OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Peregrine Falcon at the Eyrie/Life in the Eyre

Chapter II.
Life in the Eyrie.
KEY TO THE ROCKS.
Tiercel with food for young three weeks old. A and B, arrival rocks; C, departure and preening rock; E, eyrie.
The Young Birds When Two Days Old.
Light 3, Plate speed 250, Subject number 100, Stop F11, Exposure 1-50sec.
to the left, which only had a layer of net over it, and so was brilliantly illuminating the inside of the shed, I thoughtlessly took advantage of the Tiercel's absence to pin a piece of mackintosh over the gap, only to find the Falcon standing on B, which was six feet off. She was staring at me in alarm, and although I immediately "froze" and half-closed my eyes, the mischief was done, and after jerking her head in my direction three or four times, she flew off, screaming the alarm. There was a good deal of calling ​between them after this, and the young began to whimper, apparently from cold. Finally, at 7.30 p.m., I was disappointed when the Tiercel came and brooded them for the night.
The Falcon Brooding.
Light 2, Plate speed 250, Subject number 100, Stop F11, Exposure 1-75sec.
Tiercel Feeding Young Four Days Old
Light 3, Plate speed 250, Subject number 100, Stop F11, Exposure 1-100sec.
The Tiercel Stretching Himself.
Caught While Completing His Toilet.
About 2.20 p.m, the Falcon gave the alarm, and the Tiercel flew off, but returned in a few minutes, pitching on A, and walking down it to the eyrie, where he resumed brooding. At 3.5 p.m, the Falcon called the alarm, and the Tiercel flew off; the alarm soon ceased, and the Falcon came down on to A and stood there a short time. She is not nearly so yellow about the breast as he is. His is quite creamy, whereas hers is an ashen white. The Tiercel kept calling to her, but she soon flew away, and he returned to resume his brooding till 3.30, when she again called the alarm, and he, flying off, joined her in calling it, and a few minutes' later the arrival of my friends brought my watch to an end.
With a "What-Do-You-Think-Of-This?" Expression.
The next day, at a meal one young bird in trying to swallow a leg could not get the foot down, and hit it off just above the claws, showing the power of the beak even at this early age.
Nothing particularly fresh occurred during the short watch kept by F. H. Edmondson, from 12.55 to 5.25 p.m, on May 23rd, except that after the Falcon had started the alarm after the relief party had landed, the Tiercel showed his daring by bringing a thrush, with which he fed the young hurriedly until within a few moments of the party's arrival.
# The Peregrine Falcon at the Eyrie/Photographic Details

Chapter VII.
Photographic Details.
THE TIERCEL DOZING WITH HIS EYES CLOSED. Light 30, Plate speed 250, Subject number 100, Stop F16, Exposure ⅓sec.
Photographs being more useful scientifically if taken to scale, I have a piece of broomstick with sixteen inches prominently marked on it. When placed on rock C and focussed on the screen it was found that a halfpenny (one inch in diameter) covered five inches on the broomstick, so that the bird photographed on C would be a fifth of life-size, and in afterwards making an enlargement, if I enlarge the image on the negative five times I get the bird life-size. On B the halfpenny covered six inches, showing that the bird would then be a sixth life-size on the negative and in the middle of the eyrie a seventh. As nearly all the illustrations are enlarged, I might state that the largest image among my Peregrines is that of the Peregrine stretching himself. This on the negative measures three and a-half inches from the top of his head to the ​lowest visible portion of his left wing. Most mistakes in field-photography are due to getting flurried; therefore it is well to try and proceed slowly and methodically, even if seconds seem precious. Lastly, a rucksack is the most convenient means for transporting apparatus, and the safest, because a heavy bag swung over one shoulder is likely to suddenly shift when you are in some awkward situation and shake your nerve, if it does nothing worse.
# The Poems of Henry Abbey/The French Marshal

