OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Poetical Writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck/Epistle to Robert Hogbin, Esq.

EPISTLE TO ROBERT HOGBIN, ESQ., Chairman of the Committee of Working-Men, etc., at the Westchester Hotel, Bowery, Nov., 1830.
r. Hogbin,—I work as a weaver—of rhyme— And therefore presume with a working-man’s grace, To address you as one I have liked for some time, Though I know not (no doubt it’s a fine one) your face.
There is much in a name, and I’ll lay you a wager (Two ale-jugs from Reynolds’), that Nature designed, When she formed you, that you should become the drum-major In that choice piece of music, the Grand March of Mind.
A Hogbin! a Hogbin! how cheering the shout Of all that keep step to that beautiful air, Which leads, like the treadmill, about and about, And leaves us exactly, at last, where we were!
Yes, there’s much in a name, and a Hogbin’s so fit is For that great moral purpose whose impulse divine
Bids men leave their own workshops to work in committees, And their own wedded wives to protect yours and mine!
That we working-men prophets are sadly mistaken, If yours is not, Hogbin, a durable fame, As lasting as England’s philosopher Bacon, Whom your ancestors housed, if we judge by his name.
When the moment arrives that we’ve won the good fight, And broken the chains of laws, churches, and marriages, When no infants are born under six feet in height, And our chimney-sweeps mount up a flue in their carriages—
That glorious time when our daughters and sons Enjoy a blue Monday each day of the week, And a clean shirt is classed with the mastodon’s bones, Or a mummy from Thebes, an undoubted antique—
Then, then, my dear Hogbin, your statue in straw, By some modern Pigmalion delightfully wrought, Shall embellish the Park, and our youths’ only law Shall be to be Hogbins in feeling and thought.
H.
# The Poetical Writings of Fitz-Greene Halleck/Cutting

CUTTING.
he world is not a perfect one, All women are not wise or pretty, All that are willing are not won— More’s the pity—more’s the pity! “Playing wall-flower’s rather flat,” L’Allegro or Penseroso— Not that women care for that— But oh! they hate the slighting beau so!
Delia says my dancing’s bad— She’s found it out since I have cut her; She says wit I never had— I said she “smelt of bread and butter.” Mrs. Milton coldly bows— I did not think her baby “cunning;” Gertrude says I’ve little “nous”— I tired of her atrocious punning.
Tom’s wife says my taste is vile— I condemned her macarony; Miss McLush, my flirt awhile, Hates me—I preferred her crony;
Isabella, Sarah Anne, Fat Estella, and one other, Call me an immoral man— I have cut their drinking brother.
Thus it is—be only civil— Dance with stupid, short and tall— Know no line ’twixt saint and devil— Spend your wit on fools and all— Simper with the milk-and-waters— Suffer bores, and talk of caps— Trot out people’s awkward daughters— You may scandal ’scape—perhaps!
But prefer the wise and pretty— Pass Reserve to dance with Wit— Let the slight be e’er so petty, Pride will never pardon it. Woman never yet refused Virtues to a seeming wooer— Woman never yet abused Him who had been civil to her.
H.
# The Perfumed Garden/Prefatory Note

NOTE
The "Perfumed Garden" was translated into French before the year 1850, by a Staff Officer of the French army in Algeria. An autograph edition, printed in the italic character, was printed in 1876, but, as only twenty five copies are said to have been made, the book is both rare and costly, while, from the peculiarity of its type, it is difficult and fatiguing to read. An admirable reprint has, however, been recently issued in Paris, with the translator's notes and remarks, revised and corrected by the light of the fuller knowledge of Algeria which has been acquired since the translation was made. From that last edition the present translation (an exact and literal one) has been made, and it is the first time that the work,—one of the most remarkable of its kind,—has appeared in the English language.
# The Odes and Carmen Saeculare/Book 3/Part 5

