OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1835/The River of the Water of Life

From The Pilgrim's Progress
25
* RIVER OF THE WATER OF LIFE.
* Artist: H. Melville - Engraved by: R. Brandard
THE RIVER OF THE WATER OF LIFE.
[PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.]
Oh, glittering river,—doth the willow stoop
O'er thy blue depths? or do the lilies droop,
Watching the shadow of each ivory blossom,
So soon to sink in thy unquiet bosom?—
Does the bright heaven make of thy tide its glass?
Do the dark clouds above thy mirror pass?
Do thy banks echo to the shepherd's song?
Do human feet pass restlessly along?
They do:—upon those mystic waves of thine
Time finds a symbol, and Faith sets its sign.
Thus does Time's flood roll silently away—
Losing the sunshine of its earlier day.
The songs that floated o'er its waves are fled,
Its green leaves fallen, and its flowers dead.
Then Faith steps forth, and promises, "Once more
That stream will rise, but on another shore.
The seraph's harp will be its music there;
Immortal flowers will light the immortal air.
Each human lip that drinks of that bright wave
Drinks to the Cross's triumph o'er the grave."
Life to thy river is a far course given,
But both its birthplace and its home are heaven.
# Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1835/The Coquette

27
* THE COQUETTE.
* Artist: S. Williamson - Engraved by: W. Miller
THE COQUETTE.
She danced upon the waters,  Beneath the morning sun,
Of all old Ocean's daughters
 The very fairest one.
An azure zone comprest her
 Round her white and slender side,
For her gallant crew had drest her
 Like a beauty and a bride.
She wore her trappings gaily,  As a lady ought to do,
And the waves which kissed her daily
 Proud of their mistress grew.
They clung like lovers round her,
 And bathed her airy feet;
With white foam wreaths they bound her,  To grace her, and to greet.
She cut the blue wave, scorning  Our dull and common land;
To the rosy airs of morning,  We saw her sails expand.
How graceful was their drooping  Ere the winds began to blow,
While the gay Coquette was stooping  To her clear green glass below!
How gallant was their sweeping,  While they swelled upon the air;
As the winds were in their keeping,  And they knew they were so fair!
A shower of spray before her,
 A silvery wake behind,
A cloud of canvass o'er her,
 She sprang before the wind.
She was so loved, the fairy,  Like a mistress or a child;
For she was so trim and airy,  So buoyant and so wild.
And though so young a rover,  She knew what life could be;
For she had wandered over  Full many a distant sea.
One night, 'twas in September,  A mist arose on high;
Not the oldest could remember
 Such a dense and darkened sky:
And small dusk birds came hovering
 The gloomy waters o'er;
The waves mocked their sweet sovereign,  And would obey no more.
There was no wind to move them,  So the sails were furled and fast,
And the gallant flag above them  Dropped down upon the mast.
All was still as if death's shadow
 Were resting on the grave;
And the sea, like some dark meadow,
 Had not one rippling wave:
When the sky was rent asunder  With a flood of crimson light,
And one single burst of thunder
 Aroused the silent night.
'Twas the signal for their waking!
 The angry winds arose,
Like giant captives breaking
 The chain of forced repose.
Yet bravely did she greet them,  Those jarring winds and waves; Ready with scorn to meet them,  They who had been her slaves. She faced the angry heaven,  Our bold and fair Coquette;
Her graceful sides are riven,  But she will brave it yet.
Like old oak of the forest,  Down comes the thundering mast; Her need is at the sorest,
 She shudders in the blast.
Hark to that low quick gushing!  The hold has sprung a leak; On their prey the waves are rushing,  The valiant one grows weak.
One cry, and all is quiet,  There is not sight nor sound; Save the fierce gale at its riot,  And the angry waters round. The morn may come with weeping,  And the storm may cease to blow; But the fair Coquette is sleeping  A thousand fathoms low.
# Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1835/The Orphan Ballad Singers

