OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# I Gave My Life for Thee

This was the first hymn that Havergal wrote. There is a story that she was inspired by Domenico Fetti's paint­ing Ec­ce Ho­mo (at the time attributed to a "Sternburg") and used the painting's Latin caption as the hymn's original title: "I did this for thee; what hast thou done for Me?"
* "I Gave My Life for Thee" in The Army and Navy Hymnal, 1920.
* "I Gave My Life for Thee", unsourced.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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# I Gave My Life for Thee (unsourced)

* related portals: Hymns.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
I gave My life for thee, My precious blood I shed, That thou might ransomed be, and raised up from the dead I gave, I gave My life for thee, what hast thou given for Me? I gave, I gave My life for thee, what hast thou given for Me?
My Father’s house of light, My glory circled throne I left for earthly night, for wanderings sad and lone; I left, I left it all for thee, hast thou left aught for Me? I left, I left it all for thee, hast thou left aught for Me?
I suffered much for thee, more than thy tongue can tell, Of bitterest agony, to rescue thee from hell. I’ve borne, I’ve borne it all for thee, what hast thou borne for Me? I’ve borne, I’ve borne it all for thee, what hast thou borne for Me?
And I have brought to thee, down from My home above, Salvation full and free, My pardon and My love; I bring, I bring rich gifts to thee, what hast thou brought to Me? I bring, I bring rich gifts to thee, what hast thou brought to Me?
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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# I Find No Peace

I find no peace, and all my war is done, I fear and hope, I burn and freeze like ice. I fly above the wind, yet can I not arise, And naught I have, and all the world I seize on. That looseth nor locketh holdeth me in prison, And holdeth me not, yet can I 'scape nowise; Nor letteth me live nor die at my device, And yet of death it giveth me occasion. Without eyen I see, and without tongue I plain; I desire to perish, and yet I ask health; I love another, and thus I hate myself; I feed me in sorrow, and laugh in all my pain. Likewise displeaseth me both death and life, And my delight is causer of this strife.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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# I Grant You Ample Leave

"I grant you ample leave To use the hoary formula 'I am' Naming the emptiness where thought is not; But fill the void with definition, 'I' Will be no more a datum than the words You link false inference with, the 'Since' & 'so' That, true or not, make up the atom-whirl. Resolve your 'Ego', it is all one web With vibrant ether clotted into worlds: Your subject, self, or self-assertive 'I' Turns nought but object, melts to molecules, Is stripped from naked Being with the rest Of those rag-garments named the Universe. Or if, in strife to keep your 'Ego' strong You make it weaver of the etherial light, Space, motion, solids & the dream of Time-- Why, still 'tis Being looking from the dark, The core, the centre of your consciousness, That notes your bubble-world: sense, pleasure, pain, What are they but a shifting otherness, Phantasmal flux of moments?--"
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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# I Dreamt that I Dwelt in Marble Halls

Most well-known aria from the 1843 opera The Bohemian Girl.
* "I Dreamt that I Dwelt in Marble Halls" in The Bohemian Girl (1843).
* "I Dreamt That I Dwelt in Marble Halls" in The Canadian Soldiers' Song Book (1917).
# I Had a Little Husband

English nursery rhyme (Roud 12962)
* "I" in The Alphabet of Old Friends by Walter Crane (1874)
* "I had a little husband no bigger than my thumb" in A Book of Nursery Songs and Rhymes by Sabine Baring-Gould (1895)
* "I had a little husband" in A Book of Nursery Rhymes by Charles Welsh (1901)
# Landon in The New Monthly 1826/Ci-Devant!

