OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Sword Blades and Poppy Seed/The Captured Goddess

Over the housetops, Above the rotating chimney-pots, I have seen a shiver of amethyst, And blue and cinnamon have flickered A moment, At the far end of a dusty street.
Through sheeted rain Has come a lustre of crimson, And I have watched moonbeams Hushed by a film of palest green.
It was her wings, Goddess! Who stepped over the clouds, And laid her rainbow feathers Aslant on the currents of the air.
I followed her for long, With gazing eyes and stumbling feet. I cared not where she led me, My eyes were full of colours: Saffrons, rubies, the yellows of beryls, And the indigo-blue of quartz; Flights of rose, layers of chrysoprase, Points of orange, spirals of vermilion, The spotted gold of tiger-lily petals, The loud pink of bursting hydrangeas. I followed, And watched for the flashing of her wings.
In the city I found her, The narrow-streeted city. In the market-place I came upon her, Bound and trembling. Her fluted wings were fastened to her sides with cords, She was naked and cold, For that day the wind blew Without sunshine.
Men chaffered for her, They bargained in silver and gold, In copper, in wheat, And called their bids across the market-place.
The Goddess wept.
Hiding my face I fled, And the grey wind hissed behind me, Along the narrow streets.
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 1925, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 98 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.
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# Sword Blades and Poppy Seed/The Cyclists

Spread on the roadway, With open-blown jackets, Like black, soaring pinions, They swoop down the hillside,  The Cyclists.
Seeming dark-plumaged Birds, after carrion, Careening and circling, Over the dying  Of England.
She lies with her bosom Beneath them, no longer The Dominant Mother, The Virile—but rotting  Before time.
The smell of her, tainted, Has bitten their nostrils. Exultant they hover, And shadow the sun with  Foreboding.
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 1925, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 98 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
# Sword Blades and Poppy Seed/The Bungler

You glow in my heart Like the flames of uncounted candles. But when I go to warm my hands, My clumsiness overturns the light, And then I stumble Against the tables and chairs.
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 1925, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 98 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
# Sword Blades and Poppy Seed/The Last Quarter of the Moon

How long shall I tarnish the mirror of life, A spatter of rust on its polished steel!  The seasons reel  Like a goaded wheel. Half-numb, half-maddened, my days are strife.
The night is sliding towards the dawn, And upturned hills crouch at autumn's knees.  A torn moon flees  Through the hemlock trees, The hours have gnawed it to feed their spawn.
Pursuing and jeering the misshapen thing A rabble of clouds flares out of the east.  Like dogs unleashed  After a beast, They stream on the sky, an outflung string.
A desolate wind, through the unpeopled dark, Shakes the bushes and whistles through empty nests,  And the fierce unrests  I keep as guests Crowd my brain with corpses, pallid and stark.
Leave me in peace, O Spectres, who haunt My labouring mind, I have fought and failed.  I have not quailed,  I was all unmailed And naked I strove, 'tis my only vaunt.
The moon drops into the silver day As waking out of her swoon she comes.  I hear the drums  Of millenniums Beating the mornings I still must stay.
The years I must watch go in and out, While I build with water, and dig in air,  And the trumpets blare  Hollow despair, The shuddering trumpets of utter rout.
An atom tossed in a chaos made Of yeasting worlds, which bubble and foam.  Whence have I come?  What would be home? I hear no answer. I am afraid!
I crave to be lost like a wind-blown flame. Pushed into nothingness by a breath,  And quench in a wreath  Of engulfing death This fight for a God, or this devil's game.
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 1925, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 98 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.
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# The Anabasis of Alexander/Book I/Chapter XIII

