OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Forest Sanctuary, and Other Poems/Our Lady's Well

OUR LADY'S WELL*.
Fount of the woods! thou art hid no more, From Heaven's clear eye, as in time of yore! For the roof hath sunk from thy mossy walls, And the sun's free glance on thy slumber falls; And the dim tree-shadows across thee pass, As the boughs are sway'd o'er thy silvery glass; And the reddening leaves to thy breast are blown, When the autumn wind hath a stormy tone; And thy bubbles rise to the flashing rain— Bright Fount! thou art nature's own again!
Fount of the vale! thou art sought no more By the pilgrim's foot, as in time of yore, When he came from afar, his beads to tell, And to chant his hymn at Our Lady's Well. There is heard no Ave through thy bowers, Thou art gleaming lone 'midst thy water-flowers! But the herd may drink from thy gushing wave, And there may the reaper his forehead lave, And the woodman seeks thee not in vain— —Bright Fount! thou art nature's own again!
Fount of the Virgin's ruin'd shrine! A voice that speaks of the past is thine! It mingles the tone of a thoughtful sigh, With the notes that ring through the laughing sky; 'Midst the mirthful song of the summer-bird, And the sound of the breeze, it will yet be heard! —Why is it that thus we may gaze on thee, To the brilliant sunshine sparkling free? —'Tis that all on earth is of Time's domain— He hath made thee nature's own again!
Fount of the chapel with ages grey! Thou art springing freshly amidst decay!
Thy rites are closed, and thy cross lies low, And the changeful hours breathe o'er thee now! Yet if at thine altar one holy thought In man's deep spirit of old hath wrought; If peace to the mourner hath here been given, Or prayer, from a chasten'd heart, to Heaven, Be the spot still hallow'd while Time shall reign, Who hath made thee nature's own again!
THE END.
# The Forest Sanctuary, and Other Poems/Swiss Song

SWISS SONG,
ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF AN ANCIENT BATTLE.
The Swiss, even to our days, have continued to celebrate the anniversaries of their ancient battles with much solemnity; assembling in the open air on the fields where their ancestors fought, to hear thanksgivings offered up by the priests, and the names of all who shared in the glory of the day enumerated. They afterwards walk in procession to chapels, always erected in the vicinity of such scenes, where masses are sung for the souls of the departed. See Planta's History of the Helvetic Confederacy.
Look on the white Alps round!  If yet they gird a land  Where freedom's voice and step are found,  Forget ye not the band, The faithful band, our sires, who fell Here, in the narrow battle-dell!
 If yet, the wilds among,  Our silent hearts may burn,  When the deep mountain-horn hath rung,  And home our steps may turn, —Home!—home!—if still that name be dear, Praise to the men who perish'd here!
Look on the white Alps round!  Up to their shining snows  That day the stormy rolling sound,  The sound of battle rose! Their caves prolong'd the trumpet's blast, Their dark pines trembled as it pass'd!
 They saw the princely crest,  They saw the knightly spear,  The banner and the mail-clad breast  Borne down, and trampled here! They saw—and glorying there they stand, Eternal records to the land!
 Praise to the mountain-born,  The brethren of the glen!  By them no steel-array was worn,  They stood as peasant-men! They left the vineyard and the field To break an empire's lance and shield!
 Look on the white Alps round!  If yet, along their steeps,
Our children's fearless feet may bound,  Free as the chamois leaps: Teach them in song to bless the band Amidst whose mossy graves we stand!
 If, by the wood-fire's blaze,  When winter-stars gleam cold,  The glorious tales of elder days  May proudly yet be told. Forget not then the shepherd-race, Who made the hearth a holy place!
 Look on the white Alps round!  If yet the sabbath bell  Comes o'er them with a gladdening sound,  Think on the battle-dell! For blood first bath'd its flowery sod, That chainless hearts might worship God!
# The Forest Sanctuary, and Other Poems/The Bird's Release

