OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Bengali Book of English Verse/Wordsworth's Poems (Govin Chunder Dutt)

Wordsworth's Poems.
This volume is a Gothic church—no less, And every separate poem but a part Of a great edifice, built with rarest art, A cell, or oratory, or carved recess, Or but a simple leaf-wreath winding round A marble pillar, in the sombre light, Or an emblazoned window flashing bright, Fair in itself, but fairest where 'tis found; Each delicately symmetrical—but the whole Ravishing with loveliness the prisoned soul.
The labour of a lifetime, and the work Of one inspired, the prophet of his age. What deep philosophy and experience sage And tender sympathies here retired lurk In simplest verses. Oh, beloved book! With thee and but one other, which to name Even with thee would matter be for blame, Contented could I glide o'er life's calm brook, Until it mingle with the mighty sea, And time be swallowed in eternity.
Nor deem this praise extravagant or strange, For without travel here I have its joys, And sitting by my hearth where naught annoys, O'er hills and oceans by these spells I range. Is it not grand to see Helvellyn rear Its lofty summit to the azure sky, Or mark the lake below faint-gleaming lie, A mirror for all objects far and near, Bare rocks, and woods arrayed in vivid green, And cheerful homesteads through the foliage seen?
And should an English landscape ever pall, With all its wide diversity of hills And trees and waters, lo! the fresh breeze fills Our swelling canvas at the Poet's call! Where shall we wander? In the fields of France? Or classic Italy's wave-saluted shore? Or dearer Scotland's barren heaths and moor? Or Staffa's natural temple, where in trance We shadowy beings may behold? Command,— All wait the movement of the enchanter's wand.
Hail, ye Rydalian laurels that have grown Untended by the Poet's calm abode. And in the footpaths that he often trod Wrapt in deep thought, at evening time, alone. No Delphic wreath he wanted, when he found Nature unveiled in all her loveliness, But these wild leaves and wilder flowers that bless Our common earth he prayed for, and she bound His brows therewith; and see, they never fade, A crown of amaranth by her own hands made.
# The Bengali Book of English Verse/Youth and Age (Prafulla Ranjan Das)

Youth and Age.
Do you remember, how one night, When never rose a star on high, We stepped into the dubious light Beneath the silence of the sky, —You wondered,—so did I!
Your life was of the sun and flower, But mine was of the autumn leaf, And we imagined every hour Would take us farther from our grief, Forgetting time, the thief!
And yet the thief was on the wing, And caught me gray—but you, pure white! And now because life's splendours cling Unto the freshness of your light, I wonder, was I right?
# The Bengali Book of English Verse/To a Buddha Seated on a Lotus (Sarojini Naidu)

To a Buddha Seated on a Lotus.
Lord Buddha, on thy Lotus-throne, With praying eyes and hands elate, What mystic rapture dost thou own, Immutable and ultimate? What peace, unravished of our ken, Annihilate from the world of men?
The wind of change for ever blows Across the tumult of our way, To-morrow's unborn griefs depose The sorrows of our yesterday. Dream yields to dream, strife follows strife, And Death unweaves the webs of Life.
For us the travail and the heat, The broken secrets of our pride, The strenuous lessons of defeat, The flower deferred, the fruit denied; But not the peace, supremely won, Lord Buddha, of thy Lotus-throne.
With futile hands we seek to gain Our inaccessible desire, Diviner summits to attain, With faith that sinks and feet that tire; But nought shall conquer or control The heavenward hunger of our soul.
The end, elusive and afar, Still lures us with its beckoning flight, And all our mortal moments are A session of the Infinite. How shall we reach the great, unknown Nirvana of thy Lotus-throne?
# The Bengali Book of English Verse/The Terai (Greece Chunder Dutt)