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CHAPTER XIII.
Battle of the Granicus (B.C. 334).
Meantime Alexander was advancing to the river Granicus, with his army arranged for battle, having drawn up his ​heavy-armed troops in a double phalanx, leading the cavalry on the wings, and having ordered that the baggage should follow in the rear. And Hegelochus at the head of the cavalry, who were armed with the long pike, and about 500 of the light-armed troops, was sent by him to reconnoitre the proceedings of the enemy. When Alexander was not far from the river Granicus, some of his scouts rode up to him at full speed and announced that the Persians had taken up their position on the other side of the Granicus, drawn up ready for battle. Thereupon Alexander arranged all his army with the intention of fighting. Then Parmenio approached him and spoke as follows: "I think, O king, that it is advisable for the present to pitch our camp on the bank of the river as we are. For I think that the enemy, being, as they are, much inferior to us in infantry, will not dare to pass the night near us, and therefore they will permit the army to cross the ford with ease at daybreak. For we shall then pass over before they can put-themselves in order of battle; whereas, I do not think that we can now attempt the operation without evident risk, because it is not possible to lead the army through the river with its front extended. Besides, it is clear that many parts of the stream are deep, 'and you see that these banks are steep and in some places abrupt. Therefore the enemy's cavalry, being formed into a dense square, will attack us as we emerge from the water in broken ranks and in column, in the place where we are weakest. At the present juncture the first repulse would be difficult to retrieve, as well as perilous for the issue of the whole war."
But to this Alexander replied: "I recognise the force ​of these arguments, O Parmenio; but I should feel it a disgrace, if, after crossing the Hellespont so easily, this brook (for with such an appellation he made light of the Granicus) should bar our passage for a moment. I consider that this would be in accordance neither with the fame of the Macedonians nor with my own eagerness for encountering danger. Moreover, I think that the Persians will regain courage, as being a match in war for Macedonians, since up to the present time they have suffered no defeat from me to warrant the fear they entertain."
* ↑ The Granicus rises in Mount Ida, and falls into the Propontis near Cyzicus. Ovid (Metam., xi. 763) calls it Granicus bicornis.
* ↑ This was a brigade of about 1,000 men. See Livy, xxxvii. 42.
* ↑ ίποφθἀσομεν. This future is used by the later writers for the Attic ίποφθήσομαι. It is found however in Xenophon.
# The Blue Scarab

* information about this edition.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
First published in the UK as Dr. Thorndyke's Casebook (1923). A collection of detective short stories featuring Freeman's most famous creation, Dr. Thorndyke—though not his inverted detective story—the "howcatchem."
BY R. AUSTIN FREEMAN
AUTHOR OF "THE SINGING BONE," ETC.
Copyright 1923 By DODD MEAD AND COMPANY, Inc.
PRINTED IN THE U.S.A. BY
The Quinn & Boden Company
BOOK MANUFACTURERS RAHWAY NEW JERSEY

### CONTENTS

* chapterpage
* I The Blue Scarab 1
* II The Case of the White Foot-prints 39
* III The New Jersey Sphinx 90
* IV The Touchstone 129
* V A Fisher of Men 163
* VI The Stolen Ingots 200
* VII The Funeral Pyre 238
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 1943, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 80 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.
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# The Book of Scottish Song/The Black Eagle

This edition misattributes the authorship of the poem to David Fordyce, elder brother of the actual author James Fordyce.
The Black Eagle.
[Written by Dr. Fordyce, and published in Johnson's Museum. Dr. Fordyce perished at sea in the year 1755.]
Hark! yonder eagle lonely wails, His faithful bosom grief assails; Last night I heard him in my dream, When death and woe were all the theme. Like that poor bird I make my moan, I grieve for dearest Delia gone; With him to gloomy rocks I fly, He mourns for love and so do I.
'Twas mighty love that tamed his breast, 'Tis tender grief that breaks his rest; He droops his wings, he hangs his head, Since she he fondly loved was dead. With Delia's breath my joy expired, 'Twas Delia's smiles my fancy fired; Like that poor bird I pine, and prove Nought can supply the place of love.
Dark as his feathers was the fate, That robb'd him of his darling mate; Dimm'd is the lustre of his eye, That wont to gaze the sun-bright sky. To him is now for ever lost, The heartfelt bliss he once could boast; Thy sorrows, hapless bird, display, An image of my soul's dismay.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Banks of the Dee

The Banks of the Dee.
[In most collections this once popular song is ascribed to John Home, author of the tragedy of Douglas. The real author, however, was John Tait, a writer to the signet, and some time judge of the Edinburgh police court. Mr. Tait in early life wrote many fugitive pieces, which appeared in the periodicals of the day. He died in 1817. The present song was composed in 1775, on the occasion of a friend leaving Scotland to join the British forces in America. Hence the allusion to the "proud rebels" in the second stanza, America being then struggling for her independence. Burns objected to the second line of the song for two sufficient reasons. "In the first place," he says, "the nightingale sings in a low bush, but never from a tree; and, in the second place, there never was a nightingale seen or heard on the banks of the Dee, or on the banks of any other river in Scotland." The author felt the justice objections, and, thirty years after the first appearance of the song, altered the opening lines thus:—
'Twas summer, and saftly the breezes were blowing, And sweetly the wood-pigeon coo'd from the tree, At the foot of a rock, where the wild-rose was growing, I sat myself down on the banks of the Dee.
The song is sung to the Irish air of Langolee.]
'Twas summer, and saftly the breezes were blowing, And sweetly the nightingale sung from the tree; At the foot of a rock, where the river was flowing, I sat myself down on the banks of the Dee. Flow on, lovely Dee, flow on, thou sweet river, Thy banks, purest stream, shall be dear to me ever: For there first I gain'd the affection and favour Of Jamie, the glory and pride of the Dee.
But now he's gone from and left me thus mourning, To quell the proud rebels—for valiant is he; And ah! there's no hope of his speedy returning, To wander again on the banks of the Dee, He's gone, hapless youth, o'er the loud roaring billows, The kindest and sweetest of all the gay fellows, And left me to stray 'mongst the once loved willows, The loneliest maid on the banks of the Dee. ​But time and my prayers may perhaps yet restore him, Blest peace may restore my dear shepherd to me; And when he returns, with such care I'll watch o'er him, He never shall leave the sweet banks of the Dee. The Dee then shall flow, all its beauties displaying, The lambs on its banks shall again be seen playing, While I with my Jamie am carelessly straying, And tasting again all the sweets of the Dee.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Beggar