V.
Cœlo tonantem.
JOVE rules in heaven, his thunder shows; Henceforth Augustus earth shall own Her present god, now Briton foes And Persians bow before his throne. Has Crassus' soldier ta'en to wife A base barbarian, and grown grey (Woe, for a nation's tainted life!) Earning his foemen-kinsmen's pay, His king, forsooth, a Mede, his sire A Marsian? can he name forget, Gown, sacred shield, undying fire, And Jove and Rome are standing yet? 'Twas this that Regulus foresaw, What time he spurn'd the foul disgrace Of peace, whose precedent would draw Destruction on an unborn race, Should aught but death the prisoner's chain Unrivet. "I have seen," he said, "Rome's eagle in a Punic fane, And armour, ne'er a blood-drop shed, Stripp'd from the soldier; I have seen Free sons of Rome with arms fast tied;
The fields we spoil'd with corn are green, And Carthage opes her portals wide. The warrior, sure, redeem'd by gold, Will fight the bolder! Aye, you heap On baseness loss. The hues of old Revisit not the wool we steep; And genuine worth, expell'd by fear, Returns not to the worthless slave. Break but her meshes, will the deer Assail you? then will he be brave Who once to faithless foes has knelt; Yes, Carthage yet his spear will fly, Who with bound arms the cord has felt, The coward, and has fear'd to die. He knows not, he, how life is won; Thinks war, like peace, a thing of trade! Great art thou, Carthage! mate the sun, While Italy in dust is laid!" His wife's pure kiss he waved aside, And prattling boys, as one disgraced, They tell us, and with manly pride Stern on the ground his visage placed. With counsel thus ne'er else aread He nerved the fathers' weak intent, And, girt by friends that mourn'd him, sped Into illustrious banishment. Well witting what the torturer's art Design'd him, with like unconcern The press of kin he push'd apart And crowds encumbering his return,
As though, some tedious business o'er Of clients' court, his journey lay Towards Venafrum's grassy floor. Or Sparta-built Tarentum's bay.
# The Odes and Carmen Saeculare/Book 4/Part 11

XI.
Est mihi nonum.
HERE is a cask of Alban, more Than nine years old: here grows for you Green parsley, Phyllis, and good store Of ivy too (Wreathed ivy suits your hair, you know): The plate shines bright: the altar, strew'd With vervain, hungers for the flow Of lambkin's blood. There's stir among the serving folk; They bustle, bustle, boy and girl; The flickering flames send up the smoke In many a curl. Rut why, you ask, this special cheer? We celebrate the feast of Ides, Which April's month, to Venus dear, In twain divides. O, 'tis a day for reverence, E'en my own birthday scarce so dear. For my Mæcenas counts from thence Each added year. 'Tis Telephus that you'd bewitch: But he is of a high degree; Bound to a lady fair and rich, He is not free.
O think of Phaethon half burn'd, And moderate your passion's greed: Think how Bellerophon was spurn'd By his wing'd steed. So learn to look for partners meet, Shun lofty things, nor raise your aims Above your fortune. Come then, sweet, My last of flames (For never shall another fair Enslave me), learn a tune, to sing With that dear voice: to music care Shall yield its sting.
# The Odes and Carmen Saeculare/Book 4/Part 13

XIII.
Audivere, Lyce.
THE gods have heard, the gods have heard my prayer; Yes, Lyce! you are growing old, and still You struggle to look fair; You drink, and dance, and trill
Your songs to youthful Love, in accents weak With wine, and age, and passion. Youthful Love! He dwells in Chia's cheek, And hears her harp-strings move. Rude boy, he flies like lightning o'er the heath Past wither'd trees like you; you're wrinkled now; The white has left your teeth And settled on your brow. Your Coan silks, your jewels bright as stars, Ah no! they bring not back the days of old, In public calendars By flying Time enroll'd. Where now that beauty? where those movements? where That colour? what of her, of her is left, Who, breathing Love's own air, Me of myself bereft, Who reign'd in Cinara's stead, a fair, fair face, Queen of sweet arts? but Fate to Oinara gave A life of little space; And now she cheats the grave Of Lyce, spared to raven's length of days, That youth may see, with laughter and disgust* A fire-brand, once ablaze, Now smouldering in grey dust.
# The Odes and Carmen Saeculare/Book 3/Part 6

