OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Domestic Encyclopædia (1802)/Adder

Edition of 1802.
​ADDER, in zoology, a name for the viper. As this reptile is well known in most parts of England, a particular description of it is unnecessary; but as accidents frequently happen by its bite, we shall present our readers with a list of the most esteemed remedies to be resorted to on such occasions, together with ​some account of this animal, and the means of destroying it, under the article Viper.
# Domestic Encyclopædia (1802)/Adonis Autumnalis

Edition of 1802.
​Adonis Autumnalis, L. See Pheasant's Eye.
# Domestic Encyclopædia (1802)/Acton Water

Edition of 1802.
​Acton Water. See Mineral Waters.
# Domestic Encyclopædia (1802)/Adoxa Muschatellina

Edition of 1802.
​Adoxa Muschatellina, L. See Tuberous Moschatel.
# Domestic Life in Palestine/Preface

Contents
Layout 2
While residing in Palestine, I was placed in circumstances which gave me unusual facilities for observing the inner phases of Oriental Domestic Life. I mingled freely with the people, of all creeds and classes, and daily became better acquainted with their habits and modes of thought. The women especially interested me, and I gleaned many facts concerning them, which have never hitherto been published, and probably have never been collected.
The pleasure which my Notes and Journal afforded to members of my home-circle, on my return to England, led me to think that, possibly, my countrymen would like to gain a further insight into the mysteries of Eastern life. Hence it was that I resolved to publish this volume. In compiling it I have avoided, as much as possible, those subjects with which the public are already familiar. Descriptions of well-known places are only given when they are necessary to form an introduction or background to those scenes of real life which I have attempted to portray.
To avoid complication, I speak of the people of ​Palestine generally as Arabs; for, though they are a mixed race, they all call themselves "Arabs" or "Sons of the Arabs," and Arabic is their mother tongue. I classify them only according to their creeds; but I may here mention, that the Christians of the land are said to be of pure Syrian origin, while the Moslems are chiefly descended from the Arabians, who settled in the towns and villages of Syria and Palestine in the seventh and eighth centuries.
In preparing this volume for the press, I have had the valuable assistance of my brother, Mr. E. T. Rogers, Her British Majesty's Consul at Damascus, and have enjoyed the opportunity of personally consulting him. He has suggested a few alterations in the orthography of Oriental titles and names of persons and places, and has added a few notes of explanation, which are distinguished by his initials.
M. E. R.
21 Soho Square, London.
# Dictionary of National Biography, 1912 supplement/Field, Walter

​FIELD, WALTER (1837–1901), painter, youngest son of Edwin Wilkins Field [q. v.] by his second wife, Letitia Kinder, was born at Windmill Hill, Hampstead, on 1 Dec. 1837. He was a lineal descendant of Oliver Cromwell. After education at University College School, London, he was taught painting by John Rogers Herbert, R.A. [q. v.], and John Pye [q. v.] the engraver gave him lessons in chiaroscuro. Making art his profession, he painted outdoor figure subjects and landscapes, especially views of Thames scenery, which were often enlivened with well-drawn figures; he also produced a few portraits. At first he worked chiefly in oil, but subsequently executed many drawings in water-colour. His landscapes and coast scenes show skilful technique. Between 1856 and 1901 he exhibited at the Old Water Colour Society (Royal Society of Painters in Water Colours), at the Royal Academy (where he showed forty-two pictures), the British Institution (where he showed nine pictures), the Royal Society of British Artists, Dudley Gallery, and elsewhere. He was elected an associate of the Old Water Colour Society on 22 March 1880, but never attained full membership. He was also one of the earliest members of the Dudley Gallery, whose first exhibition was held in 1865. Field, who was devoted to his art, was a keen lover of nature; he was untiring in his efforts for the preservation of the natural beauties of Hampstead Heath, and was the chief founder of the Hampstead Heath Protection Society. A drinking fountam was erected on the Heath to his memory. He resided principally at Hampstead. He died at The Pryors, East Heath Road, on 23 Dec. 1901, and was buried in Hampstead cemetery.
The Victoria and Albert Museum has two water-colour drawings by Field, viz. 'Boy in a Cornfield' (1866) and 'Girl carrying a Pitcher' (1866); and three of his Thames views are in the Schwabe Collection in the Kunsthalle at Hamburg. Among his most popular works were 'The Milkmaid singing to Isaak Walton,' 'Henley Regatta,' which contains portraits from sittings of many famous oars- ​men, and ‘Come unto these Yellow Sands.’ An exhibition of oil paintings by Field was held at the galleries of the Royal Society of Painters in Water Colours in September and October 1902; 216 works remaining in his studio after his death were sold at Christie's on 17 and 18 Nov. 1902.
By his wife, Mary Jane Cookson, whom he married on 14 May 1868, Walter Field had seven children.
[Information kindly supplied by Miss M. Field and Mr. F. W. Hayward Butt; Müller und Singer, Allgemeines Künstler-Lexicon (date of death wrongly given in supplement: see death certificate at Somerset House); Graves, Dict. of Artists, Roy. Acad. and Brit. Inst. Exhibitors; Cats. of Old Water Colour Society (those of 1882–1901 contain reproductions of works by Field), Victoria and Albert Museum (water-colours), and the Hamburg Kunsthalle; The Year's Art, 1891, facing p. 86 (portrait); The Studio, Spring No., 1905, p. xlii; Illustrated London News, 27 Sept. 1902.]
B. S. L.
# Dictionary of National Biography, 1912 supplement/FitzGerald, Thomas Naghten