The Terai.
The arching alders with dank moisture shone; Above, around, the wild vine, as I past, Waved in slow cadence to the fever blast, Sweeping in fitful gusts with languid moan. The thick white mist on mouldering stem and stone, As evening closed, a fearful shroud rolled fast; The blinding darkness round her mantle cast, And quenched my hopes ere half the woods were won; A dip! a rise! clean vanished mist and shade, And blissful Eden swam at once to sight! Clear tops of distant hills, a smiling glade, And modest farms, blue skies, and pastures bright, And terraced slopes with grass and flower inlaid, Bathed in a flood of autumn's golden light.
# The Bengali Book of English Verse/The Warrior's Return (Shoshee Chunder Dutt)

The Warrior's Return.
When Maharajah Jeswant Singh, being defeated by Aurungzeb, fled for refuge to his own capital, his wife, with Spartan haughtiness, refused him admittance, saying "This man is an impostor, for the brave never return with dishonour. My husband sleeps on the field of battle."
Heard ye that lofty pealing sound Upon the balmy air, The exulting shout that best proclaims The deeds which heroes dare?
In triumph blow their trumpets proud, The clouds repeat their voice; Go, greet the laurell'd victors home, And bid our realms rejoice.
Let poets tune their golden harps, Let maidens wear their smile, And young and old their cares lay by, And cease to mourn awhile.
What! hear'st thou not their joyous din? Behold, above the vale, Their haughty plumes and ensigns red Are fluttering in the gale;
And helmets cleft, and canvas torn, Proclaim the fighting done; And neighing steeds, and bloody spears, Announce the battle won.
Alas! the vision mocks my sight; I see no gallant throng, No trophies meet my longing eyes; Bid cease the joyous song.
That recreant slave is not my lord; Ne'er thus the brave return; Go, bid the city-gates be barr'd, And leave me lone to mourn.
I know him not, I never knew A low, ignoble love; My warrior sleeps upon the moor, His soul hath soar'd above.
Upon the battle-field he lies, His garments stain'd with gore; With sword in hand prepared he sleeps To fight the battle o'er.
His shiver'd shield, his broken spear, Around him scatter'd lie; The iron-breasted Moslems shook To see my hero die.
Where helmets rang, where sabres smote, He found his gory bed; Join, mourners, join, and loudly raise The requiem of the dead.
Expel yon vile impostor hence; I will not trust his tale; Our warriors on the crimson field Their chieftain's loss bewail.
The mountain-torrent rushing down Can ne'er its course retrace, And souls that speed on glory's path Must ever onward press:
Aye, onward press—to bleed and die, Triumphant still in death; Impostor, hence! in other lands Go draw thy coward breath.
# The Bengali Book of English Verse/To Lord Canning (Govin Chunder Dutt)

To Lord Canning.
Though a thousand pens condemned thee, mine still should write thy praise; Though a thousand tongues reviled thee, mine still should pæans raise; For factious clamours heeding not, that only call for blood, True to thy duty and thy race, Lord Canning, thou hast stood.
What is the meed of thy deserts? Let history blush to tell! A foul memorial of recall sent o'er the ocean's swell; And from the press—a press, alas! long held in honour too— The daily sneer for justice done, as God hath taught to do!
Is this the meed of thy deserts? No, no, it cannot be! All England's best and noblest are heart and soul with thee! And India's swarthy children, from hill and field and town, Lift up the voice with one acclaim, and blessings summon down.
And the next age—shall it not hear, with wonder and with awe, How amidst rancour, hate, and strife, thou sternly gavest law? 'He governed all alike'—'twill say—'all races and all creeds, He judged not men by skin or faith, he judged them by their deeds.'
And the next life? Is there not one when God shall judge us all, The peasant from his cottage and the ruler from his hall? Then who shall justified appear, and who shall win the crown? The man that strove for duty, or the man that sought renown?
All that a bold wise heart can do—all that a righteous may, Was done the bursting storm to quell in India's evil day! But a heavy task is still on hand, for an omniscient God Hath women's blood and children's seen run reeking on the sod.
Yes, a heavy task remains behind—a burden's laid on thee, Thou hast been chosen Minister—such is thy destiny; Oh, pray—for highest counsel pray!— of such shalt thou have need, For vengeance is a fearful thing—and vengeance is decreed.
Strike thou and home, but not in wrath fulfil a high command; Avenging angels weep to smite a sin-o'erburdened land; Strike, mourning, at the word of God, and hold at His behest These words in water are not writ—'The merciful are blest.'
It is not for her trampled flag that England bares her sword; It is not for a just revenge upon a murderous horde; It is to prove to blood-stained men, self-blinded of their sight, That evil hath no chance with good or darkness with the light.
But guiltless blood, where'er it flows, in black or white men's veins Is precious in the sight of Him who trieth heart and reins; Oh, watch it be not shed in vain!—Oh, act as heretofore! And let a wreath-encircled name one priceless wreath have more.
# The Bengali Book of English Verse/To Sir Jagadish Chandra Bose (Manmohan Ghose)