VI.
Delicta majorum.
YOUR fathers' guilt you still must pay, Till, Roman, you restore each shrine, Each temple, mouldering in decay, And smoke-grimed statue, scarce divine. Revering Heaven, you rule below; Be that your base, your coping still; 'Tis Heaven neglected bids o'erflow The measure of Italian ill. How Pacorus and Monæses twice Have given our unblest arms the foil; Their necklaces, of mean device, Smiling they deck with Roman spoil. Our city, torn by faction's throes, Dacian and Ethiop well-nigh razed, These with their dreadful navy, those For archer-prowess rather praised. An evil age erewhile debased The marriage-bed, the race, the home; Thence rose the flood whose waters waste The nation and the name of Rome.
Not such their birth, who stain'd for us The sea with Punic carnage red, Smote Pyrrhus, smote Antiochus, And Hannibal, the Roman's dread. Theirs was a hardy soldier-brood, Inured all day the land to till With Sabine spade, then shoulder wood Hewn at a stern old mother's will. When sunset lengthen'd from each height The shadows, and unyoked the steer, Restoring in its westward flight The hour to toilworn travail dear. What has not cankering Time made worse? Viler than grandsires, sires beget Ourselves, yet baser, soon to curse The world with offspring baser yet.
# The Odes and Carmen Saeculare/Book 3/Part 7

VII.
Quid fles, Asteme.
WHY weep for him whom sweet Favonian airs Will waft next spring, Asteria, back to you, Rich with Bithynia's wares, A lover fond and true, Your Gyges? He, detain'd by stormy stress At Oricum, about the Goat-star's rise, Cold, wakeful, comfortless, The long night weeping lies.
Meantime his lovesick hostess' messenger Talks of the flames that waste poor Chloe's heart (Flames lit for you, not her!) With a besieger's art; Shows how a treacherous woman's lying breath Once on a time on trustful Prœtus won To doom to early death Too chaste Bellerophon; Warns him of Peleus' peril, all but slain For virtuous scorn of fair Hippolyta, And tells again each tale That e'er led heart astray. In vain; for deafer than Icarian seas He hears, untainted yet. But, lady fair, What if Enipeus please Your listless eye? beware! Though true it be that none with surer seat O'er Mars's grassy turf is seen to ride, Nor any swims so fleet Adown the Tuscan tide, Yet keep each evening door and window barr'd; Look not abroad when music strikes up shrill, And though he call you hard, Remain obdurate still.
# The Odes and Carmen Saeculare/Book 4/Part 12

XII.
Jam veris comites.
THE gales of Thrace, that hush the unquiet sea, Spring's comrades, on the bellying canvas blow: Clogg'd earth and brawling streams alike are free From winter's weight of snow. Wailing her Itys in that sad, sad strain, Builds the poor bird, reproach to after time Of Cecrops' house, for bloody vengeance ta'en On foul barbaric crime. The keepers of fat lambkins chant their loves To silvan reeds, all in the grassy lea,
And pleasure Him who tends the flocks and groves Of dark-leaved Arcady. It is a thirsty season, Virgil mine; But would you taste the grape's Calenian juice, Client of noble youths, to earn your wine Some nard you must produce. A tiny box of nard shall bring to light The cask that in Sulpician cellar lies: O, it can give new hopes, so fresh and bright, And gladden gloomy eyes. You take the bait? then come without delay And bring your ware: be sure, 'tis not my plan To let you drain my liquor and not pay, As might some wealthy man. Come, quit those covetous thoughts, those knitted brows, Think on the last black embers, while you may, And be for once unwise. When time allows, 'Tis sweet the fool to play.
# The Odes and Carmen Saeculare/Book 3/Part 9