​FITZGERALD, Sir THOMAS NAGHTEN (1838–1908), surgeon, born on 1 Aug. 1838 at Tullamore, Ireland, was son of John FitzGerald of the Indian civil service. After attending St. Mary's College, Kingston, he received his professional education at Mercers' Hospital in Dublin, became L.R.C.S. Ireland in 1857, and obtained a commission in the Army Medical Staff. A sudden attack of illness obliged him to abandon his course at Netley, and he made a voyage to Australia in search of health. Arriving at Melbourne in July 1858, he was immediately appointed house surgeon at the Melbourne Hospital, and held the post for two years, after which he began to practise privately as a surgeon in Lonsdale Street. In 1860 he was appointed full surgeon to the hospital, to which he was elected a consulting surgeon on his resignation in 1900. He was also consulting surgeon to the Queen Victoria, St. Vincent, and Austin hospitals. He excelled in the operative part of his profession, and wrote papers for medical journals on cleft palate, fractured patella, club foot, drilling in bone formations, and like surgical topics. When the medical school was started at Melbourne he proved himself as good a teacher as he was a surgeon. In 1884 he revisited Ireland, and after examination became F.R.C.S. Ireland. He was knighted in 1897 on the occasion of the diamond jubilee of Queen Victoria. He was president of the Medical Society of Victoria both in 1884 and in 1890, and of the Intercolonial Medical Congress in 1889. In 1900 he went to South Africa as consulting surgeon to the imperial forces then engaged in the Boer war, and for his services was made C.B. He published in the 'Intercolonial Medical Journal of Australasia' (1 Dec. 1900) an interesting account of his experiences in South Africa, in which the work of the Royal Army Medical Corps and the nursing staff was commended. He died on 8 July 1908 on board the s.s. Wyreema between Cairns and Townsville, while on a voyage for his health. He was buried in the Melbourne general cemetery. He married in 1870 Margaret, daughter of James Robertson, Launceston, Tasmam'a, and by her, who died in 1890, he had issue three daughters.
[Australian Med. Gaz. vol. 27, 1908, p. 428 (with portrait); Lancet, 1908, ii. 200.]
D’A. P.
# Dictionary of National Biography, 1912 supplement/Finnie, John