This was set to music by Henry Russell
20
* THE ORPHAN BALLAD SINGERS.
* Artist: W. Gill - Engraved by: J. Romney
THE ORPHAN BALLAD SINGERS.
Oh, weary, weary are our feet,  And weary, weary is our way;
Thro' many a long and crowded street
 We've wandered mournfully to-day. My little sister she is pale  She is too tender and too young
To bear the autumn's sullen gale,  And all day long the child has sung.
She was our mother's favourite child,  Who loved her for her eyes of blue,
And she is delicate and mild,  She cannot do what I can do.
She never met her father's eyes,  Although they were so like her own;
In some far distant sea he lies,  A father to his child unknown.
The first time that she lisped his name,  A little playful thing was she;
How proud we were,—yet that night came
 The tale how he had sunk at sea.
My mother never raised her head;
 How strange, how white, how cold she grew!
It was a broken heart they said—  I wish our hearts were broken too.
We have no home—we have no friends,  They said our home no more was ours;
Our cottage where the ash-tree bends,  The garden we had filled with flowers.
The sounding shells our father brought,  That we might hear the sea at home;
Our bees, that in the summer wrought  The winter's golden honeycomb.
We wandered forth mid wind and rain,  No shelter from the open sky;
I only wish to see again  My mother's grave, and rest and die.
Alas, it is a weary thing  To sing our ballads o'er and o'er;
The songs we used at home to sing—  Alas, we have a home no more!
# Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1836

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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This work is available under the Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication.
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.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
1
Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Fisher’s Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1836
compiled by Peter J. Bolton
PREFACE.
A Preface in a Work so favourably treated as the present, is but a pleasant opportunity of returning thanks. We still go on: for how many beautiful scenes yet remain in the numerous countries we have laid under contribution—and what scope do they not still afford to the painter and poet?
I have ventured this year to make a slight alteration in my former plan. Several fugitive pieces are introduced, in the hope of giving greater variety. Some Engravings, portraits especially, though attractive as works of art, are unmanageable as subjects for poems. May I hope that my own choice will meet the same approval from the Public, which has been often kindly bestowed on my previous endeavours to deserve such favour.
L. E. L. August, 1835 ​3
TABLE OF CONTENTS
| The Hindoo Mother | 4 |
| Immolation of a Hindoo Widow | 7 |
| The Lily of the Valley | 9 |
| Scenes in London.—Piccadilly | 12 |
| Warkworth Hermitage | 14 |
| The Astrologer | 16 |
| The Snowdrop | 18 |
| The Hindoo Girl's Song | 19 |
| Horse-Shoe Falls, Niagara | 20 |
| The Indian Girl | 21 |
| The Rush-Bearing at Ambleside | 25 |
| The Young Destructive | 27 |
| Fishing Boats in the Monsoon | 29 |
| The Montmorency Waterfall and Cone | 32 |
| Scenes in London.—The Savoyard in Grosvenor Square | 34 |
| Beverley Minster | 36 |
| Dunold Mill-Hole | 38 |
| The Fortress of Bowrie, in Rajpootana | 40 |
| The Widow's Mite | 42 |
| Ruins about the Taj Mahal | 44 |
| Scenes in London:—The City Church-Yard | 46 |
| Eskdale, Cumberland | 48 |
| Sir Thomas Hardy | 50 |
| Borro Boedoor | 52 |
| The Phantom | 54 |
| Fountain’s Abbey | 56 |
| Dr. Adam Clarke and the Two Priests of Budha | 58 |
| The Coleraine Salmon Leap | 62 |
| Christmas in the Olden Time, 1650 (Wycoller Hall) | 64 |
| The Queen’s Room, Sizergh Hall, Westmorland | 67 |
| Hindoo Temples and Palace at Madura | 69 |
| The Aisle of Tombs | 72 |
| The Palace Called Beautiful | 75 |
| Valley of Linmouth, North Devon | 77 |
| Pulo Penang | 79 |
| Scenes in London: Oxford Street | 81 |
# Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1835/The Fairy of the Fountains

see the story of Melusine
86
THE FAIRY OF THE FOUNTAINS.
The Legend, on which this story is founded, is immediately taken from Mr. Thomas's most interesting collection. I have allowed myself some licence, in my arrangement of the story: but fairy tales have an old-established privilege of change; at least, if we judge by the various shapes which they assume in the progress of time, and by process of translation.
* Raymond, first Lord of Lusignan, died as a hermit, at Monserrat. Melusina's was a yet harsher doom: fated to flit over the earth, in pain and sorrow, as a spectre. Only when one of the race of Lusignan was about to die, does she become visible,—and wanders wailing around the Castle. Tradition also represents her shadow as hovering over the Fountain of Thirst.—Thomas's Lays and Legends.
# Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1835/The Nizam's Daughter