IX.
Donec gratus eram.
Horace.
WHILE I had power to bless you, Nor any round that neck his arms did fling More privileged to caress you, Happier was Horace than the Persian king. Lydia. While you for none were pining Sorer, nor Lydia after Chloe came, Lydia, her peers outshining, Might match her own with Ilia's Roman fame. H.How Chloe is my treasure, Whose voice, whose touch, can make sweet music flow: For her I'd die with pleasure, Would Fate but spare the dear survivor so. L.I love my own fond lover, Young Calais, son of Thurian Ornytus: For him I'd die twice over, Would Fate but spare the sweet survivor thus. H.What now, if Love returning Should pair us 'neath his brazen yoke once more. And, bright-hair'd Chloe spurning, Horace to off-cast Lydia ope his door?
L.Though he is fairer, milder, Than starlight, you lighter than bark of tree, Than stormy Hadria wilder, With you to live, to die, were bliss for me.
# The Odes and Carmen Saeculare/Book 3/Part 8

VIII.
Martiis cœlebs.
THE first of March! a man unwed! What can these flowers, this censer mean? Or what these embers, glowing red On sods of green? You ask, in either language skill'd! A feast I vow'd to Bacchus free, A white he-goat, when all but kill'd By falling tree. So, when that holyday comes round, It sees me still the rosin clear From this my wine-jar, first embrown'd In Tullus' year. Come, crush one hundred cups for life Preserved, Mæcenas; keep till day The candles lit; let noise and strife Be far away. Lay down that load of state-concern; The Dacian hosts are all o'erthrown; The Mede, that sought our overturn, How seeks his own; A servant now, our ancient foe, The Spaniard, wears at last our chain; The Scythian half unbends his bow And quits the plain.
Then fret not lest the state should ail; A private man such thoughts may spare; Enjoy the present hour's regale, And banish care.
# The Odes and Carmen Saeculare/Book 4/Part 1

BOOK IV. I.
Intermissa, Venus.
ET again thou wak'st the flame That long had slumber'd! Spare me, Venus, spare! Trust me, I am not the same As in the reign of Cinara, kind and fair. Cease thy softening spells to prove On this old heart, by fifty years made hard, Cruel Mother of sweet Love! Haste, where gay youth solicits thy regard. With thy purple cygnets fly To Paullus' door, a seasonable guest; There within hold revelry, There light thy flame in that congenial breast. He, with birth and beauty graced, The trembling client's champion, ne'er tongue-tied, Master of each manly taste, Shall bear thy conquering banners far and wide.
Let him smile in triumph gay, True heart, victorious over lavish hand, By the Alban lake that day 'Neath citron roof all marble shalt thou stand: Incense there and fragrant spice With odorous fumes thy nostrils shall salute; Blended notes thine ear entice, The lyre, the pipe, the Berecyntine flute: Graceful youths and maidens bright Shall twice a day thy tuneful praise resound, While their feet, so fair and white, In Salian measure three times beat the ground. I can relish love no more, Nor flattering hopes that tell me hearts are true, Nor the revel's loud uproar, Nor fresh-wreathed flowerets, bathed in vernal dew. Ah! but why, my Ligurine, Steal trickling tear-drops down my wasted cheek? Wherefore halts this tongue of mine, So eloquent once, so faltering now and weak? Now I hold you in my chain, And clasp you dose, all in a nightly dream; Now, still dreaming, o'er the plain I chase you; now, ah cruel! down the stream.
# The Odes and Carmen Saeculare/Book 4/Part 14

