OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/Vale of the Mohawk

VALE OF THE MOHAWK.
Vale of the Mohawk, freshly green, What beauty in thy bound is seen! What verdure clothes thy fair retreats, How revels every gale in sweets! Each leaf with dewy lustre shining, Each vine with strong embrace entwining, And where thy rich alluvial glows, And full-gorged Plenty seeks repose, It seems that scarce the hand of toil Need vex the bosom of the soil, So kindly Earth the seed receives, So free returns the weight of sheaves. And there thy river, pure and sheen, Flows on, its fringed banks between, Proud of its realm, and pleased to glide To meet old Hudson's mightier tide. From meads of clover rich and high We saw the plundering bees go by, And yet they scarce the surface stirr'd Of sweets, on which the expecting herd Shall banquet, when the mowers blithe In the shorn flower-cups dip their scythe. We saw the reaper girded meet To sweep away the ripen'd wheat: But to his throat advancing high Its bearded lance and russet eye,
He stoutly wrestled on his way, Like swimmer with the billowy bay, Till all behind his path of toil Lay in dead waves, the harvest-spoil.
—While we, of bleak New-England's coast, That ne'er a mine of wealth might boast, Save what her sons laborious find Who dig the quarry of the mind, (And, certes, they such wealth who hold, May well contemn the lust of gold) We, still delighted and amazed, Upon these haunts of richness gazed, Nor spared to praise, with heart elate, The splendour of the "Empire State:" —But lauded more, in accents bland, The glory of our Native Land, Who, if she simply understood The flowing fulness of her good, And felt her blessings as she ought, And praised her Maker in her thought, And did His will, might surely be The very happiest of the free.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/Thoughts among the Trees

THOUGHTS AMONG THE TREES.
"The retiring of the mind into itself is the state most susceptible of divine impressions."—Lord Bacon.
How beautiful you are, green trees! green trees! How nobly beautiful! Fain would I rest 'Neath the broad shadow of your mantling arms, And lose the world's unquiet imagery In the soft mist of dreams. Your curtaining veil Shuts out the revelry and toil, that chafe The city's denizens. Man wars with man, And brethren forage on each other's hearts, Throwing their life-blood in that crucible Which brings forth gold.  Unceasingly we strive, And gaze at gauds, and cling to wind-swept reeds, Then darkly sink, and die.  But here ye stand, Your moss-grown roots by hidden moisture fed, And on your towering heads the dews that fall From God's right hand. I love your sacred lore, And to the silence you have learn'd of Him Bow down my spirit. Not a whispering leaf Uplifts itself, to mar the holy pause Of meditation.  Doth not wisdom dwell With silence and with nature? From the throng
Of fierce communings or of feverish joys, So the sweet mother of the Lord of life Turn'd to the manger and its lowly train, And, mid their quiet ruminations, found Refuge and room.  Methinks an angel's wing Floats o'er your arch of verdure, glorious trees! Luring the soul above. O, ere we part, For soon I leave your blessed company, And seek the dusky paths of life again, Give me some gift, some token of your love, One holy thought, in heavenly silence born, That I may nurse it till we meet again.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/The Young Mother

THE YOUNG MOTHER.
There sat upon the parent's knee,  In love supremely bless'd, An infant, fair and full of glee,
 Caressing and caress'd, While siren Hope, with gladness wild,  And eye cerulean blue, Bent sweetly down to kiss the child,  And bless the mother too.
Then Memory came, with serious mien,  And, looking back the while, Cast such a shadow o'er the scene  As dimm'd Affection's smile; For still to Fancy's brightest hours  She gave a hue of care, And bitter odours tinged the flowers  That wreathed her sunny hair.
But in the youthful mother's soul  Each cloud of gloom was brief, Too pure her raptured feelings roll  To take the tint of grief; Firm Faith around her idol boy  Its radiant mantle threw, And claim'd for him a higher joy  Than Hope or Memory knew.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/The Winter Nosegay

THE WINTER NOSEGAY.
THE END.
# Pocahontas and Other Poems (New York)/The Widow's Prayer