THE BIRD'S RELEASE.
The Indians of Bengal and of the Coast of Malabar bring cages filled with birds to the graves of their friends, over which they set the birds at liberty. This custom is alluded to in the description of Virginia's funeral. See Paul and Virginia.
Go forth, for she is gone! With the golden light of her wavy hair, She is gone to the fields of the viewless air;  She hath left her dwelling lone!
 Her voice hath pass'd away! It hath pass'd away like a summer breeze, When it leaves the hills for the far blue seas,  Where we may not trace its way.
 Go forth, and like her be free! With thy radiant wing, and thy glancing eye, Thou hast all the range of the sunny sky,  And what is our grief to thee?
Is it aught ev'n to her we mourn? Doth she look on the tears by her kindred shed? Doth she rest with the flowers o'er her gentle head,  Or float on the light wind borne?
 We know not—but she is gone! Her step from the dance, her voice from the song, And the smile of her eye from the festal throng;—  —She hath left her dwelling lone!
 When the waves at sunset shine, We may hear thy voice, amidst thousands more, In the scented woods of our glowing shore,  But we shall not know 'tis thine!
 Ev'n so with the lov'd one flown! Her smile in the starlight may wander by, Her breath may be near in the wind's low sigh,  Around us—but all unknown.
 Go forth, we have loos'd thy chain! We may deck thy cage with the richest flowers, Which the bright day rears in our eastern bowers,  But thou wilt not be lur'd again.
Ev'n thus may the summer pour All fragrant things on the land's green breast, And the glorious earth like a bride be dress'd,  But it wins her back no more!
# The Forest Sanctuary, and Other Poems/The Conqueror's Sleep

THE CONQUEROR'S SLEEP.
Sleep 'midst thy banners furl'd! Yes! thou art there, upon thy buckler lying, With the soft wind unfelt around thee sighing, Thou chief of hosts, whose trumpet shakes the world? Sleep while the babe sleeps on its mother's breast— —Oh! strong is night—for thou too art at rest!
Stillness hath smooth'd thy brow, And now might love keep timid vigils by thee, Now might the foe with stealthy foot draw nigh thee, Alike unconscious and defenceless thou! Tread lightly, watchers!—now the field is won, Break not the rest of nature's weary son!
Perchance some lovely dream Back from the stormy fight thy soul is bearing, To the green places of thy boyish daring, And all the windings of thy native stream;
—Why, this were joy!—upon the tented plain, Dream on, thou Conqueror!—be a child again!
But thou wilt wake at morn, With thy strong passions to the conflict leaping, And thy dark troubled thoughts, all earth o'ersweeping, —So wilt thou rise, oh! thou of woman born! And put thy terrors on, till none may dare Look upon thee—the tired one, slumbering there!
Why, so the peasant sleeps Beneath his vine!—and man must kneel before thee, And for his birthright vainly still implore thee! Shalt thou be stay'd because thy brother weeps? —Wake! and forget that 'midst a dreaming world, Thou hast lain thus, with all thy banners furl'd!
Forget that thou, ev'n thou, Hast feebly shiver'd when the wind passed o'er thee, And sunk to rest upon the earth which bore thee, And felt the night-dew chill thy fever'd brow! Wake with the trumpet, with the spear press on! —Yet shall the dust take home its mortal son.
# The Forest Sanctuary, and Other Poems/Printer

LONDON: PRINTED BY THOMAS DAVISON, WHITEFRIARS.
# The Forest Sanctuary, and Other Poems/The Crusader's Return