53
* THE BRITISH RESIDENCY AT HYDERABAD.
* Artist: Capt. Grindlay - Engraved by: W. Miller
BRITISH RESIDENCY AT HYDERABAD.
The edifice here represented is the residence of the English Minister at the Court of the Nizam, or native prince. The party entering the gate shews the species of state, and the retinue, with which persons of rank appear in public. The curtains of the palanquins, in which females go forth, are always closely drawn: seclusion in the East is, as it were, the element of beauty. It is quite in human nature to admit that—
—————"such must be
 "Dear—and yet dearer for its mystery."
THE NIZAM'S DAUGHTER.
She is as yet a child in years,  Twelve springs are on her face, Yet in her slender form appears  The woman's perfect grace. Her silken hair, that glossy black,  But only to be found There, or upon the raven's back,  Falls sweeping to the ground.
'Tis parted in two shining braids  With silver and with gold, And one large pearl by contrast aids  The darkness of each fold. And for she is so young, that flowers  Seem natural to her now, There wreaths the champac's snowy showers  Around her sculptured brow.
Close to her throat the silvery vest  By shining clasps is bound, Scarce may her graceful shape be guest,  Mid drapery floating round. But the small curve of that vein'd throat,  Like marble, but more warm, The fairy foot and hand denote  How perfect is the form.
Upon the ankle and the wrist  There is a band of gold, No step by Grecian fountain kiss'd,  Was of diviner mould. In the bright girdle round her waist,  Where the red rubies shine, The kandjar's* glittering hilt is placed,  To mark her royal line.
Her face is like the moonlight pale,  Strangely and purely fair, For never summer sun nor gale  Has touched the softness there. There are no colours of the rose,  Alone the lip is red; No blush disturbs the sweet repose  Which o'er that cheek is shed.
And yet the large black eyes, like night,  Have passion and have power; Within their sleepy depths is light,  For some wild wakening hour. A world of sad and tender dreams  'Neath those long lashes sleep, A native pensiveness that seems  Too still and sweet to weep.
Of such seclusion know we nought:  Yet surely woman here Grows shrouded from all common thought,  More delicate and dear. And love, thus made a thing apart,  Must seem the more divine, When the sweet temple of the heart  Is a thrice veiled shrine.
*The kandjar is the small poniard worn by Hindoo princesses.
# Letitia Elizabeth Landon (L. E. L.) in Fisher's Drawing Room Scrap Book, 1835/The Shepherd Boy

From The Pilgrim's Progress
81
* THE SHEPHERD BOY IN THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION.
* Artist: H. Melville - Engraved by: J. H. Kernot
THE SHEPHERD BOY.
"Now as they were going along, and talking, they spied a boy feeding his father's sheep. The boy was in very mean clothes, but of a fresh and well-favoured countenance; and as he sat by himself, he sung. Then said the guide, Do you hear him? I will dare to say, this boy lives a merrier life, and wears more of the herb called heart's-ease in his bosom, than he that is clad in silk and velvet." [Pilgrim's Progress.]
Like some vision olden  Of far other time, When the age was golden,  In the young world's prime Is thy soft pipe ringing,  O lonely shepherd boy, What song art thou singing,  In thy youth and joy?
Or art thou complaining  Of thy lowly lot, And thine own disdaining  Dost ask what thou hast not? Of the future dreaming,  Weary of the past, For the present scheming,  All but what thou hast.
No, thou art delighting  In thy summer home; Where the flowers inviting  Tempt the bee to roam; Where the cowslip bending,  With its golden bells, Of each glad hour's ending  With a sweet chime tells.
All wild creatures love him  When he is alone, Every bird above him  Sings its softest tone. Thankful to high Heaven,  Humble in thy joy, Much to thee is given,  Lowly shepherd boy.
# Mandragora/Obsequies

