was smooth usually, but at the north-west corner a remarkable spur jutted out from the main mass. It was less than a mile wide, but thirty miles long. Its base is not far from Bahig, Alexandria is built half-way down in, its tip is the headland of Aboukir. On either side of it there was once deep salt water.
Centuries passed, and the Nile, issuing out of its crack above Cairo, kept carrying down the muds of Upper Egypt and dropping them as soon as its current slackened. In the north-west corner they were arrested by this spur and began to silt up against it. It was a shelter not only from the outer sea, but from the prevalent wind. Alluvial land appeared; the large shallow lake of Mariout was formed; and the current of the Nile, unable to escape through the limestone barrier, rounded the headland of Aboukir and entered the outer sea by what was known in historical times as the "Canopic" mouth.
To the north of the spur and more or less parallel to it runs a second range of limestone. ​It is much shorter, also much lower, lying mainly below the surface of the sea in the form of reefs, but without it there would have been no harbours (and consequently no Alexandria), because it breaks the force of the waves. Starting at Agame, it continues as a series of rocks across the entrance of the modern harbour. Then it re-emerges to form the promontory of Ras el Tin, disappears into a second series of rocks that close the entrance of the Eastern Harbour, and makes its final appearance as the promontory of Silsileh, after which it rejoins the big spur.
Such is the scene where the following actions and meditations take place; that limestone ridge, with alluvial country on one side of it and harbours on the other, jutting from the desert, pointing towards the Nile; a scene unique in Egypt, nor have the Alexandrians ever been truly Egyptian. Here Africans, Greeks and Jews combined to make a city; here a thousand years later the Arabs set faintly but durably the impress of the Orient; here after secular decay rose another city, still visible, where I worked or appeared to work during a recent war. Pharos, the vast and heroic lighthouse that dominated the first city—under Pharos I have grouped a few antique events; to modern events and to personal impressions I have given the name of Pharillon, the obscure successor of Pharos, which clung for a time to the low rock of Silsileh and then slid unobserved into the Mediterranean.
# Poems (Barbara White)/Only One Boy to Give

To my boy when he left with the Johnstown Aero Squadron.
# Poems (Barbara White)/Save Our Flag From Falling

To the tune of "Come Ye," by Athol, in Scottish Songs
Repeat from Come away.
# Poems (Barbara White)/Our Boys and Girls

Theme—Mr. Payne's lecture in high school at the Graduation Exercisee on Dec. 6th.
# Poems (Barbara White)/The Grand Old Fleet of England

Also taken from Mr. Payne's lecture.
# Philosophical Works of the Late James Frederick Ferrier

Volume numbering in this series can be confusing. The Institutes (volume 1) is a republication of an earlier work. The two remaining posthumously-published volumes (volumes 2 and 3) are often called the "First" and "Second" volumes, respectively.
A complete set of the "final" edition is not available as scans, so the works below are a combination of editions.

## Volumes

* Volume 1 — Institutes of Metaphysic, 1875). (transcription project)
* Volume 2 — Lectures on Greek Philosophy, 1888 (sometimes referred to as "The First Volume"). (transcription project)
* Volume 3 — Philosophical Remains, 1883 (sometimes referred to as "The Second Volume"). (transcription project)
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
# Picturesque New Orleans

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "Picturesque New Orleans."
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
This is a disambiguation page. It lists works that share the same title. If an article link referred you here, please consider editing it to point directly to the intended page.
* Picturesque New Orleans (1900), a book of photographs by Adolph Wittemann
* Picturesque New Orleans (1923), a book of drawings by William P. Spratling
# Picturesque New Guinea/Chapter 8