THE WIDOW'S PRAYER.
The youthful maid, the gentle bride, The happy wife, her husband's pride, Who meekly kneel, at morning ray, The incense of their vows to pay, Or pour, amid their evening train, From love's full heart, the incense-strain, What know they of her anguish'd cry Who lonely lifts the tearful eye? No sympathizing glance to view Her alter'd cheek's unearthly hue, No soothing tone to quell the power Of grief that bursts at midnight hour. O God! her heart is pierced and bare, Have pity on the widow's prayer.
Not like the mother, by whose side The partner sits, her guard and guide, Is she who, reft of earthly trust, Hath laid her bosom's lord in dust. Sleeps her young babe! but who shall share Its waking charms, its holy care? Who shield the daughter's opening bloom, Whose father moulders in the tomb? Her son the treacherous world beguiles, What voice shall warn him of its wiles? What strong hand break the deadly snare? O answer, Heaven, the widow's prayer!
For not the breath of prosperous days, Though warm with joy and wing'd with praise, E'er kindled such a living coal Of deep devotion in the soul As that wild blast, which bore away Her idol to returnless clay: And, for the wreath that crown'd the brow, Left bitter thoughts and hyssop-bough, A lonely couch, a sever'd tie, A tear that time can never dry, Unutter'd wo, unpitied care: O God! regard the widow's prayer.
# Oriental Scenery/Part 1/Plate 9

Akbar's tomb
No. IX.
THE GATE LEADING TO THE MAUSOLEUM OF THE EMPEROR AKBAR,
at secundra, near agra.
This magnificent Gate is built of reddish freestone, and the ornamental part inlaid with stones of various colours. The minars are of white marble, executed with great neatness; originally they were crowned with turrets, which have been destroyed by lightning. The Mausoleum within the garden, composed of the same materials, has a striking and grand effect; at the top of which, on the terrace, is placed the body of the Emperor, enclosed in a white marble tomb, elegantly ornamented.
Secundra is nine miles from Agra, and about one hundred and twenty-eight southward of Delhi.
The Gate leading to the Mausoleum of the Emperor Akbar, at Secundra, near Agra.
# Oriental Scenery/Part 1/Plate 22

Khusro Bagh
No. XXII.
MAUSOLEUM OF SULTAN PURVEIZ, NEAR ALLAHABAD.
The remains of Sultan Purveiz, the son of the Emperor Jehangire, were here deposited about the year 1626. The simplicity of the general design of this Mausoleum, with its judicious and well-executed decorations, rank it amongst the most correct examples of Indian architecture. By time and neglect, however, this building is much impaired. The dome was originally covered with glazed tiles, so formed and disposed, as to produce a very rich effect, and of which there are many beautiful examples still remaining at Agra and Delhi.
This Mausoleum is in the same garden, near to that of his brother, Sultan Chusero.
Mausoleum of Sultan Purveiz, near Allahabad.
# Oriental Scenery/Part 1/Plate 23

Jama Masjid, Delhi
No. XXIII.
THE JUMMAH MUSJED, AT DELHI.
The Jumma Musjed, or Friday's Mosque, is the principal place of religious worship of the followers of the Mahommedan doctrine in India. This edifice was built by the Emperor Shah Jehan, as before mentioned. The domes, and all the other parts which appear white, are of Cashmerian marble, the rest of red stone procured in the neighbourhood of Delhi. In regularity of design and correctness of execution this building is considered of the first class. It is approached by three magnificent gates, one of which is the subject of the first plate of these Views.
The Jummah Musjed, at Delhi.
# Oriental Scenery/Part 1/Plate 5

Rohtasgarh Fort
No.V.
RAJE GAUT, THE PRINCIPAL ROAD UP TO ROTAS GHUR, BAHAR.
Rotas Ghur is the most considerable hill fort in this part of India; it is naturally of great strength, and the weaker parts have been assisted by very strong works. Within the fort are the remains of several Hindoo temples, Mahommedan mosques, a palace, and other public buildings, in which frequent examples of excellent architecture occur. The mountain on the top of which it stands is said to be above eight hundred feet in height, and more than twenty miles in circumference. The river Soane washes its base to the south east.
Rotas Ghur is about three hundred and forty miles N. W. from Calcutta.
Raje Gaut, the principal Road up to Rotas Ghur, Bahar.
# Oriental Scenery/Part 1/Plate 8

Allahabad Fort
No. VIII.
PART OF THE PALACE, IN THE FORT OF ALLAHABAD.
This building, composed chiefly of freestone, was erected by the Emperor Akbar, the pillars are richly ornamented, and the whole executed in a masterly style. In the centre of the terrace, on the top of the building, stood a turret of white marble, very elegantly finished, which was taken down by order of the Nabob of Oud, and sent to Lucknow in the year 1789.
Since this view was drawn, the Nabob of Oud has ordered the whole of the building to be taken down and carried to Lucknow, with the intention, it is said, to be again erected in that city: a circumstance much to be lamented, as the abilities of modern workmen are by no means equal to a task so difficult and so extraordinary as the separating, removing, and again uniting the materials of so excellent a structure.
Part of the Palace, in the Fort of Allahabad.
# Oriental Scenery/Part 1/Plate 24