THE CRUSADER'S RETURN.
"Alas! the mother that him bare, If she had been in presence there, In his wan cheeks and sunburnt hair,  She had not known her child." Marmion.
Rest, pilgrim, rest!—thou'rt from the Syrian land, Thou 'rt from the wild and wondrous east, I know By the long-withered palm-branch in thy hand, And by the darkness of thy sunburnt brow. Alas! the bright, the beautiful, who part, So full of hope, for that for country's bourne! Alas! the weary and the chang'd in heart, And dimm'd in aspect, who like thee return!
Thou 'rt faint—stay, rest thee from thy toils at last, Through the high chesnuts lightly plays the breeze,
The stars gleam out, the Ave hour is pass'd, The sailor's hymn hath died along the seas. Thou'rt faint and worn—hear'st thou the fountain welling By the grey pillars of yon ruin'd shrine? Seest thou the dewy grapes, before thee swelling? —He that hath left me train'd that loaded vine!
He was a child when thus the bower he wove, (Oh! hath a day fled since his childhood's time?) That I might sit and hear the sound I love, Beneath its shade—the convent's vesper-chime. And sit thou there!—for he was gentle ever, With his glad voice he would have welcomed thee, And brought fresh fruits to cool thy parch'd lips' fever— There in his place thou'rt resting—where is he?
If I could hear that laughing voice again, But once again!—how oft it wanders by, In the still hours, like some remember'd strain, Troubling the heart with its wild melody! —Thou hast seen much, tired pilgrim! hast thou seen In that far land, the chosen land of yore, A youth—my Guido—with the fiery mien, And the dark eye of this Italian shore?
The dark, clear, lightning eye!—on Heaven and earth It smiled—as if man were not dust—it smiled! The very air seem'd kindling with his mirth, And I—my heart grew young before my child! My blessed child!—I had but him—yet he Fill'd all my home ev'n with o'erflowing joy, Sweet laughter, and wild song, and footstep free— Where is he now?—my pride, my flower, my boy!
His sunny childhood melted from my sight, Like a spring dew-drop—then his forehead wore A prouder look—his eye a keener light— I knew these woods might be his world no more! He lov'd me—but he left me!—thus they go, Whom we have rear'd, watch'd, bless'd, too much adored! He heard the trumpet of the red-cross blow, And bounded from me with his father's sword!
Thou weep'st—I tremble—thou hast seen the slain Pressing a bloody turf; the young and fair, With their pale beauty strewing o'er the plain Where hosts have met—speak! answer!—was he there?
Oh! hath his smile departed?—Could the grave Shut o'er those bursts of bright and tameless glee? —No! I shall yet behold his dark locks wave— That look gives hope—I knew it could not be!
Still weep'st thou, wanderer?—some fond mother's glance O'er thee too brooded in thine early years— Think'st thou of her, whose gentle eye, perchance, Bath'd all thy faded hair with parting tears? Speak, for thy tears disturb me!—what art thou? Why dost thou hide thy face, yet weeping on? Look up!—oh! is it—that wan cheek and brow!— Is it—alas! yet joy!—my son, my son!
# The Forest Sanctuary, and Other Poems/The Cavern of the Three Tells