To Sir Jagadish Chandra Bose.
(Translated from a poem by Sir Rabindranath Tagore.)
Young image of what old Rishi of Ind Art thou, O Arya savant, Jagadish? What unseen hermitage hast thou raised up From 'neath the dry dust of this city of stone? Amidst the crowd's mad turmoil, whence hast thou That peace in which thou in an instant stoodst Alone at the deep centre of all things— Where dwells the One alone in sun, moon, flowers, In leaves, and beasts and birds, and dust and stones, —Where still one sleepless Life on its own lap Rocks all things with a wordless melody, All things that move or that seem motionless! While we were drunk with the remote and vain Dead glories of our past,—in alien dress Walking and talking in an alien tongue,
In the caricature of other men— Their style, their bearing,—while we shouted, yell'd Frog-like with swollen throat in our dark well, O, in what vast remoteness wert thou then? Where didst thou spread thy hush'd and lonely mat— Thy mat of meditation? Thou, thy mind Curdling into calm gravity, didst plunge In thy great quest after the viewless ray, Beyond the utmost borders of this world Of visible form, there where the Rishis old Oped, and passed in beyond the lion-gates Of the Manifold and stood before the One, Silent in awe and wonder, with joined hands! O Hermit, call thou in the authentic words Of that old hymn called Sama; "Rise! Awake!" Call to the man who boasts his Sastric lore From vain pedantic wranglings profitless, Call to that foolish braggart to come forth Out on the face of Nature, this broad earth. Send forth this call unto thy scholar band; Together round thy sacrifice of fire Let them all gather. So may our India, Our ancient land, unto herself return. O once again return to steadfast work, To duty and devotion, to her trance Of earnest meditation; let her sit Once more unruffled, greedless, strifeless, pure O once again upon her lofty seat And platform, teacher of all other lands.
# The Camel and Jupiter

* related authors: Aesop.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
Perry index 117
* "Of the Camel and of Jupiter", translated by William Caxton, edited by Joseph Jacobs, in The fables of Aesop, as first printed by William Caxton in 1484 (1434)
* "A Camel Praying for Horns", part of "Fable LXXVIII to LXXX", in Fables of Æsop and Other Eminent Mythologists (1692)
* "The Camel and Jupiter", translated by George Fyler Townsend, in Three Hundred Æsop's Fables (1867)
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 Camp Within the West