(31)
CI-DEVANT!
I cannot, if I would, call back again
The early feelings of my love for thee,
I love thee ever, but it is in vain
To dream Love can be what it was to me.
Some of its flowers have fallen from the chain,
And showed that iron under them could be—
And it has entered in my soul: no more
Can that soul revel in its dreams of yore.
O no, my heart can never be
Again in lighted hopes the same—
The love that lingers there for thee
Has more of ashes than of flame.
Still deem not but that I am yet
As much as ever all thine own;
Though now the seal of love be set
On a heart chilled almost to stone.
And can you marvel? only look
On all that heart has had to bear—
On all that it has yet to brook,
And wonder then at its despair.
Oh, Love is destiny, and mine
Has long been struggled with in vain—
Victim or votary, at thy shrine
There I am vow'd—there must remain.
My first—my last—my only love.
O blame me not for that I dwell
On all that I have had to prove
Of Love's despair, of Hope's farewell.
I think upon mine early dreams,
When Youth, Hope, Joy, together sprung;
The gushing forth of mountain-streams,
On which no shadow had been flung.
When Love seemed only meant to make
A sunshine on life's silver seas—
Alas, that we should ever wake,
And wake to weep o'er dreams like these!
I loved, and Love was like to me
The spirit of a faery tale,
When we have but to wish, and be
Whatever wild wish may prevail.
I deemed that Love had power to part
The chains and blossoms of life's thrall,
Make an Elysium of the heart,
And shed its influence o'er all.
I linked it with all lovely things,
Beautiful pictures, tones of song,
All those pure, high imaginings
That but in thought to earth belong.
And all that was unreal became
Reality when blent with thee—
It was but colouring that flame,
More than a lava flood to me.
I was not happy—Love forbade
Peace by its feverish restlessness;
But this was sweet, and then I had
Hope, which relies on happiness.
I need not say how, one by one,
Love's flowers have dropp'd from off Love's chain;
Enough to say that they are gone,
And that they cannot bloom again.
I know not what the pangs may be
That hearts betray'd or slighted prove—
I speak but of the misery
That waits on fond and mutual love.
The torture of an absent hour,
When doubts mock Reason's faint control:—
’Tis fearful thinking of the power
Another holds upon our soul!
To think another has in thrall
All of life's best and dearest part—
Our hopes, affections, trusted all
To that frail bark—the human heart.
To yield thus to another's reign;—
To live but in another's breath—
To double all life's powers of pain—
To die twice in another's death;
While these things present to me seem, And what can now the past restore,
Love as I may, yet I can dream
Of happiness in Love no more. L. E. L.
# Landon in The New Monthly 1825/Song 2

SONG.
Oh say not that my heart is dead,
For that my lip has learn’d
A lesson from the lapse of time,
Which it would once have spurn'd.
I must live with the false, the cold,
And I must seem like them;
And thought and feeling wear the mask
That yet they most contemn.
Oh! say not that my words are false;
They may not dare be true:
What am I, that I should forsake
The path which all pursue?
'Tis sad to see how all around
To gilded idols kneel;
And strive to be like one of those
Who cannot think or feel.
Alas! alas! to pass in peace
Through a world so chill, so lone,
The throbbing pulses should be steel,
And the heart should be stone! L. E. L.
# Landon in The New Monthly 1825/The Charmed Fountain

13
(528)
THE CHARMED FOUNTAIN.
O'er the stream a willow tree
Leant, as if foredoom'd to be
Sign of sorrow, meant to wave
O'er some love-lorn maiden's grave.
Yet bowed branch, and pallid leaf,
Here are not the sign of grief.
Underneath, the bank is set
With the azure violet,
Each one bending like a bride,
Sweet and secret sigh to hide.
In a chestnut tree's green rest
Has the nightingale a nest,
Whence his richest tones come sweeping,
Like a lute's delicious weeping,
What time the pale moon discloses
His seraglio of wild roses,
While the falling dewdrops gem
Each sultana's diadem.
But 'tis not for its fair flowers,
Though they breathe of June's first hours,
Not for its blue violet wreath,
For its gale's Arabian breath,
For its sunshine, for its shade,
Not for the sweet music made
By the song its tenants sing,
Would you seek that grove-hid spring.
 But a curious sprite, whose dwelling
Is in the rich numbers swelling
From the bosom of some shell
Treasured in an ocean cell;
Or in the rich breathing sent
On the sunny element,
From the rose, as to complain
Of the April's sudden rain;
Or in the red lights that streak
Maiden's lip or burning cheek:—
Some such sprite has laid a spell
On the waters of this well.
Lover, if thy heart has known
One pure faith, and one alone,
Part the boughs aside, nor fear
That thy step should enter here;
For the fond and for the true
Spreads the fount its mirror blue.
But if thy false heart has changed,
Or thy fickle eye has ranged,
Take thy falsehood hence and flee,
It will yield no wave for thee. L. E. L.
# Landon in The New Monthly 1826/Sir Guilbert