THE CAVERN OF THE THREE TELLS.
SWISS TRADITION.
The three founders of the Helvetic Confederacy are thought to sleep in a cavern near the Lake of Lucerne. The herdsmen call them the Three Tells; and say that they lie there in their antique garb, in quiet slumber; and when Switzerland is in her utmost need, they will awaken and regain the liberties of the land. See Quarterly Review, No. 44.
The Grütli, where the confederates held their nightly meetings, is a meadow on the shore of the Lake of Lucerne, or Lake of the Forest-cantons, here called the Forest-sea.
Oh! enter not yon shadowy cave,  Seek not the bright spars there, Though the whispering pines that o'er it wave,  With freshness fill the air:
For there the Patriot Three,  In the garb of old array'd, By their native Forest-sea  On a rocky couch are laid.
The Patriot Three that met of yore  Beneath the midnight sky, And leagued their hearts on the Grütli shore,  In the name of liberty!
Now silently they sleep  Amidst the hills they freed; But their rest is only deep,  Till their country's hour of need.
They start not at the hunter's call,  Nor the Lammer-geyer's cry, Nor the rush of a sudden torrent's fall,  Nor the Lauwine thundering by!
And the Alpine herdsman's lay,  To a Switzer's heart so dear! On the wild wind floats away.  No more for them to hear.
But when the battle-horn is blown  Till the Schreckhorn's peaks reply, When the Jungfrau's cliffs send back the tone  Through their eagles' lonely sky;
When spear-heads light the lakes,  When trumpets loose the snows, When the rushing war-steed shakes  The glacier's mute repose;
When Uri's beechen woods wave red  In the burning hamlet's light;— Then from the cavern of the dead,  Shall the sleepers wake in might!
With a leap, like Tell's proud leap,  When away the helm he flung*, And boldly up the steep  From the flashing billow sprung!
They shall wake beside their Forest-sea,  In the ancient garb they wore When they link'd the hands that made us free,  On the Grütli's moonlight shore:
And their voices shall be heard,  And be answer'd with a shout, Till the echoing Alps are stirr'd,  And the signal-fires blaze out.
And the land shall see such deeds again  As those of that proud day, When Winkelried, on Sempach's plain,  Through the serried spears made way;
And when the rocks came down  On the dark Morgarten dell, And the crowned casques*, o’erthrown,  Before our fathers fell!
For the Kühreihen's† notes must never sound  In a land that wears the chain, And the vines on freedom's holy ground  Untrampled must remain!
And the yellow harvests wave  For no stranger's hand to reap, While within their silent cave  The men of Grütli sleep!
* ↑ * The point of rock on which Tell leaped from the boat of Gessler is marked by a chapel, and called the Tellensprung.
* ↑ * Crowned helmets, as a distinction of rank, are mentioned in Simond’s Switzerland.
* ↑ † The Kühreihen, the celebrated Ranz des Vaches.
# The Forest Sanctuary, and Other Poems/The Farewell to the Dead

THE FAREWELL TO THE DEAD.
The following piece is founded on a beautiful part of the Greek funeral service, in which relatives and friends are invited to embrace the deceased (whose face is uncovered) and to bid their final adieu. See Christian Researches in the Mediterranean.
———'Tis hard to lay into the earth A countenance so benign! a form that walk'd But yesterday so stately o'er the earth! Wilson.
Come near!—ere yet the dust Soil the bright paleness of the settled brow, Look on your brother, and embrace him now,  In still and solemn trust! Come near!—once more let kindred lips be press'd On his cold cheek; then bear him to his rest!
 Look yet on this young face! What shall the beauty, from amongst us gone, Leave of its image, ev'n where most it shone,  Gladdening its hearth and race?
Dim grows the semblance on man's heart impress'd— —Come near, and bear the beautiful to rest!
 Ye weep, and it is well! For tears befit earth's partings!—Yesterday Song was upon the lips of this pale clay,  And sunshine seem'd to dwell Where'er he mov'd—the welcome and the bless'd! —Now gaze! and bear the silent unto rest!
 Look yet on him, whose eye Meets yours no more, in sadness or in mirth! Was he not fair amidst the sons of earth,  The beings born to die? —But not where death has power may love be bless'd— Come near! and bear ye the belov'd to rest!
 How may the mother's heart Dwell on her son, and dare to hope again? The spring's rich promise hath been given in vain,  The lovely must depart! Is he not gone, our brightest and our best? Come near! and bear the early-call'd to rest!
Look on him! is he laid To slumber from the harvest or the chase? —Too still and sad the smile upon his face,  Yet that, ev'n that, must fade! Death holds not long unchang'd his fairest guest,— Come near! and bear the mortal to his rest!
 His voice of mirth hath ceas'd Amidst the vineyards! there is left no place For him whose dust receives your vain embrace,  At the gay bridal feast! Earth must take earth to moulder on her breast; Come near! weep o'er him! bear him to his rest!
 Yet mourn ye not as they Whose spirit's light is quench'd!—for him the past Is seal'd. He may not fall, he may not cast  His birthright's hope away! All is not here of our belov'd and bless'd— —Leave ye the sleeper with his God to rest!
# The Hymns of the Rigveda/Book 8