Chunar Fort
No. XXIV.
GATE LEADING TO A MUSJED, AT CHUNAR GUR.
Chunar Gur, formerly an Hindoo fort of considerable consequence, and now in the possession of the East India Company, is situated on the western bank of the Ganges, about four hundred and sixty-nine miles N. W. from Calcutta.
The effect of this Gate, at a distance, is grand, from the bold projection of its superior parts; and its ornaments, though numerous, are applied with so much art and discretion, as to form the happiest union of beauty and grandeur.
Gate leading to a Musjed, at Chunar Gur.
# Oriental Scenery/Part 1/Plate 3

Qudsia Bagh
No. III.
THE COTSEA BHAUG, ON THE RIVER JUMNA, AT DELHI.
Cotesa Bhaug, so called from the bhaug, or garden, within this quadrangular building, which was erected by the Cotsea Begum, a Mohammedan lady, in the reign of the Emperor Akbar, about two hundred years since. It is built with stone, and covered in part with stucco of a very durable nature. The apartments receive light principally from the garden side, excepting the octangular projections at the angles. The roof is smoothly terraced, and commands a fine view of the city of Delhi and the river Jumna. The garden, in which beds of flowers and fountains are interspersed, is laid out in straight walks paved with freestone. On the south side adjoining the outer wall, there is a mosque, and on the north is the grand entrance to the Cotsea Bhaug.
The Cotsea Bhaug, on the River Jumna, at Delhi.
# Oriental Scenery/Part 1/Plate 4

Gauḍa (city)
No. IV.
RUINS AT THE ANCIENT CITY OF GOUR,
formerly on the banks of the river ganges.
Of Gour there are accounts so early as three hundred and fifty years before the Christian era: it has been the capital of Bengal three several times, and as often deserted. This city appears by its scattered remains to have been of very considerable extent, though at this time it is nearly overgrown with jungle, (i. e. reeds, thorns, and close underwood). The Ganges, which formerly washed its walls, now runs eight or ten miles to the westward of it.
By the appearance of the adjoining wall it is probable this gate belonged to the fort.
Gour stands on the eastern bank of the river, and is distant from Calcutta about one hundred and seventy miles, north.
Ruins of the ancient City of Gour.
# Oriental Scenery/Part 1/Plate 6

Allahabad Fort
No. VI.
THE CHALEES SATOON, ON THE JUMNA SIDE OF THE FORT OF ALLAHABAD.
The Chalees Satoon, or the forty pillars, is a pavilion attached to the palace of Allahabad, and was erected by the Emperor Akbar. It is built of grey granite and freestone.
The fort of Allahabad is favourably situated on the point where the rivers Ganges and Jumna unite. The numerous vessels to be seen on these rivers, particularly on the fonner, give great spirit to the scenery.
The buildings in general here are in the grandest style of Mahommedan architecture.
Allahabad is five hundred and fifty miles N. W. from Calcutta, and eighty-three westward from Bernares.
The Chalees Satoon, on the Jumna side of the Fort of Allahabad.
# Oriental Scenery/Part 1/Plate 7

Feroz Shah Kotla
No. VII.
REMAINS OF AN ANCIENT BUILDING, NEAR FIROZ SHAH'S COTILLAH, AT DELHI.
The plan of the outer wall is quadrangular, with round towers at the angles, and in the centre stands durbar, or hall of audience. This building is very much in ruin, as well as those surrounding it for many miles. It is distant from the fort of Shah Jehanabad, or modern Delhi, about three miles.
Remains of an ancient building, near Firoz Shah's Cotillah, at Delhi.
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume I/Life (Coates 2)

LIFE
THOU art more ancient than the oldest skies, But youth forever glances from thine eyes; Time wars against thee, and consumes thy fires, Yet, wingèd, thou from ashes dost arise!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume I/Live Thy Life

LIVE THY LIFE
LIVE thy life gallantly and undismayed: Whatever harms may hide within the shade, Be thou of fear, my spirit! more afraid.
In earthly pathways evil springeth rife; But dread not thou, too much, or pain or strife That plunge thee to the greater depths of life!
What though the storm-cloud holds the bolt that sears? The eagle of the crag, that nothing fears, Still, still is young after a hundred years!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume I/Let Me Believe