​FINNIE, JOHN (1829–1907), landscape painter and engraver, son of John Finnie, brassfounder, by his wife Christian Mclndoe, was born at Aberdeen, where he was baptised in the parish church on 4 May 1829. After serving apprenticeships to a house-painter at Edinburgh and a japanner at Wolverhampton he obtained employment with William Wales, a glass -painter at Newcastle, where he remained five years, attending the school of design under William Bell Scott [q. v.]. In 1853 he went to London, where he studied and taught in the Central School of Design at Marlborough House till, in 1855, he became master of the School of Art, then called the Mechanics' Institution, at Liverpool. In this position he continued forty-one years and six months, retiring at Christmas 1896. He is described as the dominating personality in the art life of Liverpool during that period. He began to send to the Liverpool Academy-exhibitions in 1856, became an associate in 1861, a full member and trustee in 1865, and was president of the academy in 1887-8. He was also president of the Artists' Club and of the Liver Sketching Club. He joined the Royal Cambrian Academy in 1894 and became its treasurer in 1897. His earliest etching, the 'Head of Windermere,' dates from 1864. After some early experiments in etching and engraving Finnie adopted mezzotint as his favourite process in 1886. Though he exhibited pictures at the Royal Academy from 1861 onwards, and also at the British Institution and in Suffolk Street, he was best known in London by his original mezzotint engravings of landscape, exhibited at the Royal Academy and the Royal Society of Painters, Etchers, and Engravers, of which he became an associate on 24 Oct. 1887, ​and a fellow on 6 April 1895. He sent forty-seven contributions in all to the society's gallery. His etchings and mezzotints, which are represented by specimens in the print-room of the British Museum, aim too much at a full pictorial effect, instead of observing the restrictions of graphic art. As a painter he is represented in the Walker Art Gallery at Liverpool. On retiring from the School of Art, in 1896, Finnie broke up his home in Huskisson Street and settled at Tywyn, near Llandudno, where he spent his life in painting, engraving, and music. He retained full vigour until an attack of influenza injured his heart in 1905. He returned to Liverpool, where he died on 27 Feb. 1907. He was buried at Smithdown Road cemetery beside his wife, Agnes James Ellison, who died on 8 July 1889. One son. Dr. Ellison Finnie, survived him. A memorial exhibition of his art, comprising 438 numbers, was held at the Walker Art Gallery, Liverpool, in 1907.
[Biographical Sketch by E. Rimbault Dibdin in Cat. of Finnie Memorial Exhibition, Liverpool, 1907; Graves, Royal Acad. Exhibitors, 1905; H. C. Marillier, The Liverpool School of Painters, 1904, p. 119.]
C. D.
# Disappointed lover (1)/Disappointed lover

THE DISAPPOINTED LOVER.
As Autumn sun had sunk full low, Behind Benlomond hill And Ardoch brown came rowing down Wi' speed might ca'd a mill. That night met two resolved to woo, Upon a bank so green And watch the two I then did do, Behind a bush unseen.
He made her vow, on the broom knowe, That night to let him in And by a' gude he swore he would Mak neither noise nor din. He kiss'd the lass then on the grass, And prais'd her bonny een; But aft she said I am afraid This night you will be seen.
So off I went for I was bent, That night him to undo. And kiss this maid in her own bed, And bar her love out too ​The village clock it now had struck, The hour ayont the ten, When, in her smock, she did unlock, The door and let me in.
As it was dark she low did heark To mak but little din. For blackguards low are on the go, And wanting to get in My coat and hat I then threw aff, My hankerchief and shonn; Then quick I fled into hea bed- For sound slept a' her kin.
Then Cupid said. Be not afraid, In joy your love now do, For Angerona here doth reign, And mortal ne’er shall know. But Stirling Will was for the mill. His horn he did blaw; And one kiss more she ask'd before That I would gang awa.
I kiss’d this maid then out of bed, My clothes I on did throw; I never smoke, but did unlock The door, and off did go. ​She thought it was her own true love That she had all the while; But him she lost, but ne'er suspeck'd. That I did her beguile.
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
# Disappointed lover (1)/Up in the morning

UP IN THE MORNING.
Cauld blaws the wind frae north to south, And drift is driving sairly; The sheep are couring in the heugh, O sirs, it's winter fairly. Now up in the morning’s no for me, Up in the morning’s no for me, I'd rather gang supperless to my bed, Than rise in the morning early.
Loud roars the blast amang the blast, The branches tirling barely, Amang the chimley taps it thuds. And frost is nipping sairly. Now up in the morning's no for me,, Up in the morning early, To sit a' night I’d rather agree, Then rise ⟨in the morning early.⟩
​The sun peeps o’er the southlan hill, Like ony timorous carlie, Just blinks a wee, then sinks again, And that we find severely. Now up in the morning’s no for me, Up in the morning early, When snaw blaws into the chimley taps, Wha'd rise in the morning early.
Nae linties lilt on hedge or bush, Poor things they suffer sairly. In cauldrife quarters ail the night, A day they feed but sparely. Now up in the morning’s no for me, Up in the morning early; No fate can be waur in winter time, Then rise in the morning early.
A cosey house, and canty wife, Keeps aye a body cheerly; And pantry stow'd wi' meal and maut. It answe a unco rarely. But up in the morning na, na, na, Up in the morning early; The gowans maun gient on bank and ⟨brae,⟩ When I rise in the morning early.
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
# Disappointed lover (1)/Wellington's address