CHAPTER VIII.
NATIVE VILLAGES.
Scenery at the Hood Lagoon—Kerepunu—Hula—Fracas between Ship's Company and Natives—Beneficial Results—Start for Aroma—A Native Chief as Passenger—Parimata—Moapa—The Aroma District—Departure for Stacey Island—The Scenery described.
Plate XXVII. KA KALO CREEK, KAPA KAPA DISTRICT.
Plate XXVIII.
NEW GUINEA TROPHY, WEAPONS AND IMPLEMENTS. Reference page 63.
On the 4th October we quitted the Aroma District for Stacey Island, alternatively named South Cape. We gave the reef a wide berth, and came into a stiff south-easter, which gave us a lively time of it for twenty hours, this being the first night under steam since we made Papua. Early on Monday, the 5th, we passed Tree Point on the port quarter, and steering E. by N., left Wedge Rock to starboard, and Rugged Head to port, when we entered the narrow straits called Mairy Pass, formed by the mainland on the north, and Stacey Island on the south. The scenery here is surpassingly beautiful, the most beautiful we have yet visited. The narrowest part of the strait is not more than a mile in width, stretching away to the far east, and is bounded by Leocadi Island, which is crowned with a tree looking from the distance singularly like a lighthouse. The varied tints of green on the steep rises of Stacey Island, the deep azure of the straits, and the woody shores of Bertha Lagoon, dotted with native villages, combined to form a picture delightful to an artist's eye. Nothing seemed to be wanting to complete the charm of this terrestrial paradise. The eye roamed from spot to spot, everywhere resting on fresh and varied beauties. The lights developing the salient points of the glorious panorama of mountain, wood, and water, constantly changing from the shadows cast by flitting clouds. The mountains in the background rise to 3,000 feet above the level of Bertha Lagoon, and are covered from base to summit with luxuriant vegetation. The spot will always rest in my memory as the most beautiful I ever saw. The lagoon at its mouth is about 1,500 yards across, but widens considerably within. At 9 a.m. we anchored 300 yards from shore opposite the Mission Station of Suau, the native name for Stacey Island. The South Cape Missionary having died some time previous, his duties devolved upon his widow, who discharged them most efficiently, and to the entire satisfaction of the mission authorities. Anxious to preserve some ​
Plate XXIX.
NATIVE HOUSE AT THE VILLAGE OF KAMALI
Reference page 65.
# Picturesque New Guinea/Chapter 7

CHAPTER VII.
AN EXPEDITION INLAND.
Walk from Hula to Kalo—Cocoanut Groves—Native Diseases—Mortality —Kamali—A Popular Photographer—Arrival at Kalo—History of the Reprisals for Murder—Price of Wife—Matrimonial Customs—The Author leaves Kalo—Crossing a River—Arrival at Hood Lagoon—Rejoin the Ship.
Plate XXV.
MANGROVE SCRUB NEAR KAELE.
Reference page 60.
Plate XXVI.
GROUP OF NATIVES AT KAPA KAPA: CENTRAL FIGURES, MAN AND WOMAN IN MOURNING.
Reference page 61.
# Pieces People Ask For/How the Ransom was Paid

HOW THE RANSOM WAS PAID.
1598.
On the helpless Flemish village Cruel Alva swooped and fell; And the peace of trade and tillage Turned to martial clank and yell. In the town-house, tall and handsome, Stood the great duke looking down On the burghers proffering ransom For the safety of the town.
O'er his brow gray locks were twining, For his casque was laid aside, And his good sword carved and shining From the sword-belt was untied. Prince he seemed of born commanders; Pride and power each gesture told; As he cried, "Ye men of Flanders, Bring me twenty casks of gold!"
Then upon them fell a sadness, And a shadow like a pall, While they murmured, "'Tis rank madness Such a sum from us to call!" And the spokesman of the village Murmured feebly, "Sure you jest." Answered Alva, "Gold or pillage, Choose whiche'er may suit you best!"
Faint and stunned they turned despairing, When arose a laugh of joy, And before their startled staring In there pranced a little boy; On his curls the duke's helm rested, As with noisy glee he roared, And his good steed mailed and crested Was great Alva's mighty sword!
Round about the room he gambolled, Peeping through the helmet bars; Now he leaped, and now he ambled, Like a Cupid mocking Mars. Then he stayed his merry prancing, And of Alva's knees caught hold, Where a ray of sunlight glancing Turned his sunny curls to gold.
Swift the mother, sorely frightened, Strove to take the cherub wild; But the duke's stern features lightened As he kept her from the child; And he drank the pretty prattle— For the baby knew no fear— Till his eye, so fierce in battle, Softened with a pearly tear.
For a babe arose before him In fair Spain, ere war's alarms,— Thus his father's sword upbore him. Alva caught the boy in arms, And, the pretty forehead baring, Cried, "A kiss!" The child obeyed; Then unto those men despairing Alva said, "Your ransom's paid."
W. R. Rose, in Texas Siftings.
# Pieces People Ask For/Indian Names