The Beggar.
[T. Mouncey Cunningham.]
Wha's this, bedight in tatter'd claes, Comes loutin' owre a sturdy rung, Wi' cloutit wallets fore and aft, And at his belt a gully hung? Deep is the glen wi' drifted snaw, And keen the wind blaws owre the hill; Ye downa up Borinairoch gang, The nippin' cauld your blude will chill.
Come in, an' share the kindly bleeze, Whare feckless eild his bouk may warm, Come in, an' share the frien'ly beild, To shield thee frae the bitter storm. Ye mauna trow that ilka Scot Is reft o' pity's haly flame: Auld neiber, gi'e's your shiverin' nieve, An' mak' my lanely ha' your hame.
Now, though the scone our Leezy beuk Was toastit nice as scone cou'd be, An' though our Crummy's aften roos'd, The milk nor scone he doughtna pree; But glowr'd, as gin the awsome hour Drew near, to close his yirthly woe; Like some auld aik, before the storm Has laid its ancient honours low.
Tell me, auld neiber, where ye wan That rousty blade, an' honest scar? I trow ye've been on mony a field, Amid the horrid din o' war? He couldna speak—a deadly smile Play'd on his looks serenely dour! An' ere we wist, the vet'ran auld, A lifeless corse lay on the floor!
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Birks of Invermay

The Birks of Invermay.
[The first two stanzas of this song are by David Mallet (born 1714; died 1765;) the other stanzas are generally ascribed to the Rev. Alex. Bryce, minister of Kirknewton (born 1713; died 1786.) Mallet's verses appeared in the Orpheus Caledonius, where they are directed to be sung "to a Scotch tune, The Birks of Endermay." They are also given, with the three additional stanzas, in the 4th vol. of the Tea Table Miscellany. "Invermay," says Mr Robert Chambers, "is a small woody glen, watered by the rivulet May, which there joins the river Earn. It is about five miles above the bridge of Earn, and nearly nine from Perth. The seat of Mr. Belsches, the proprietor of this poetical region, and who takes from it his territorial designation, stands at the bottom of the glen. Both sides of the little vale are completely wooded, chiefly with birches; and it is altogether, in point of natural loveliness, a scene worthy of the attention of the amatory muse. The course of the May is so sunk among rocks, that it cannot be seen, but it can easily be traced in its progress by another sense. The peculiar sound which it makes in rushing through one particular part of its narrow, rugged, and tortuous channel, has occasioned the descriptive appellation of the Humble-Bumble to be attached to that quarter of the vale. Invermay may be at once and correctly described as the fairest possible little miniature specimen of cascade scenery."]
The smiling morn, the breathing spring, Invites the tunefu' birds to sing; And, while they warble from the spray, Love melts the universal lay. Let us, Amanda, timely wise, Like them, improve the hour that flies; And in soft raptures waste the day, Among the birks of Invermay.
For soon the winter of the year, And age, life's winter, will appear, At this thy living bloom will fade, As that will strip the verdant shade. Our taste of pleasure then is o'er, The feather'd songsters are no more; And when they drop, and we decay, Adieu the birks of Invermay! ​The laverocks, now, and lintwhites sing, The rocks around with echoes ring; The mavis and the blackbird vie, In tuneful strains, to glad the day The woods now wear their summer suits; To mirth all nature now invites: Let us be blythsome, then, and gay, Among the birks of Invermay.
Behold the hills and vales around, With lowing herds and flocks abound; The wanton kids and frisking lambs Gambol and dance around their dams. The busy bees, with humming noise, And all the reptile kind rejoice: Let us, like them, then, sing and play About the birks of Invermay.
Hark, how the waters, as they fall, Loudly my love to gladness call; The wanton waves sport in the beams, And fishes play throughout the streams: The circling sun does now advance, And all the planets round him dance: Let us as jovial be as they, Among the birks of Invermay.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Banks of the Esk