LET ME BELIEVE
LET me believe you, love, or let me die! If on your faith I may not rest secure, Beyond all chance of peradventure sure, Trusting your half-avowals sweet and shy, As trusts the lark the pallid, dawn-lit sky— Then would I rather in some grave obscure Repose forlorn, than living on, endure A question each dear transport to belie!
It is a pain to thirst and do without, A pain to suffer what we deem unjust, To win a joy—and lay it in the dust; But there's a fiercer pain—the pain of doubt; From other griefs Death sets the spirit free; Doubt steals the light from immortality!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume I/Life

LIFE
BEFORE we knew thee thou wert with us; aye, In that far time forgotten and obscure When, doubtful of ourselves, of naught secure, We feebly uttered first our human cry. We had not murmured hadst thou passed us by, And now, with all our vaunted knowledge sure, We know not from what source of bounty pure Thou camest, our dull clay to glorify.
Yet—for thou didst awake us when but dust, Careless of thee—one tender hope redeems Each loss by the dark river: more and more We feel that we who long for thee may trust To wake again, as children do from dreams, And find thee waiting on the farther shore.
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume I/Kindred

KINDRED
TENDER grass in April springing, Scent of lilacs wet with rain, Bluebird jubilantly singing Snatches of a loved refrain,
Falcon soaring high above me, Light of stars in deeps divine, Creeping earth-bound things that move me To compassion, ye are mine!
Wind in varied cadence playing Mystic runes on harps unseen, Blossom hardily delaying Where lost summer late hath been,
Shadow drifting o'er the mountain, Mist blown inward from the sea, Hidden spring and bubbling fountain,— Ye are mine and parts of me!
What am I? The stars have made me, And the dust to which I cleave, Rivers, and the hills that aid me, Past and future, morn and eve,
​Nightshade lightly plucked unknowing, Roses fondly twined with rue, Harvestings of mine own sowing, And from fields I never knew!
I have gained mid loss and capture Strength not found in vanquishing, Sharing oft the mounting rapture, Trailing oft the broken wing;
Kindred with the sunlight streaming Where nor dew nor rain-drop gleams, With the parchèd desert dreaming Incommunicable dreams,
Laid in cavern-bed at even, Throned on rose-flushed Apennine— Multitudinous earth and heaven, Naught ye hold that is not mine!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume I/Inviolable

INVIOLABLE
"And shall not Loveliness be loved for ever?"—Euripides
WHEN I hear men discoursing idle things, Who "beauty and corruption" would unite— As who should say: "Now call we darkness bright!" My wondering soul more passionately clings To every image, every strain that sings Of beauty—still, ah, still the world's delight!— More valuing that bloom which knows not blight, To which no touch of Time defacement brings.
From rocky Chios, from sweet Avon's side, From Athens, Sicily—our earth to bless— From each dear Land where Joy hath dwelt with Truth, It comes adown Time's inexhausted tide In myriad form, the ancient Loveliness, Wearing its glory of immortal youth!
END OF VOLUME I
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume I/Joan of Arc

JOAN OF ARC
HER spirit is to France a living spring From which to draw deep draughts of life. To-day,— As when a peasant girl she led the way Victorious to Rheims and crowned the King,— High and heroic thoughts about her cling, And sacrificial faiths as pure as they, Moving the land she loved, with gentle sway, To be, for love of her, a better thing!
Was she unhappy? No: her radiant youth Burned, like a meteor, on to swift eclipse; But where it passed, there lingers still a light. She waited, wistful, for the word of truth That breathed in blessing from immortal lips When earthly comfort failed, and all around was night.
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume I/Limitation

LIMITATION
AS when the imperial bird, wide-circling, soars From his lonely eyrie, towered above the seas That wash the wild and rugged Hebrides, A force which he unconsciously adores Bounds the majestic flight that heaven explores, And droops his haughty wing; as when the breeze Tempts to o'erleap their changeless boundaries The waves that tumble foaming to those shores;
So thou, my soul! impatient of restriction, With deathless hopes and longings all aglow, Aspirest still, and still the stern prediction Stays thee, as them,—"No further shalt thou go!" But, ah! the eagle feels not thine affliction, Nor can the broken waves thy disappointment know.
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume I/Israfel