New York: D. Appleton and company, pages 51–52
THE FRENCH MARSHAL.
Macmahon up the street of Paris came, In triumph from Magenta; every one Had heard and praised the fearless marshal's name, And gloried in the deeds that he had done. Crowds packed the walks, and at each pane of glass A face was set to see the hero pass.
Grand music lifted in the morning air Its eloquent voice; loud-mouthed bells were rung; Guns boomed till echoes welcomed everywhere; On buildings and in streets the French flag hung, And, of a breeze, like fortune, made the toy, Thrilled every heart with patriotic joy.
But while the marshal up the street made way, There came a little girl clothed all in white, Bringing in happy hands a large bouquet; Her flower-sweet face seemed fragrant with delight. Well pleased, the soldier, dark and fierce at need, Raised up the child before him on his steed.
​The pearly necklace of her loving arms She bound on him, and laid her spring-like head Against the autumn of his cheek, with charms Of smile and mien; while to his shoulder fled Her gold, loose hair with flowers like jewels set, And made thereon a wondrous epaulet.
He seemed more like an angel than a man, As, father-like, he paid back each caress; Better than all his deeds in war's red van Appeared this simple act of tenderness. The people cried "Huzza!" and did not pause Until the town seemed shaken with applause.
# The Poems of Henry Abbey/The Roman Sentinel

New York: D. Appleton and company, pages 50–51
THE ROMAN SENTINEL.
Death, or dishonor, which is best to taste?— A Roman sentinel, with courage high, When God's hot anger laid Pompeii waste, Answered the question, and resolved to die. His duty was upon his post to bide Till the relief came, let what might betide.
He stood forgotten by the fleeing guard, Choosing that part which is the bitterest still— His face with its fixed purpose cold and hard, Cut in the resolute granite of his will. "Better," he said, "to die than live in shame; Death wreathes fresh flowers round a brave man's name."
Life is the wave's deep whisper on the shore Of a great sea beyond: the soldier saw That day the light in broad sails hoisted o'er The drifting boat of dawn; nor dreamed the flaw, The puff called death, would blow him with them by, Out to the boundless sea beyond the sky.
He watched the quaking mountain's fire-gashed cheeks, And saw come up the sand's entombing shower; The storm darts out its red tongue when it speaks, And fierce Vesuvius, in that wild hour, Put forth its tongue of flame, and spoke the word Of hatred to the city from the Lord.
The gloom of seventeen centuries skulked away, And standing in a marble niche was found A skeleton in armor all decay; The soulless skull was by a helmet crowned, Cleaving thereto with mingled rust and sand, And a long spear was in the crumbling hand.
​Pompeii from its burial upsprings— Paved streets with pillared temples on each side, Baths, houses, paintings, monuments of kings. But the arched gate whereat the sentry died, The rusted spear, and helmet with no crest, Are better far to see than all the rest.
O heart, whatever lot to thee God gives, Be strong, and swerve not from a blameless way; Dishonor hurts the soul that ever lives, Death hurts the body that is kin with clay. Though Duty's face is stern, her path is best: They sweetly sleep who die upon her breast.
# The Poems of Henry Kendall/A Spanish Love Song

Sydney: Angus & Robertson Ltd., pages 95–96
A SPANISH LOVE SONG
From Andalusian gardens I bring the rose and rue, And leaves of subtle odour, To weave a gift for you. You'll know the reason wherefore The sad is with the sweet; My flowers may lie, as I would, A carpet for your feet!
The heart—the heart is constant; It holds its secret, Dear! But often in the night time I keep awake for fear. ​I have no hope to whisper, I have no prayer to send, God save you from such passion! God help you from such end!
You first, you last, you false love! In dreams your lips I kiss, And thus I greet your Shadow, "Take this, and this, and this!" When dews are on the casement, And winds are in the pine, I have you close beside me— In sleep your mouth is mine.
I never see you elsewhere; You never think of me; But fired with fever for you Content I am to be. You will not turn, my Darling, Nor answer when I call; But yours are soul and body And love of mine and all!
You splendid Spaniard! Listen— My passion leaps to flame For neck and cheek and dimple, And cunning shades of shame! I tell you, I would gladly Give Hell myself to keep, To cling to, half a moment, The lips I taste in sleep.
# The Poems of Henry Kendall/Adam Lindsay Gordon