INDIAN NAMES.
Ye say they all have passed away—
That noble race and brave;
That their light canoes have vanished
From off the crested wave;
That, 'mid the forests where they roamed,
There rings no hunter's shout;
But their name is on your waters—
Ye may not wash it out.
'Tis where Ontario's billow,
Like ocean's surge is curled;
Where strong Niagara's thunders wake
The echo of the world;
Where red Missouri bringeth
Rich tribute from the west,
And Rappahannock sweetly sleeps
On green Virginia's breast.
Ye say their cone-like cabins,
That clustered o'er the vale,
Have fled away like withered leaves
Before the Autumn's gale;
But their memory liveth on your hills. Their baptism on your shore: Your everlasting rivers speak Their dialect of yore.
Old Massachusetts wears it Upon her lordly crown, And broad Ohio bears it Amid his young renown; Connecticut hath wreathed it Where her quiet foliage waves, And bold Kentucky breathes it hoarse Through all her ancient caves.
Wachusett hides its lingering voice Within his rocky heart, And Alleghany graves its tone Throughout his lofty chart; Monadnock on his forehead hoar Doth seal the sacred trust; Your mountains build their monument, Though ye destroy their dust.
Ye call these red-browed brethren The insects of an hour: Crushed like the noteless worm amid The regions of their power, Ye drive them from their fathers' lands, Ye break of faith the seal; But can ye from the Court of Heaven Exclude their last appeal?
Ye see their unresisting tribes, With toilsome steps and slow, On through the trackless desert pass, A caravan of woe: Think ye the Eternal Ear is deaf? His sleepless vision dim? Think ye the soul's blood may not cry From that far land to him?
L. H. Sigourney.
# Pieces People Ask For/Love and Philosophy

LOVE AND PHILOSOPHY.
'Twas a maiden full of knowledge,
Though she'd scarcely passed eighteen;
She was lovely as an angel,
Though of grave and sober mien;
A sweet encyclopædia
Of every kind of lore;
And love looked coyly from behind
The glasses that she wore.
She sat beside her lover,
With her elbow on his knee,
And dreamily she gazed upon
The slumbering summer sea.
Until he broke the silence,
Saying, "Pray inform me, dear,
What people mean when speaking
Of the Thingness of the Here.
"I know you're just from Concord,
Where the lights of wisdom be;
Your head crammed full to bursting, love,
With their philosophy,—
"Those grave and reverend sages,
And maids of hosiery blue.
Then solve me the conundrum, dear,
That I have put to you."
The maid replied with gravity,—
"The Thingness of the Here
Is that which lies between the past
And future time, my dear.
"Indeed," the maid continued, with
A calm, unruffled brow,
"The Thingness of the Here is just
The Thisness of the Now."
The lover smiled a loving smile,
And then he fondly placed
A manly and protecting arm
Around the maiden's waist;
And on her rosebud lips impressed
A warm and loving kiss,
And said, "That's what I call, my dear,
The Nowness of the This."
Geo. Runde Jackson.
# Pieces People Ask For/Jamie Douglas