WELLINGTON'S ADDRESS
Britons bauld though Britons few, On the plains o' Waterloo; Britons heroes, always true, To rights and liberty. Fire your blood my vet'ran boys; Waurpation's yoke despise; Slavery fa's and slavery dies. Before brave British play.
See the haughty tyrant comes, See his darling warlike sums, Hear the rattling o' his drums, To sie sweet Freedom's sway. We'll divert him wi' the charms O' our swords, and o' our arms; In his ear we'll strike our thairms, That Britons shall be free.
Tho' his guns like thunders roar, Fight like lions ⟨as before,⟩ ⟨Conquer o'er⟩, or kiss the gore, That welcomes bravery. ​See the lightning's flashing by, Darkening black the louring sky— Traitor turn and coward fly, March, heroes, on wi’ me.
Europe’s past, and Europe's foe. See his lang decisive blow, See his deadly overthrow, Frae thrones and monarchy. Sodgers—heroes o' renown, Laurels fresh await our crown, Liberty is Britain's own. Then forward win her plea.
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
# Disappointed lover (1)

The disappointed lover;
To which are added,
Up in the morning,
Wellington's Address,
My Bonny Jean.
STIRLING:
PRINTED BY W MACNIE,
1825.
* Disappointed Lover
* Up in the Morning
* Wellington's Address
* My Bonny Jean
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
# Disappointed lover (1)/My bonny Jean

MY BONNY JEAN.
Behind yon hills o’ lofty height, I dearly love to stray, Whar lads and lasses fondly sport, And spend the gowden day; The cheery plains remind the strains, O' purest joys unseen; And ilka flow'r deck'd in the bow'r, Blooms like my bonny Jean.
​When dressing Nature busks the vale, And sprinkles on her dew, Her bonny silver mantle shines Out o' the clearest hue; So neat and fair, wi' splendour rare, She dazzles a' our een; Yet fairer dress, she maun confess, Adorns my bonny Jean.
How sweetly in the summer's e'en, She skips the gilded plain: While all the little warbling bands, Sing welcome back again. Their tender noise sends cheery joys Through a’ the hills atween; The ilka dale, and flowry vale, Pay homage to my Jean.
FINIS.
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
# Disarmament

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "Disarmament."
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
This is a disambiguation page. It lists works that share the same title. If an article link referred you here, please consider editing it to point directly to the intended page.
* Disarmament, a poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
* Disarmament, John McCrae, In Flanders Fields and Other Poems 1919.
# Early poems of William Morris/Near Avalon

illustrator: Florence Harrison
A ship with shields before the sun.
Six maidens round the mast,
A red-gold crown on every one,
A ereen gfown on the last.
The fluttering green banners there
Are wrought with ladies' heads most fair,
And a portraiture of Guenevere
The middle of each sail doth bear.
A ship with sails before the wind,
And round the helm six knights,
Their heaumes are on, whereby, half blind, They pass by many sights.
The tatter'd scarlet banners there,
Right soon will leave the spear-heads bare,
Those six knights sorrowfully bear
In all their heaumes some yellow hair.
# Early poems of William Morris/Old Love

illustrator: Florence Harrison
"You must be very old, Sir Giles,"
I said; he said: "Yea, very old:"
Whereat the mournfullest of smiles
Creased his dry skin with many a fold.
"They hammer'd out my basnet point
Into a round salade," he said,
"The basnet being quite out of joint,
Natheless the salade rasps my head."
He gazed at the great fire awhile:
"And you are getting old. Sir John;"
(He said this with that cunning smile
That was most sad;) "we both wear on,
"Knights come to court and look at me.
With eyebrows up, except my lord,
And my dear lady, none I see
That know the ways of my old sword."
​(My lady! at that word no pang Stopp'd all my blood.) "But tell me, John, Is it quite true that pagans hang So thick about the east, that on
"The eastern sea no Venice flag Can fly unpaid for?" "True," I said, "And in such way the miscreants drag Christ's cross upon the ground, I dread
"That Constantine must fall this year." Within my heart; "These things are small; This is not small, that things outwear I thought were made for ever, yea, all,
"All things go soon or late;" I said— I saw the duke in court next day; Just as before, his grand great head Above his gold robes dreaming lay.
Only his face was paler; there I saw his duchess sit by him; And she—she was changed more; her hair Before my eyes that used to swim,
And make me dizzy with great bliss Once, when I used to watch her sit— Her hair is bright still, yet it is As though some dust were thrown on it.
Her eyes are shallower, as though Some grey glass were behind; her brow And cheeks the straining bones show through, Are not so good for kissing now.
​Her lips are drier now she is A great duke's wife these many years, They will not shudder with a kiss As once they did, being moist with tears.
Also her hands have lost that way Of clinging that they used to have; They look'd quite easy, as they lay Upon the silken cushions brave
With broidery of the apples green My Lord Duke bears upon his shield. Her face, alas! that I have seen Look fresher than an April field,
This is all gone now; gone also Her tender walking; when she walks She is most queenly I well know, And she is fair still:—as the stalks
Of faded summer-lilies are. So is she grown now unto me This spring-time, when the flowers star The meadows, birds sing wonderfully.
I warrant once she used to cling About his neck, and kiss'd him so, And then his coming step would ring Joy-bells for her,—some time ago.
Ah! sometimes like an idle dream That hinders true life overmuch, Sometimes like a lost heaven, these seem— This love is not so hard to smutch.
# Early poems of William Morris/Sir Giles' War Song