XIV.
Quæ cura patrum.
WHAT honours can a grateful Rome, A grateful senate, Cæsar, give To make thy worth through days to come Emblazon'd on our records live, Mightiest of chieftains whomsoe'er The sun beholds from heaven on high? They know thee now, thy strength in war, Those unsubdued Vindelici. Thine was the sword that Drusus drew, When on the Breunian hordes he fell, And storm'd the fierce Genaunian crew E'en in their Alpine citadel, And paid them back their debt twice told; 'Twas then the elder Nero came To conflict, and in ruin roll'd Stout Rætian kernes of giant frame. O, 'twas a gallant sight to see The shocks that beat upon the brave Who chose to perish and be free! As south winds scourge the rebel wave When through rent clouds the Pleiads weep, So keen his force to smite, and smite The foe, or make his charger leap Through the red furnace of the fight.
Thus Daunia's ancient river fares, Proud Aufidus, with bull-like horn, When swoln with choler he prepares A deluge for the fields of corn. So Claudius charged and overthrew The grim barbarian's mail-clad host, The foremost and the hindmost slew, And conquer'd all, and nothing lost. The force, the forethought, were thine own, Thine own the gods. The selfsame day When, port and palace open thrown, Low at thy footstool Egypt lay, That selfsame day, three lustres gone, Another victory to thine hand Was given; another field was won By grace of Cæsar's high command. Thee Spanish tribes, unused to yield, Mede, Indian, Scyth that knows no home, Acknowledge, sword at once and shield Of Italy and queenly Borne. Ister to thee, and Tanais fleet, And Nile that will not tell his birth, To thee the monstrous seas that beat On Britain's coast, the end of earth, To thee the proud Iberians bow, And Gauls, that scorn from death to flee; The fierce Sygambrian bends his brow, And drops his arms to worship thee.
# The New International Encyclopædia/Harrison, Benjamin (patriot)

Edition of 1905. See also Benjamin Harrison V on Wikipedia; and the disclaimer.
​ HARRISON, Benjamin (c.1740-91). An American Revolutionary patriot, one of the signers of the Declaration of Independence, born at Berkeley, Va. As a member of the Virginia House of Burgesses, in 1765, he opposed the Stamp Act Resolutions of Patrick Henry, which he considered to be impolitic and premature. From 1774 to 1777 he was one of Virginia's representatives in the Continental Congress, and was a member of many important committees, though he rendered the greatest service as president of the Board of War. From 1777 to 1782 he was Speaker of the House of Burgesses, and from 1782 to 1785—for two terms—was Governor of the State. In 1788 he was a member of the Virginia convention which ratified the Federal Constitution, though he, along with Patrick Henry and other men of prominence, opposed it—largely because of the absence of a bill of rights. He was the father of William Henry Harrison (q.v.). Consult Sanderson, Biography of the Signers of the Declaration of Independence, ed. by Brotherhead (Philadelphia, 1865).
# The New International Encyclopædia/Harrison (Arkansas)

Edition of 1905. See also Harrison, Arkansas on Wikipedia; and the disclaimer.
​ HAR′RISON. A town and the county-seat of Boone County, Ark., 45 miles southeast of Eureka Springs; on the Saint Louis and North Arkansas Railroad (Map: Arkansas, B 1). It has a collegiate and normal institute for women, and a Government building ($75,000) in process of construction (1902). The town is in a fertile district adapted to fruit-growing, and interested in lead and zinc mining. There are several flour-mills and other industrial establishments. Population, in 1890, 1438; in 1900, 1551.
# The New International Encyclopædia/Hartenstein, Gustav

Edition of 1905. See also Gustav Hartenstein on Wikipedia; and the disclaimer.
HARTENSTEIN, här'ten-stīn, Gustav (1808-90). A German philosopher and author, born at Plauen, Saxony, and educated at Grimma and Leipzig, where in 1834 he was appointed professor of philosophy. He was one of the most gifted followers of Herbart, to whose philosophical views he gave wide extension in the works entitled Die Probleme und Grundlehren der allgemeinen Metaphysik (1836), and Die Grundbegriffe der ethischen Wissenschaften (1844).
# The New International Encyclopædia/Hartel, Wilhelm von