O did you see a troop go by
Way-weary and oppressed,
Dead kisses on the drooping lip
And a dead heart in the breast?
  Yea, I have seen them one by one Way-weary and oppressed,
And when I asked them, "Whither speed?" They answered, "To the West!"   And were they pale as pale could be —
Death-pale with haunted eyes, And did you see the hot white dust
Range round their feet and rise?
  Oh, they were pale as pale could be,
And pale as an embered leaf;
The hot white dust had risen, but They laid it with their grief.   Did no one say the way is long,
And crave a little rest?
Oh no, they said, "The night is nigh,
Our camp is in the West!"   And did pain pierce their feet, as though
The way with thorns were set,
And were they visited by strange
Dark angels of regret?
  Oh yea, and some were mute as death, Though shot by many a dart,
With them the salt of inward tears
Went stinging through the heart.   And how are these wayfarers called,
And whither do they wend? The Weary-Hearted — and their road
At sunset hath and end.   Shed tears for them ...Nay, nay, no tears!
They yearn for endless rest;
Perhaps large stars will burn above Their camp within the West.
This work is in the public domain in Australia because it was created in Australia and the term of copyright has expired. According to Australian Copyright Council - Duration of Copyright, the following works are public domain:
* published non-government works whose author died before January 1, 1955,
* anonymous or pseudonymous works and photographs published before January 1, 1955, and
* government works published more than 50 years ago (before January 1, 1974).
This work is also in the public domain in the United States because it was first published outside the United States (and not published in the U.S. within 30 days), and it was first published before 1989 without complying with U.S. copyright formalities (renewal and/or copyright notice) and it was in the public domain in Australia on the URAA date (January 1, 1996). This is the combined effect of Australia having joined the Berne Convention in 1928, and of 17 USC 104A with its critical date of January 1, 1996.
Because the Australian copyright term in 1996 was 50 years, the critical date for copyright in the United States under the URAA is January 1, 1946.
This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1949, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 74 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Camel

Perry index 195
* "A Camel at First Sight", part of "Fable LXX and LXXI", translated by Roger L'Estrange, in Fables of Æsop and Other Eminent Mythologists (1692)
* "The Camel", translated by George Fyler Townsend, in Three Hundred Æsop's Fables (1867)
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 Cambridge Modern History/Volume VII

CONTENTS
| — | Preface By A. W. Ward, G. W. Prothero and Stanley Leathes |
| Chapter I. | The First Century of English Colonisation (1607-1700) By John Andrew Doyle |
| II. | The English Colonies (1700-1763) By John Andrew Doyle |
| III. | The French in America (1608-1744) By Mary Bateson |
| IV. | The Conquest of Canada (1744-1761) By Arthur Granville Bradley |
| V. | The Quarrel with Great Britain (1761-1776) By John Andrew Doyle |
| VI. | The Declaration of Independence (1761-1776) By Melville Madison Bigelow |
| VII. | The War of Independence (1776-1783) By John Andrew Doyle |
| VIII. | The Constitution (1776-1789) By Melville Madison Bigelow |
| IX. | The Struggle for Commercial Independence (1783-1812) By John Bach McMaster |
| X. | The War of 1812-1815 By Herbert Wrigley Wilson |
| XI. | The Growth of the Nation (1815-1828) By John Bach McMaster |
| XII. | Commerce, Expansion, and Slavery (1828-1850) By John Bach McMaster |
| XIII. | State Rights (1850-1860) By Woodrow Wilson |
| XIV. | The Civil War: I (1861) By John George Nicolay |
| XV. | The Civil War: II (1862-1863) By John George Nicolay |
| XVI. | The Civil War: III (1864-1865) By John George Nicolay |
| XVII. | Naval Operations of the Civil War (1861-1865) By Herbert Wrigley Wilson |
| XVIII. | The North during the War (1861-1865) By John George Nicolay |
| XIX. | The South during the War (1861-1865) By John Christopher Schwab |
| XX. | Political Reconstruction (1865-1885) By Theodore Clarke Smith |
| XXI. | The United States as a World-Power (1885-1902) By John Bassett Moore |
| XXII. | Economic Development of the United States By Henry Crosby Emery |
| XXIII. | The American Intellect By Barrett Wendell |
| — | Bibliographies |
| — | Chronological Table |
| — | Index |
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night/The Man and His Wilful Wife