illustrator: Florence Harrison
Ho! is there any will ride with me, Sir Giles, le bon des barriéres?
The clink of arms is good to hear, The flap of pennons fair to see; Ho! is there any will ride with me, Sir Giles, le bon des barrières?
The leopards and lilies are fair to see, “St. George Guienne” right good to hear: Ho! is there any will ride with me, Sir Giles, le bon des barrières?
I stood by the barrier, My coat being blazon’d fair to see; Ho! is there any will ride with me, Sir Giles, le bon des barrières?
Clisson put out his head to see, And lifted his basnet up to: hear; I pull’d him through the bars to ME, Sir Giles, le bon des barrières.
# Early poems of William Morris/Spellbound

illustrator: Florence Harrison
How weary is it none can tell, How dismally the days go by! I hear the tinkling of the bell, I see the cross against the sky.
The year wears round to autumn-tide, Yet comes no reaper to the corn; The golden land is like a bride When first she knows herself forlorn—
She sits and weeps with all her hair Laid downward over tender hands; For stained silk she hath no care, No care for broken ivory wands;
The silver cups beside her stand; The golden stars on the blue roof Yet glitter, though against her hand His cold sword presses for a proof
He is not dead, but gone away. How many hours did she wait For me, I wonder? Till the day Had faded wholly, and the gate
​Clanged to behind returning knights? I wonder did she raise her head And go away, fleeing the lights; And lay the samite on her bed,
The wedding samite strewn with pearls: Then sit with hands laid on her knees, Shuddering at half-heard sound of girls That chatter outside in the breeze?
I wonder did her poor heart throb At distant tramp of coming knight? How often did the choking sob Raise up her head and lips? The light,
Did it come on her unawares, And drag her sternly down before People who loved her not? in prayers Did she say one name and no more?
And once—all songs they ever sung, All tales they ever told to me, This only burden through them rung: O! golden love that waitest me,
The days pass on, pass on a pace, Sometimes I have a little rest In fairest dreams, when on thy face My lips lie, or thy hands are prest
About my forehead, and thy lips Draw near and nearer to mine own; But when the vision from me slips, In colourless dawn I lie and moan,
​And wander forth with fever'd blood, That makes me start at little things, The blackbird screaming from the wood, The sudden whirr of pheasants' wings.
O! dearest, scarcely seen by me— But when that wild time had gone by, And in these arms I folded thee, Who ever thought those days could die?
Yet now I wait, and you wait too, For what perchance may never come; You think I have forgotten you, That I grew tired and went home.
But what if some day as I stood Against the wall with strained hands, And turn'd my face toward the wood, Away from all the golden lands;
And saw you come with tired feet, And pale face thin and wan with care, And stained raiment no more neat, The white dust lying on your hair:—
Then I should say, I could not come; This land was my wide prison, dear; I could not choose but go; at home There is a wizard whom I fear:
He bound me round with silken chains I could not break; he set me here Above the golden-waving plains, Where never reaper cometh near.
​And you have brought me my good sword, Wherewith in happy days of old I won you well from knight and lord; My heart upswells and I grow bold.
But I shall die unless you stand, —Half lying now, you are so weak,— Within my arms, unless your hand Pass to and fro across my cheek.