The Banks of the Esk.
[Alex. Smart.—Here first printed.]
In life's sunny morning, by Esk's winding stream, My days glided by like a beautiful dream, And free as a bird I would carelessly rove, Indulging fond visions of beauty and love.
Then nature was clad in her richest of green, And youth's bounding pulse lent a charm to the scene, While each living thing in its joy was a part Of the gladness that found a sweet home in my heart.
By Esk's winding stream, in the pride of the year, The banks are as green and the waters as clear, But nature's soft verdure can never again Impart the same feelings that gladdened me then.
Sweet home of my childhood! though far from my view, In fancy's fond dreams I am ever with you; And Oh! your remembrance can only depart With the last throb of feeling that gladdens my heart.
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Barn, O

The Barn, O.
[Written by James Stirrat of Dairy, in Ayrshire, and sung at a Country Rocking.—Printed here for the first time.]
There's monie lads and lasses braw, Assembled here at friendship's ca', To drive dull care a mile awa' By dancing in the barn, O. O the dainty barn, O— Barn, barn, barn, O; We'll loup till we be like to fa', And wallop roun' the barn, O.
Sae, fiddlers, gi'e's a canty spring, Play up till "roof and rafters ring," And let us dance the Highland fling Wi' vigour in the barn, O. O the merry barn, O— Barn, barn, barn, O; We'll bravely rant and blythely sing In honour o' the barn, O.
Inspir'd by Scotia's rousing reels, Bauk-height we'll spring wi' mettled heels, Wi' "mountain dew" we'll oil life's wheels And whirl round the barn, O. O the joyous barn, O— Barn, barn, barn, O; Our darling joes, like gallant chiels, We'll ouddle in the barn, O.
Wi' love and mirth and social glee We'll still keep up the jovial spree, While time on wings o' joy shall flee Out owre the happy barn, O. O the happy barn, O— Barn, barn, barn, O; And till the "morning lifts his e'e" We winna lea' the barn, O.
When chanticleer begins to craw, The toast shall be ere we gae wa', "Guid morn and joy be wi' us a'," And success to the barn, O. O the glorious barn, O— Barn, barn, barn, O; We'll gi'e 't, at least, ae grand hurra, Till echo rive the barn, O!
# The Book of Scottish Song/The Barring o' the Door

The Barring o' the Door.
[This was recovered by David Herd, and published in the second edition of his collection, 1776. There is an old song called "Johnnie Blunt," which resembles the present one in its subject, but is somewhat too coarse for extract.]
It fell about the Martinmas time, And a gay time it was than, When our gudewife got puddings to mak', And she boil'd them in the pan.
The wind sae cauld blew south and north, And blew into the floor: Quoth our gudeman, to our gudewife, "Gae out and bar the door."
"My hand is in my hussy'f skap, Gudeman, as ye may see, An' it shou'd nae be barr'd this hundred year, It's no be barr'd for me."
They made a paction 'tween them twa, They made it firm and sure; That the first word whae'er shou'd speak, Shou'd rise and bar the door.
Then by there came twa gentlemen, At twelve o'clock at night, And they could neither see house nor hall, Nor coal nor candle light.
Now, whether is this a rich man's house, Or whether is it a poor? But never a word wad ane o' them speak, For barring o' the door.
And first they ate the white puddings And then they ate the black Tho' muckle thought the gudewife to hersel', Yet ne'er a word she spak'.
Then said the one unto the other, "Here, man, tak' ye my knife, Do ye tak' aff the auld man's beard, And I'll kiss the gudewife."
"But there's nae water in the house, And what shall we do than?" "What ails ye at the puddin' broo, That boils into the pan."
O up then started our gudeman, And an angry man was he; "Will ye kiss my wife before my een, And scad me wi' pudding bree?"
Then up and started our gudewife, Gied three skips on the floor: "Gudeman, ye've spoken the foremost word, Get up and bar the door."
# The Anabasis of Alexander/Book II/Chapter X

Layout 2
CHAPTER X.
Battle of Issus.
* ↑ τῇ γνώμῃ δεδουλωμένος. An expression imitated from Thucydides, iv. 34; compare Arrian, iii. 11; v. 19; vi. 16, where the same words are used of Porus and the Indians.
* ↑ κυμῆναν τῆς φάλαγγος. An expression imitated from Xenophon (Anab., i. 8, 18). It is praised by Demetrius (De Elocutione, 84). Krüger reads ἐκκυμῆναν. Cf. Plutarch (Pompey, 69).
* ↑ Curtius (iii. 29) says that on Alexander's side 504 were wounded, and 182 killed. Diodorus (xvii. 36) says, that 450 Macedonians were killed. Justin (xi. 9) states that 280 were slain.