Edition of 1905. See also Wilhelm von Hartel on Wikipedia; and the disclaimer.
HARTEL, här'tel, Wilhelm von (1839—). An Austrian philologist. He was born at Hof, in Moravia, and studied at the University of Vienna. He was appointed professor of classical philology at Vienna in 1872, made a member of the Vienna Academy in 1875, of the Berlin Academy in 1893; and became a life member of the
Austrian House of Peers in 1890. In 1899 he was for a short time Minister of Education and Public Worship, to which post he was reappointed in 1900. His principal works are: Homerische Studien (1871-74; 2d ed. 1873); Demosthenische Studien (1877-78); Studien über attisches Staatsrecht und Urkundenwesen (1878); and various editions of classical authors, including the Breviarium of Eutropius (1872); Cyprian's Opera Omnia (3 vols., 1868-71); and Ennodius's Opera for the Corpus Scriptorum Ecclesiasticorum, published by the Vienna Academy of Sciences. He was made editor of the Zeitschrift für Oesterreichische Gymnasien in 1874; and with Schenkl founded the Wiener Studien, a journal on classical philology, in 1879.
# The New International Encyclopædia/Harrisburg (Illinois)

Edition of 1905. See also Harrisburg, Illinois on Wikipedia; and the disclaimer.
​ HAR′RISBURG. A city and the county seat of Saline County, Ill., 70 miles northeast of Cairo; on the Cleveland, Cincinnati, Chicago and Saint Louis Railroad (Map: Illinois, D 6). It is surrounded by an agricultural district in which are valuable mineral deposits, especially coal, and has flour and saw mills, brick-works, carriage and wagon shops, etc. Population, in 1890, 1723; in 1900, 2202. ​
# The New International Encyclopædia/Harrison (New Jersey)

Edition of 1905. See also Harrison, New Jersey on Wikipedia; and the disclaimer.
​ HARRISON. A city in Hudson County, N. J., on the Passaic River, and on the Pennsylvania, the Lackawanna, and the Erie railroads (Map: New Jersey, D 2). It is a suburb of Newark, with which it is connected by three steel bridges, and is the seat of the State Soldiers' Home. The city has extensive manufacturing interests, which include a large steel plant, tube-works, marine-engine works, wire-cloth factories, electric works, machine-shops, trunk and refrigerator factories, a tannery, breweries, ink-works, etc. Settled as early as 1608, Harrison was incorporated in 1873, the charter of that date being still in operation and providing for a government vested in a common council, which is elected by wards. The city owns and operates its water-works. Population, in 1890, 8338; in 1900, 10,596.
# The Princess and the Goblin

* related portals: Children's literature.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Commons category.
The Princess and the Goblin is an 1872 children's fantasy novel. It describes a princess who lives in a mountain castle above caves inhabited by goblins. This edition was illustrated by Charles Folkard, or in alternate versions by Jessie Willcox Smith and Arthur Hughes.

## Contents

* Why the Princess Has a Story About Her
* The Princess Loses Herself
* The Princess and - We Shall See Who
* What the Nurse Thought of It
* The Princess Lets Well Alone
* The Little Miner
* The Mines
* The Goblins
* The Hall of the Goblin Palace
* The Princess's King-Papa
* The Old Lady's Bedroom
* A Short Chapter About Curdie
* The Cobs' Creatures
* That Night Week
* Woven and then Spun
* The Ring
* Springtime
* Curdie's Clue
* Goblin Counsels
* Irene's Clue
* The Escape
* The Old Lady and Curdie
* Curdie and His Mother
* Irene Behaves Like a Princess
* Curdie Comes to Grief
* The Goblin-Miners
* The Goblins in the King's House
* Curdie's Guide
* Masonwork
* The King and the Kiss
* The Subterranean Waters
* The Last Chapter

## Gallery of Full Illustrations

Illustrations by Folkard
Illustrations by Smith & Hughes
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 Phoenix (magazine)/Volume 3

* Number 1, June 1915
* Number 2, July 1915
* Number 3, August 1915
* Number 4, September 1915
* Number 5, October 1915
* Number 6, November 1915