* Hymn 1
* Hymn 2
* Hymn 3
* Hymn 4
* Hymn 5
* Hymn 6
* Hymn 7
* Hymn 8
* Hymn 9
* Hymn 10
* Hymn 11
* Hymn 12
* Hymn 13
* Hymn 14
* Hymn 15
* Hymn 16
* Hymn 17
* Hymn 18
* Hymn 19
* Hymn 20
* Hymn 21
* Hymn 22
* Hymn 23
* Hymn 24
* Hymn 25
* Hymn 26
* Hymn 27
* Hymn 28
* Hymn 29
* Hymn 30
* Hymn 31
* Hymn 32
* Hymn 33
* Hymn 34
* Hymn 35
* Hymn 36
* Hymn 37
* Hymn 38
* Hymn 39
* Hymn 40
* Hymn 41
* Hymn 42
* Hymn 43
* Hymn 44
* Hymn 45
* Hymn 46
* Hymn 47
* Hymn 48
* Hymn 49
* Hymn 50
* Hymn 51
* Hymn 52
* Hymn 53
* Hymn 54
* Hymn 55
* Hymn 56
* Hymn 57
* Hymn 58
* Hymn 59
* Hymn 60
* Hymn 61
* Hymn 62
* Hymn 63
* Hymn 64
* Hymn 65
* Hymn 66
* Hymn 67
* Hymn 68
* Hymn 69
* Hymn 70
* Hymn 71
* Hymn 72
* Hymn 73
* Hymn 74
* Hymn 75
* Hymn 76
* Hymn 77
* Hymn 78
* Hymn 79
* Hymn 80
* Hymn 81
* Hymn 82
* Hymn 83
* Hymn 84
* Hymn 85
* Hymn 86
* Hymn 87
* Hymn 88
* Hymn 89
* Hymn 90
* Hymn 91
* Hymn 92
* Hymn 93
* Hymn 94
* Hymn 95
* Hymn 96
* Hymn 97
* Hymn 98
* Hymn 99
* Hymn 100
* Hymn 101
* Hymn 102
* Hymn 103
# The Hymns of the Rigveda/Book 10/Hymn 90

1. A THOUSAND heads hath Purusa, a thousand eyes, a thousand feet. On every side pervading earth he fills a space ten fingers wide. 2. This Purusa is all that yet hath been and all that is to be; The Lord of Immortality which waxes greater still by food. 3. So mighty is his greatness; yea, greater than this is Purusa. All creatures are one-fourth of him, three-fourths eternal life in heaven. 4. With three-fourths Purusa went up: one fourth of him again was here. Thence he strode out to every side over what cats not and what cats. 5. From him Viraj was born; again Purusa from Viraj was born. As soon as he was born he spread eastward and westward o'er the earth. 6. When Gods prepared the sacrifice with Purusa as their offering, Its oil was spring, the holy gift was autumn; summer was the wood. 7. They balmed as victim on the grass Purusa born in earliest time. With him the Deities and all Sadhyas and Rsis sacrificed. 8. From that great general sacrifice the dripping fat was gathered up. He formed the creatures of-the air, and animals both wild and tame. 9. From that great general sacrifice Rcas and Sama-hymns were born: Therefrom were spells and charms produced; the Yajus had its birth from it. 10. From it were horses born, from it all cattle with two rows of teeth: From it were generated kine, from it the goats and sheep were born. 11. When they divided Purusa how many portions did they make? What do they call his mouth, his arms? What do they call his thighs and feet? 12. The Brahman was his mouth, of both his arms was the Rajanya made. His thighs became the Vaisya, from his feet the Sudra was produced. 13. The Moon was gendered from his mind, and from his eye the Sun had birth; Indra and Agni from his mouth were born, and Vayu from his breath. 14. Forth from his navel came mid-air the sky was fashioned from his head Earth from his feet, and from his car the regions. Thus they formed the worlds. 15. Seven fencing-sticks had he, thrice seven layers of fuel were prepared, When the Gods, offering sacrifice, bound, as their victim, Purusa. 16. Gods, sacrificing, sacrificed the victim these were the earliest holy ordinances. The Mighty Ones attained the height of heaven, there where the Sidhyas, Gods of old, are dwelling.
# The Indifferent