SIR GUILBERT.
Why is thy bark upon the sea—
Thy sail spread for the wind?
That vessel may go on her way,
But thou must stay behind.
I've seen thee stand knee-deep in blood,
In battle by my side;
And both thy faith and loyalty
Are like thy good sword tried.
Look round! is not this a fair land?
Are not its daughters fair?
Are not its castles stately ones?
Choose thou and have thy share.—
"No! Conqueror, no!" Sir Guilbert said,
"My portion is not here;
The air bears on 't the widow's curse,
The ground the orphan's tear.
I join'd thy banner as a knight,
And not as a brigand:
My soldier's duty done, I will
Away to mine own land.
I will not have your English ground,
Nor yet your English dame;
I came with but my sword and steed,
I will go as I came.
A little tower in Normandie
Was where I had my birth;
I will return to it,—no blood
Cries from my father's hearth.
Sir King, thou art as brave a knight
As e'er stemm'd battle wave;
But thy heart's temper'd as thy brand.
Thou art as stern as brave.
For me, I am of softer mould,
I cannot bear the moan
That haunts me here;—whate'er my home.
At least it is mine own.
The breeze is rising on the sea,
I see the white sails swell;
My bark is waiting but for me,—
Sir King, farewell! farewell!" L. E. L.
# Landon in The New Monthly 1826/Stanzas on the New Year

(80)
STANZAS ON THE NEW YEAR.
I stood between the meeting Years,
The coming and the past,
And I ask'd of the future one,
Wilt thou be like the last?
The same in many a sleepless night,
In many an anxious day?
Thank Heaven! I have no prophet's eye
To look upon thy way!
For Sorrow like a phantom sits
Upon the last Year's close.
How much of grief, how much of ill,
In its dark breast repose!
Shadows of faded Hopes flit by,
And ghosts of Pleasures fled:
How have they chang'd from what they were!
Cold, colourless, and dead.
I think on many a wasted hour,
And sicken o'er the void;
And many darker are behind,
On worse than nought employ'd.
Oh Vanity! alas, my heart!
How widely hast thou stray'd,
And misused every golden gift
For better purpose made!
I think on many a once-loved friend
As nothing to me now;
And what can mark the lapse of time
As does an alter'd brow?
Perhaps 'twas but a careless word
That sever'd Friendship's chain;
And angry Pride stands by each gap,
Lest they unite again.
Less sad, albeit more terrible,
To think upon the dead,
Who quiet in the lonely grave
Lay down the weary head.
For faith, and hope, and peace, and trust,
Are with their happier lot:
Though broken is their bond of love,
At least we broke it not.—
Thus thinking of the meeting years,
The coming and the past,
I needs must ask the future one:
Wilt thou be like the last?
There came a sound, but not of speech,
That to my thought replied,
"Misery is the marriage-gift
That waits a mortal bride:
But lift thine hopes from this base earth,
This waste of worldly care,
And wed thy faith to yon bright sky,
For Happiness dwells there!" L. E. L.
# Landon in The New Monthly 1825/Sappho

Sappho.
Dark, passionate, though beautiful, the eye
Was as the lightning of the stormy sky
Flashing through darkness; light and shadow blent
Workings of the mind's troubled element:
You did not mark the features, could not trace
What hue, what outline, was upon that face;
Even while present, indistinct it seem'd,
Like that of which we have but only dream'd.
You saw a hurried hand fling back the hair
Like tempest clouds roll'd back upon the air.
Still midnight was beneath, that haughty brow
Darken'd with thoughts to which it would not bow—
Midnight, albeit a starry one, the light
Meteor or planet still was that of night.
She had a dangerous gift, though genius be
All this earth boasts of immortality.
It is too heavenly to suit that earth,
The spirit perishes with its fatal birth;
This mingling fire and water, soul and clay,
The one must make the other one its prey.
Her heart sufficed not to itself, such mind
Will shrink such utter loneliness to find,
As it must in its range of burning thought,
Will sigh above the ruins it has wrought,
False fancies, prejudice, affections vain,
Until it seeks to wear again the chain
Itself has broken, so that it could be
Less desolate, although no longer free.
She loved! again her ardent soul was buoy'd
On Hope's bright wings, above life's dreary void
Again its fond illusions were received,
Centred in one the dearest yet believed;
It ended as illusions ever must,
The shining temple prostrate dust to dust.
Look on that brow, is it not stamp'd with pride?
How might it brook the grief it could not hide!
Look on that lip, it has a sad sweet smile,
How may it brook to feel alone the while!
Overhead was the storm, beneath the sea,
And Love and Genius found their destiny—
Despair and Death.
# Landon in The New Monthly 1826