Published in Mandragora (1917)
          OBSEQUIES
INCH by inch — for it takes some time, this thing —
 You have killed my love;
Till at last a look, a gesture, an anything
 Did fatal prove.
And now, ah now, how desperately you cling
 To its dead bier.
As tho' thro' your calm breast passed the same sting
 That laid it here!
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 1963, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 60 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
# Mandragora/Piety

Published in Mandragora (1917)
          PIETY
OH liquid moon that silvers the rims
 Of the mountain heights,
Oh lotus-flower that floats and swims
 In the island nights.
Oh pale white arms that are stretched to me
 With a siren's song,
I answer the spell of your witchery;
 I come! I come!
Wait but awhile, oh white, white arms,
 Wait but awhile.
I feel your power and I want your charms;
 I need your guile.
Let me but plant one red, red rose
 On my true Love's tomb,
Then your tide shall bear me wherever it flows.
 I come! I come!
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 1963, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 60 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
# Mandragora/Persephone

Published in Mandragora (1917)
          PERSEPHONE
AT last!
 After the dumb sick longing;—
At last!
 Filling the ancient urns
With odours and all the air
 With a shudder, a laughter, a cry—
On a wind blown over leagues of tremulous grass,
 Leagues of transparent grass,
Leagues of a million of grass-blades moist with rain,
 Moist with warm rain and fresh from the brown earth—
At last!
 The ravished one, the birth-pale one.
The holy one, the wanton one.
 The Spring returns!
O, youth of the world!
 O, martyred innocents!
Murdered on all these battlefields of ours —
 Fields that are wet with something else than rain —
Is it your blood that lends unto our flowers
 This quivering beauty that redeemeth pain?
For at last!
 The ravished one, the birth-pale one.
The holy one, the wanton one.
 The Spring returns!
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 1963, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 60 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
# Mandragora/Noon

Published in Mandragora (1917)
             NOON
OVER the hills and far away
 Are shadowy places where forests deep
 Cover with everlasting sleep
Old dethroned gods of an earlier day,
 And sometimes when heavy on stone and sod,
The noon-tide heat lies languid and dim,
 We feel the passing of such a god,
And the hushed earth yearning to welcome him.
Now — very now — do you feel it? — That breath  Falling, rising, floating, drifting?
What sudden immortal presence is this
 That the place and the hour witnesseth?
It rustles the reeds of the meadow rills;
 The dreamy July grass it is lifting.
Ah! You are pale. Did something kiss
 Your forehead that was sweet as death?
"Look up to the hills" — the psalmist saith —
 Our help comes from beyond the hills!
Oh friend, that can be no more than a friend;
 As you and others and all decide,
See — the horizon has no end!
 See — the doors of the world stand wide!
They are wise, wise, gods, — I know it well —
Wise and strong, that hold us apart;
 But this summer-noon has a different spell,
 Do you not feel it in your heart?
From over the hills and far away
 There has come some old forgotten god,
Some old dethroned, unsceptered god.
 Caring nothing for their wise sway,
And has joined us with a nod.
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 1963, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 60 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
# Mandragora/Nunc Dimittis

Published in Mandragora (1917)
          NUNC DIMITTIS
I AM dying; but what of that?
Your hands are under my head,
And your tears are on my cheek
And I am happy at last —
Bitter has been the pain!
Yea I have paid the price
For this last moment with you
But all is well at the end;
Your hands are under my head,
And your tears are on my cheek.
So you love me, after all!
And I bless the eternal dark
Into which I sink and fall
That I've found you — at the last.
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 1963, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 60 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
# Mandragora/Optimism