Sydney: Angus & Robertson Ltd., pages 317–320
OTHER POEMS, 1871-82
ADAM LINDSAY GORDON
At rest! Hard by the margin of that sea Whose sounds are mingled with his noble verse Now lies the shell that never more will house The fine strong spirit of my gifted friend. Yea, he who flashed upon us suddenly, A shining soul with syllables of fire, Who sang the first great songs these lands can claim To be their own; the one who did not seem To know what royal place awaited him Within the Temple of the Beautiful, Has passed away; and we who knew him sit Aghast in darkness, dumb with that great grief Whose stature yet we cannot comprehend; While over yonder churchyard, hearsed with pines, The night wind sings its immemorial hymn, And sobs above a newly-covered grave. The bard, the scholar, and the man who lived That frank, that open-hearted life which keeps The splendid fire of English chivalry From dying out; the one who never wronged A fellow man; the faithful friend who judged The many, anxious to be loved of him By what he saw, and not by what he heard, As lesser spirits do; the brave, great soul That never told a lie, or turned aside To fly from danger—he, as I say, was one Of that bright company this sin-stained world Can ill afford to lose.
They did not know, The hundreds who had read his sturdy verse And revelled over ringing major notes, The mournful meaning of the undersong Which runs through all he wrote, and often takes The deep autumnal, half-prophetic tone Of forest winds in March; nor did they think That on that healthy-hearted man there lay The wild specific curse which seems to cling Forever to the Poet's twofold life!
​To Adam Lindsay Gordon, I who laid Two years ago on Lionel Michael's grave A tender leaf of my regard; yea I Who culled a garland from the flowers of song To place where Harpur sleeps; I, left alone, The sad disciple of a shining band Now gone—to Adam Lindsay Gordon's name I dedicate these lines; and if 'tis true That, past the darkness of the grave, the soul Becomes omniscient, then the bard may stoop From his high seat to take the offering, And read it with a sigh for human friends, In human bonds, and grey with human griefs.
And having wove and proffered this poor wreath; I stand to-day as lone as he who saw At nightfall through the glimmering moony mist, The last of Arthur on the wailing mere, And strained in vain to hear the going voice.
# The Poems of Henry Kendall/After the Hunt

Sydney: Angus & Robertson Ltd., page 146
AFTER THE HUNT
Underneath the windy mountain walls Forth we rode, an eager band, By the surges and the verges and the gorges, Till the night was on the land— On the hazy, mazy land! Far away the bounding prey Leapt across the ruts and logs, But we galloped, galloped, galloped on, Till we heard the yapping of the dogs— The yapping and the yelping of the dogs.
Oh, it was a madly merry day We shall not so soon forget, And the edges and the ledges and the ridges Haunt us with their echoes yet— Echoes, echoes, echoes yet! While the moon is on the hill Gleaming through the streaming fogs, Don't you hear the yapping of the dogs— pping and the yelping of the dogs?
# The Poems of Henry Kendall/Aboriginal Death-Song

Sydney: Angus & Robertson Ltd., pages 348–349
ABORIGINAL DEATH-SONG
Feet of the flying, and fierce Tops of the sharp-headed spear, Hard by the thickets that pierce, Lo! they are nimble and near.
Women are we, and the wives Strong Arrawatta hath won; Weary because of our lives, Sick of the face of the sun.
Koola, our love and our light, What have they done unto you? Man of the star-reaching sight, Dipped in the fire and the dew.
Black-headed snakes in the grass Struck at the fleet-footed lord— Still is his voice at the pass, Soundless his step at the ford.
Far by the forested glen, Starkly he lies in the rain; Kings of the council of men Shout for their leader in vain.
Yea, and the fish-river clear Never shall blacken below Spear and the shadow of spear, Bow and the shadow of bow.
Hunter and climber of trees, Now doth his tomahawk rust, (Dread of the cunning wild bees), Hidden in hillocks of dust.
We, who were followed and bound, Dashed under foot by the foe, Sit with our eyes to the ground, Faint from the brand and the blow.
​Dumb with the sorrow that kills, Sorrow for brother and chief, Terror of thundering hills, Having no hope in our grief,
Seeing the fathers are far Seeking the spoils of the dead Left on the path of the war, Matted and mangled and red.
# The Poems of Henry Kendall/A Birthday Trifle