This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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The person who associated a work with this deed has dedicated the work to the public domain by waiving all of their rights to the work worldwide under copyright law, including all related and neighboring rights, to the extent allowed by law. You can copy, modify, distribute and perform the work, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.
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Landon in The New Monthly 1826
Poems in The New Monthly Magazine during the year 1826 by Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.)
compiled by Peter J. Bolton
Table of Contents
| Stanzas on The New Year | Vol.16, Page 80 | 4 |
| Egeria’s Grotto | Vol. 16, Pages 167 to 168 | 5 |
| The Funeral Bride. An Italian Legend | Vol. 16, Pages 284 to 286 | 6 |
| Sir Guilbert | Vol. 16, Pages 417 to 418 | 9 |
| Ci-Devant! | Vol. 17, Pages 31 to 32 | 11 |
| The Wish | Vol. 17, Pages 232 to 233 | 13 |
# Landon in The New Monthly 1826/Egeria's Grotto

EGERIA'S GROTTO.
A silver Fountain with a changeful shade
Of interwoven leaves and blossoms made;
The leaves that turn'd the light to emerald green,
While colour'd buds like rainbows shone between:
And on the southern bank, as if beset
With ocean pearls, grew the white violet; Above there stood a graceful orange-tree,
Where Spring and Summer dwelt in amity,
And shared the boughs between them,—one with flowers
Its silver offering to the sunshine hours;
The other with its fruit, like Indian gold,
Or those bright apples the last lover roll'd
In Atalanta's path and won the day—
Alas! how often gold has led astray!
The shadow of old chestnut trees was round—
They were the guardians of the hallow'd ground;
The hunter in his chase had past it by,
So closely was it screen'd from curious eye.
 On the bank opposite to that, where strew'd
Sigh'd the pale violets' sweet multitude,
There was a little Grotto, and like stars
The roof was set with crystal and with spars
Trembling in light;—it needed much their aid,
For at the entrance the dark branches play'd
Of a lone cypress, and the summer-day
Was changed to twilight as it made its way.
It is Egeria's Grotto. Her bright hair
Has left its odour on the fragrant air;
The echo of her step is lingering still
In the low music of the lute-toned rill;
And here the flowers are beautiful and young
As when beneath her ivory feet they sprung.
 Ay, this made Love delicious as a dream,
Save that it was too constant but to seem—
No time to tire, gone almost soon as seen;
Known but by happiness, that it had been—
A shade, but such a shade as rainbows cast
Upon the clouds, in its first beauty past—
A mystery, such mystery as the breath
Lurking in summer sweetness on a wreath,
Which we would but enjoy, but not explore,
Too blest in the pleased sense to desire more.
And thus if Love would last, thus must it be—
A wish, a vision, and a fantasie. L. E. L.
# Landon in The New Monthly 1825/Song 3

14
SONG.
I vow'd a vow of faith to thee,
By the red rose of June;
I vow'd it by the rainbow,
And by the silver moon.
The red rose is departed,
Fresh ones are blooming there;
The rainbow has not left a shade
Upon the azure air.
And the crescent moon has swell'd
Into a golden round,
And a sign of chance and change
On each and all are found.
Then say not I have broken
The faith I vow'd to thee;
Change was made for all on earth,—
Was it not made for me?L. E. L.
# Landon in The New Monthly 1825/Song 1

SONG.
Oh breathe not of love,
Oh breathe not to me,
If constant for aye
Must your love-motto be.
Where are the things
The fairest on earth;
Is it not in their change
That their beauty has birth?
The neck of the peacock,
The iris's dyes,
The light in the opal,
The April-day skies;—
Would they be lovely,
As all of them are,
But for the chance
And the change that are there?
Breathe no vow to me,
I will give none of mine;
Love must light in an instant,
As quickly decline.
His blushes, his sighs,
Are bewildering things;
Then away with his fetters,
And give me his wings. L. E. L.
# Ives The Essays of Montaigne/Volume 1/Chapter 22