I CAN love both fair and brown; Her whom abundance melts, and her whom want betrays; Her who loves loneness best, and her who masks and plays; Her whom the country form'd, and whom the town; Her who believes, and her who tries; Her who still weeps with spongy eyes, And her who is dry cork, and never cries. I can love her, and her, and you, and you; I can love any, so she be not true.
Will no other vice content you? Will it not serve your turn to do as did your mothers? Or have you all old vices spent, and now would find out others? Or doth a fear that men are true torment you? O we are not, be not you so; Let me—and do you—twenty know; Rob me, but bind me not, and let me go. Must I, who came to travel thorough you, Grow your fix'd subject, because you are true?
Venus heard me sigh this song; And by love's sweetest part, variety, she swore, She heard not this till now; and that it should be so no more. She went, examined, and return'd ere long, And said, "Alas ! some two or three Poor heretics in love there be, Which think to stablish dangerous constancy. But I have told them, 'Since you will be true, You shall be true to them who're false to you.' "
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 Indiscretion of the Duchess

The Nation, 31 January 1895: 'The Indiscretion of the Duchess' returns to the vein of 'The Prisoner of Zenda,' but in no way repeats that story. Mr. Hope's devices in plot-making are distinctly his own. The most surprising inventions flow from his brain in novel combinations. Nineteenth-century adventures though they are, they are told with an old time air of romance that gives them the fascination of an earlier day; an air of good faith, almost of religious chivalry, gives reality to their extravagance. They come near to being pious. Moreover, what is lacking in many excellently told stories is the very sauce of the feast here, namely, a cleverness in epigram which marks Mr. Hope as a wit if he were not a romancer. Many thrilling tales have been written without containing such shrewd observations as these: "Discretion has two meanings—whereof the one is 'Do it not,' and the other 'Tell it not.'" "We do not always wish and hope for the same thing."
Layout 2
The Indiscretion
of the Duchess
“I plucked him off the duke and flung him on his back on the sands.”—P. 196.
THE INDISCRETION
OF THE DUCHESS
Being a Story Concerning Two Ladies, a Nobleman, and a Necklace
BY
ANTHONY HOPE AUTHOR OF "THE PRISONER OF ZENDA" ETC.
NEW YORK
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
1894
Copyright, 1894,
BY
HENRY HOLT & CO.
THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS,
RAHWAY, N. J.
* chapterpage
* I.A Multitude of Good Reasons,1
* II.The Significance of a Supper-Table,11
* III.The Unexpected that Always Happened,19
* IV.The Duchess Defines Her Position,29
* V.A Strategic Retreat,39
* VI.A Hint of Something Serious,51
* VII.Heard through the Door,62
* VIII.I Find that I Care,72
* IX.An Unparalleled Insult,83
* X.Left on My Hands,92
* XI.A Very Clever Scheme,101
* XII.As a Man Possessed,110
* XIII.A Timely Truce,120
* XIV.For an Empty Box,130
* XV.I Choose My Way,140
* XVI.The Inn near Pontorson,150
* XVII.A Reluctant Intrusion,163
* XVIII.A Strange Good Humor,173
* XIX.Unsummoned Witnesses,183
* XX.The Duke's Epitaph,193
* XXI.A Passing Carriage,203
* XXII.From Shadow to Sunshine,214
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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 1933, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 90 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