Edgar Allan Poe's poem Israfel was also referenced with the supposed Koran verse. However, the verse does not actually appear in the Koran, "but in Sale's 'Preliminary Discourse' (Section IV) to his translation of the Koran, and... the words 'whose heart-strings are a lute' are not in Sale but were inserted by Poe." [American Poems (1625-1892) (1917)]
ISRAFEL
A DREAMER midst the stars doth dwell, Known to the gods as Israfel. His heart-strings are a lute; And when, the magic notes outpouring, He parts his lips, the gods, adoring, Listen in transport mute, Subdued and softened by the spell Of the dreamer, Israfel!
And mortals, as they toil apart, Listen with awe, and call him—Art, And fain his gift to gain, Essay to imitate the fashion Of his rare song, and breathe its passion,— But, ah, they strive in vain; For his song is more than art, Whose lute-strings are his heart!
And others, unto whom he wings The sweetest melodies he sings, ​In worship, name him—Love; Yet longing the pure strain to capture, When at the very height of rapture, A sadness oft approve, And fancy, strangely, that he wrings The music from their own heart-strings!
# Poems (Coates 1916)/Volume I/Jewel-Weed

JEWEL-WEED
THOU lonely, dew-wet mountain road, Traversed by toiling feet each day, What rare enchantment maketh thee Appear so gay?
Thy sentinels, on either hand Rise tamarack, birch, and balsam-fir, O'er the familiar shrubs that greet The wayfarer;
But here's a magic cometh new— A joy to gladden thee, indeed: This passionate out-flowering of The jewel-weed,
That now, when days are growing drear, As Summer dreams that she is old, Hangs out a myriad pleasure-bells Of mottled gold!
​Thine only, these, thou lonely road! Though hands that take, and naught restore, Rob thee of other treasured things, Thine these are, for
A fairy, cradled in each bloom, To all who pass the charmèd spot Whispers in warning: "Friend, admire,— But touch me not!
"Leave me to blossom where I sprung, A joy untarnished shall I seem; Pluck me, and you dispel the charm And blur the dream!"
# Poems (May)/Maddalena's confession

POEMS.
# Poems (Taggart)/To her Father

* ↑ She did not see him for four weeks previous to his death.
* ↑ [He died on the 10th of November, 1833; and it is but a just tribute to the memory of a good man, to say, that the spot where he lived more than thirty years, and the grave in which he lies buried, are consecrated in the affections of his family and of his neighbours. Before he went to his rest, he had purchased, with the small remnant of his property, a cottage about four miles from Newport, and nearly as far from his former residence by the sea-side. Those who approach this home of suffering will be surprised and pleased by the air of neatness, and even of cheerfulness, which pervades the humble tenement. Here they may behold one of the brightest triumphs of piety over the sorrows so thickly strewn in the vale of tears, through which this gifted female has been called to pass. They will ascend the narrow staircase that leads to Cynthia's quiet chamber. There they will find a being, whose sufferings words cannot describe, looking to her God calmly, and with a resignation which seems almost to have imparted its peaceful influence to the silent air that surrounds the lowly dwelling. It was in this chamber that she lay helpless, while those of the household, whose health and reason permitted, were assembled around the bed-side of the dying man, to receive his last farewell. Again and again she had heard the sad intelligence, that her father, who had for a long period of years so truly sympathized with her sufferings, and who had been almost alone in discerning the powers of that mind in whose cultivation he was chiefly instrumental, was now passing from the earth, and she would behold him no more, not even in the dying hour. Again he was restored, and probably in such intervals of affliction and hope these touching lines were composed. Four weeks she lay without seeing that venerable countenance, though from below she heard the sound of the precious words, which all who knew him will treasure up as the last legacy of an aged Christian in the immediate prospect of eternal bliss. If we place ourselves in her situation, we shall not wonder that, as her father lay dead in the house, it was a consolation to her deeply wounded spirit to dictate these lines, at a sister's request, to a friend who was seeking to pour into the hearts of the mourning family the balm of consolation. Nor shall we be surprised, that now, when the bright returning June has clothed the earth afresh in its garments of green, she often gazes from the window at the head of her couch, over the orchard, where but lately she saw him walking beneath the trees, or, supported by his daughters, feebly attempting to select the spot for his burial. And when we look upon the unmarked mound in the corner of that orchard, we shall understand why the daughter dropped a tear on the flower that was brought to her, the first that had bloomed on her father's grave.—June 2st, 1834.]
# Poems (Tennyson, 1833)

This 1833 volume was Tennyson's second published book of poetry.
POEMS.
POEMS
BY
ALFRED TENNYSON.
LONDON: EDWARD MOXON, 64, NEW BOND STREET.
MDCCCXXXIII.
LONDON: PRINTED BY BRADBURY AND EVANS, BOUVERIE STREET.
CONTENTS.
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
# Poems (Tennyson, 1833)/A Dream of Fair Women

A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN.
# Poems (Tennyson, 1833)/Eleanore

ELEANORE.