Second-level story, contained in King Jelyaad of Hind and His Vizier Shimas
THE MAN AND HIS WILFUL WIFE.
A certain man had a wife whom he loved and honoured, giving ear to her speech and doing according to her counsel. Moreover, he had a garden, which he had newly planted with his own hand, and was wont to go thither every day, to tend and water it. One day his wife said to him, “What hast thou planted in thy garden?” And he answered, “All that thou lovest and desirest, and I am assiduous in tending and watering it.” Quoth she, “Wilt thou not carry me thither and show it to me, so I may see it and offer thee up a prayer [for its prosperity], for that my prayers are effectual?” “I will well,” answered he; “but have patience with me till the morrow, when I will come and take thee.” So, on the morrow, he carried her to the garden and entered with her therein.
Now two young men saw them enter from afar and said to each other, “Yonder man is an adulterer and yonder woman an adulteress, and they have not entered this garden but to do adultery therein.” So they followed them, to see what they would do, and hid themselves in a corner of the garden. The man and his wife abode awhile therein, and presently he said to her, “Pray me the prayer thou didst promise me;” but she answered, saying, “I will not pray for thee, until thou fulfil my desire of that which women seek from men.” “Out on ​thee, O woman!” cried he. “Hast thou not thy fill of me in the house? Here I fear scandal, more by token that thou divertest me from my affairs. Fearest thou not that some one will see us?” Quoth she, “We need have no care for that, seeing that we do neither sin nor lewdness; and as for the watering of the garden, that may wait, for that thou canst water it whenas thou wilt.” And she would take neither excuse nor reason from him, but was instant with him in seeking dalliance.
So he arose and lay with her, which when the young men aforesaid saw, they ran upon them and seized them, saying, “We will not let you go, for ye are adulterers, and except we lie with the woman, we will denounce you to the police.” “Out on you!” answered the man. “This is my wife and I am the master of the garden.” They paid no heed to him, but fell upon the woman, who cried out to him for succour, saying, “Suffer them not to defile me!” So he came up to them, calling out for help, but one of them turned on him and smote him with his dagger and slew him. Then they returned to the woman and ravished her.
Return to King Jelyaad of Hind and His Vizier Shimas.
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# The Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night/The Loves of the Boy and Girl at School

First-level story, told by Shehrzad
THE LOVES OF THE BOY AND GIRL AT SCHOOL.
A boy and a girl once learnt together in a school, and the boy fell passionately in love with the girl. So, one day, when the other boys were heedless, he took her tablet and wrote on it the following verses:
Tell me, what sayst thou unto him, whom sickness for thy love Hath worn and wasted, till he’s grown distraught and stupefied? Him who of passion maketh moan; for love and longing pain, That which is in his heart, indeed, no longer can he hide.
When the girl took her tablet, she read the verses and wept for pity of him; then wrote thereunder these others:
An if we see one languishing for very love of us, Our favours, surely, unto him shall nowise be denied. Yea, and of us he shall obtain that which he doth desire Of love-delight, whate’er to us in consequence betide.
Now it chanced that the teacher came in on them and taking the tablet, unnoticed, read what was written thereon. So he was moved to pity of their case and wrote on the tablet the following verses, in reply to those of the girl:
Favour thy lover, for he’s grown distracted for desire, And reck thou not of punishment nor fear lest any chide. As for the master, have no dread of his authority, For he with passion and its pains aforetime hath been tried.
​Presently, the girl’s master entered the school and finding the tablet, read the above verses and wrote under them the following:
May Allah never separate your loves, whilst time abide, And may your slanderer be put to shame and mortified! But, for the master of the school, by Allah, all my life, A busier go-between than he I never yet espied.
Then he sent for the Cadi and the witnesses and married them on the spot. Moreover, he made them a marriage-feast and entreated them with exceeding munificence; and they abode together in joy and contentment, till there came to them the Destroyer of Delights and the Sunderer of Companies.
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.