JAMIE DOUGLAS.
It was in the days when Claverhouse Was scouring moor and glen, To change, with fire and bloody sword, The faith of Scottish men.
They had made a covenant with the Lord
Firm in their faith to bide,
Nor break to him their plighted word,
Whatever might betide.
The sun was well-nigh setting,
When o'er the heather wild,
And up the narrow mountain path,
Alone there walked a child.
He was a bonny, blithesome lad,
Sturdy and strong of limb:
A father's pride, a mother's love,
Were fast bound up in him.
His bright blue eyes glanced fearless round,
His step was firm and light:
What was it underneath' his plaid
His little hands grasped tight?
It was bannocks which, that very morn,
His mother made with care,
From out her scanty store of meal,
And now, with many a prayer,
Had sent by Jamie, her ane boy,
A trusty lad and brave,
To good old Pastor Tanxmus Roy,
Now hid in yonder cave,
And for whom the bloody Claverhouse
Had hunted long in vain,
And swore they would not leave that glen
Till old Tam Roy was slain.
So Jamie Douglas went his way
With heart that knew no fear:
He turned the great curve in the rock,
Nor dreamed that death was near.
And there were bloody Claverhouse men
Who laughed aloud with glee,
When, trembling now within their power,
The frightened child they see.
He turns to flee, but all in vain:
They drag him back apace
To where their cruel leader stands,
And set them face to face.
The cakes concealed beneath his plaid
Soon tell the story plain—
"It is old Tam Roy the cakes are for!"
Exclaimed the angry man.
"Now guide me to his hiding-place,
And I will let you go."
But Jamie shook his yellow curls,
And stoutly answered, "No!"
"I'll drop you down the mountain side,
And there upon the stones
The old gaunt wolf and carrion crow
Shall battle for your bones."
And in his brawny, strong right hand
He lifted up the child,
And held him where the clefted rocks
Formed a chasm deep and wild.
So deep it was, the trees below
Like stunted bushes seemed.
Poor Jamie looked in frightened maze.
It seemed some horrid dream.
He looked at the blue sky above,
Then at the men near by:
Had they no little boys at home,
That they could let him die?
But no one spoke, and no one stirred,
Or lifted hand to save
From such a fearful, frightful death,
The little lad so brave.
"It is woful deep!" he shuddering cried;
"But, oh! I canna tell!
So drop me down, then, if you will—
It is nae so deep as hell!"
A childish scream, a faint, dull sound—
O Jamie Douglas true!
Long, long within that lonely cave
Shall Tain Roy wait for you.
Long for your welcome coming-
Waits the mother on the moor,
And watches and calls, "Come, Jamie, lad,"
Through the half-open door.
No more adown the rocky path
You come with fearless tread,
Or, on moor or mountain, take
The good man's daily bread.
But up in heaven the shining ones
A wond'rous story tell,
Of a child snatched up from a rocky gulf
That is nae so deep as hell.
And there before the great white throne,
Forever blessed and glad,
His mother dear and old Tarn Roy
Shall meet their bonny lad.
# Pieces People Ask For/Magdalena

"MAGDALENA."
Sat we 'neath the dark veranda,
Years and years ago;
And I softly pressed a hand a
Deal more white than snow;
And I cast aside my reina,
As I gazed upon her face,
And I read her-Alagdalena,"
While she smoothed her Spanish lace-
Read her Waller's "Magdalena"—
She had Magdalena's grace,
Read her of the Spanish duel,
Of the brother, courtly, cruel,
Who between the British wooer
And the Seville lady came:
How her lover promptly slew her
Brother, and then fled in shame—
How he dreamed, in long years after,
Of the river's rippling laughter—
Of the love he used to know,
In the myrtle-curtained villa,
Near the city of Sevilla,
Years and years ago.
Ah, how warmly was I reading,
As I gazed upon her face!
And my voice took tones of pleadingj
For I sought to win her grace.
Surely, thought I, in her veins
Runs some drop of foreign strains —
There is something half Castilian
In that lip that shames vermilion ;
In that mass of raven tresses,
Tossing like a falcon's jesses ;
In that eye with trailing lashes —
And its witching upward flashes —
Such, indeed, I know,
Shone where Guadalquivir plashes
Years and years ago.
Looking in her face I read it—
How the metre trips!—
And the god of lovers
On my happy lips—
All those words of mystic sweetness
Spoke I with an airy neatness,
As I never had before—
As I cannot speak them more—
Reja, plaza and mantilla.
"No palabras" and Sevilla,
Caballero and sombrero,
And duenna and Duero,
Spada, sen or, sabe Dios—
Smooth as pipe of Meliboeus—
Ah, how very well I read it,
Looking in her lovely eyes!
When 'twas o'er, I looked for credit,
As she softly moved to rise.
Doting dream, ah, dream fallacious—
Years and years ago!
For she only said, "My gracious—
What a lot of French you know!"
Puck.