Published in Mandragora (1917)
          OPTIMISM
YOU who boast you're an optimist.
 May the leprosy of the Jews
Wither your flesh for the truth you've missed
 And the cozening lies you use!
One little child, tender and weak,
 Hurt by life's devil's-wheel
Should make you blush thro' your bowels sleek.
 But you are not worthy to feel.
As long as the smallest one
 Of earth's children by pain is riven.
As long as one cry goes up under the sun,
 God must not be forgiven!
He does not forgive Himself,
 The rain in the night is his prayer.
From the cross, from the cross, he forgives such pelf
As you — who hung him there!
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 1963, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 60 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
# Mandragora/Over

OVER
WITH the blood of my heart on my hand
As the wind goes over the hill,
Very quiet I stand
At your darkened window-sill.
Does the rain that beats on your roof,
Thro' your dreams send not one cry?
In all the world is there no reproof
For your thoughtless cruelty?
Do you see on the shore of dreams
In the misty nebulous land
A bowed phantom who seems
To carry blood on his hand?
Do you hear as the pale rain drifts
Over yellow poppies and graves,
A desperate pleading that lifts
Its voice above the waves?
The voice of the love that your frown
Has driven from human breath,
Do you hear it wandering up and down
Over the country and over the town,
From the reedy shores of death?
​Rise up, rise up for awhile, And press your shadowy cheek Against the window and smile, I will not beckon or speak.
I will only show you the blood As a sign, a symbol, a token— Be happy now in your mood, The golden bowl is broken.
# Mandragora/Pax Vobiscum

          PAX VOBISCUM
OH eyelids of the dying day,
 Fall gently on her pain.
And give her peace and take away
 he madness from her brain I"
So wept the trees, so sighed the grass,
 As that pale form went by;
But the weary evening let her pass,
 And the sun sank pitilessly.
"Oh healing ocean of darkness deep,
 Your cool nepenthe pour
Over her sorrow; give her sleep!"
 Cried the sea to the silent shore.
But the night looked into her white face
 And read such things written there
As are written on the gulfs of space —
 Emptiness and despair!
And the night was helpless and could not stir;
 Then I arose
And watched the waves of nothingness roll,
 I who was nothing, nothing to her!
And I took my soul and crucified it,
 Crucified it between night and day.
Then at last she knew repose,
 And her madness passed away.
# Mandragora/Nothing

       NOTHING
WILL my love come to me?
Alas! I have no love.
Though in green and rainy places
The fronds of the ferns uncurl.
And violets lift their faces
To a crescent moon of pearl.
Will my love come to me?
Alas! I have no love.
Far off — somewhere — a shining head —
O sweet Lord Christ who canst raise the dead.
Take my soul and give me my love instead!
Will my love come to me?
Alas! I have no love.
# Mandragora/Obsession

             OBSESSION
OH, take away those haunting eyes
 That come with the moonlight still.
When the heavy clouds forsake the skies,
 And the rain goes over the hill.
Oh, take away what that lovely hand
 On the wild sea-margin writ.
Let the wind hide it in the sand
 And the sea roll over it!
Oh, lost one, lost one, of whom I dreamed!
 On the long white road 'twas you
Who always before me wavered and gleamed,
 Who always towards me turned and seemed
The heart's desire come true.
By lonely bridges where ancient floods
 Flowed towards lands unknown,
'Twas you, O child of a thousand moods,
 Who waited for me alone!
But now, oh now that you've touched me and fled
 The long white roads grow cold;
And the water at every bridge's head
 Flows darker than of old.
Oh, take away those haunting eyes
 That come with the moonlight still.
Let the heavy clouds cover the skies
 And the rain cover the hill!
# Kosrae State Code/Title 6/Part 4/Chapter 45

* Section 6.4501: Prosecution.
* Section 6.4502: Initial appearance.
* Section 6.4503: Preliminary examination.
# Kosrae State Code/Title 6/Part 4/Chapter 46

* Section 6.4601: Right.
* Section 6.4602: Setting.
* Section 6.4603: Notice by Police.
* Section 6.4604: Amount.
* Section 6.4605: Form and disposition; sureties.
* Section 6.4606: Modification.
* Section 6.4607: Exoneration and release.
* Section 6.4608: Personal recognizance.
# Kosrae State Code/Title 6/Part 4/Chapter 47

* Section 6.4701: Summons.
* Section 6.4702: Detention.