Chapter Introduction by Grace Norton (1834 – 1926)
CHAPTER XXII
ONE MAN’S PROFIT IS ANOTHER’S LOSS
The extravagant statements here made by Montaigne show that he had not accepted that “general truth” of the Stoics that “whatever is profitable to any man is profitable also to other men” (as Marcus Aurelius phrases it) — a doctrine that in its largest sense is accepted by us today. And the sayings of this dreary page would seem to come more naturally from the cold heart of a La Rochefoucauld, or the unreasonable brain of a Rousseau, than from the genial, friendly, liberal soul of Montaigne. They do in fact come from the philosophic Seneca. This unimportant little chapter is only a reproduction of a passage in the De Beneficiis. It may be noted that the sentence about “the ministers of religion” is Montaigne’s own.
If we accept as true the statement of the last sentence that the birth of any thing causes the death of that from which it springs, it may be observed that it is precisely as true a way of stating the fact — and it sounds more cheerful! — to say that death creates life.
​The quotation from Lucretius at the close is fantastically irrelevant, especially when traced to its original connection — a passage (about the colour of bodies of matter) too abstruse and abstract to give any account of here. Munro translates these lines: “For whenever a thing changes and quits its proper limits, at once this change of state is the death of that which was before.”
DEMADES the Athenian condemned a man of his city, whose trade was selling the things necessary for burials, on the ground that he demanded too large a profit, and that this profit could not accrue to him without the death of many people. This judgement seems to be ill-advised, because no profit is made save at a loss to some one else, and by such reckoning we should have to condemn every sort of gain. The merchant succeeds in his business only by the unthriftiness of the youth; the farmer, by the high price of grains; the architect, by the falling to pieces of houses; the officers of the law, by men’s litigation and quarrels; the very honour and functions of the ministers of religion are derived from our deaths and from our vices. No physician takes pleasure in the good health even of his friends, said the old Greek comedy-writer, nor any soldier in the peace of his city; and so with the rest. And, what is worse, let any man search his own heart, and he will find that our inmost desires are for the most part born and fed at another’s expense. Considering which, the fancy came to me that Nature does not herein belie her general policy; for physicists hold that the birth, nourishment, and increase of every thing is the change and decay of something else.
Nam quodcunque suis mutatum finibus exit,
Continuo hoc mors est illius, quod fuit ante.
* ↑ See Seneca, De Beneficiis, VI, 38.
* ↑ See Stobæus, Sermon 100.
* ↑ For if a substance changed passes beyond its confines, at that moment occurs the death of that which it was before. — Lucretius, II, 753; III, 519. Both verses appear in both places.
# Knights v. Jackson

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
260 U.S. 12
Knights v. Jackson
Argued: Oct. 3, 1922. --- Decided: Oct 16, 1922
Mr. Philip Nichols, of Boston, Mass., for plaintiff in error.
[Argument of Counsel from pages 12-14 intentionally omitted]
Mr. Edwin H. Abbot, Jr., of Boston, Mass., for defendant in error.
Mr. Justice HOLMES delivered the opinion of the Court.

## Notes

This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
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# Knights (Aristophanes)

* related portals: Ancient Greek drama.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Commons category, Wikidata item.
"The Knights" (Ἱππεῖς Hippeîs, or Ἱππῆς, Latin: Equites) is an early comedy by Aristophanes, first produced in 424 BCE. The play is a satire on the social and political life of classical Athens during the Peloponnesian War. Warning: template has been deprecated. As with all ancient Greek dramas, the interpretation may vary, given the condition of available manuscripts, the current study of ancient Greek language, and changes in the English language. As a result, varying English translations exist.
English-language translations of Ἱππεῖς include:
* The Knights, or The Demagogues, translated by T. Mitchell (1820)
* The Knights, translated by J. W. Warter (1830)
* The Knights, translated by Benjamin Dann Walsh (1837)
* The Knights, translated by C. A. Wheelwright (1837)
* The Knights, translated by John Hookham Frere [1839] (1895 edition)
* The Knights, translated by William James Hickie (1853)
* Knights, translated by Leonard-Hampson Rudd (1867)
* The Knights, translated by Benjamin Bickley Rogers (1910)
* The Knights, published by The Athenian Society (1912), anonymous translator presumed to be Oscar Wilde
This work is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago. Translations of this work may be copyrighted.
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