Sydney: Angus & Robertson Ltd., pages 350–351
A BIRTHDAY TRIFLE
Here in this gold-green evening end, While air is soft and sky is clear, What tender message shall I send To her I hold so dear? What rose of song with breath like myrrh, And leaf of dew and fair pure beams Shall I select and give to her— The lady of my dreams?
Alas! the blossom I would take, The song as sweet as Persian speech, And carry for my lady's sake, Is not within my reach. I have no perfect gift of words, Or I would hasten now to send A ballad full of tunes of birds To please my lovely friend.
​But this pure pleasure is my own, That I have power to waft away A hope as bright as heaven's zone. On this her natal day. May all her life be like the light That softens down in spheres divine, "As lovely as a Lapland night," All grace and chastened shine!
# The Poems of Henry Abbey/What do we Plant?

New York: D. Appleton and company, page 262
WHAT DO WE PLANT?
What do we plant when we plant the tree? We plant the ship, which will cross the sea. We plant the mast to carry the sails; We plant the planks to withstand the gales— The keel, the keelson, and beam and knee; We plant the ship when we plant the tree.
What do we plant when we plant the tree? We plant the houses for you and me. We plant the rafters, the shingles, the floors, We plant the studding, the lath, the doors, The beams and siding, all parts that be; We plant the house when we plant the tree.
What do we plant when we plant the tree? A thousand things that we daily see; We plant the spire that out-towers the crag, We plant the staff for our country's flag, We plant the shade, from the hot sun free; We plant all these when we plant the tree.
# The Poems of Henry Kendall

POEMS OF HENRY KENDALL
​This edition of Kendall contains: (i) The poems included in the three volumes published during the author's lifetime; (ii) Those not reprinted by Kendall, but included in the collected editions of 1886, 1890 and 1903; (iii) Early pieces not hitherto reprinted; (iv) Poems, now first printed, from the Kendall MSS. in the Mitchell Library, the use of which has been kindly permitted by the Trustees. Certain topical skits and other pieces of no value have been omitted.
Henry Kendall
THE POEMS OF HENRY KENDALL
WITH BIOGRAPHICAL NOTE BY BERTRAM STEVENS
AUSTRALIA: ANGUS & ROBERTSON LTD. 89 CASTLEREAGH STREET, SYDNEY 1920
Printed by
W.C. Penfold & Co. Ltd., 88 Pitt Street, Sydney, Australia
Obtainable in Great Britain from The British Australasian Book-store, 51 High Holborn, London, W.C. 1., and all other Booksellers; and (wholesale only) from The Australian Book Company, 16 Farringdon Avenue, London, E.C. 4.
Copyright by Angus & Robertson Limited
All Rights Reserved
CONTENTS
POEMS AND SONGS
LEAVES FROM AUSTRALIAN FORESTS
SONGS FROM THE MOUNTAINS
EARLY POEMS, 1859-70
OTHER POEMS, 1871-82
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 Practice of the Presence of God/Fifteenth Letter

FIFTEENTH LETTER
(To the Same)
God knoweth best what is needful for us, and all that He does is for our good. If we knew how much He loves us, we should always be ready to receive equally and with indifference from His hand the sweet and the bitter. All would please that came from Him. The sorest afflictions never appear intolerable, except when we see them in the wrong light. When we see them ​as dispensed by the hand of God, when we know that it is our loving Father who abases and distresses us, our sufferings will lose their bitterness and become even matter of consolation.
Let all our employment be to know God; the more one knows Him, the more one desires to know Him. And as knowledge is commonly the measure of love, the deeper and more extensive our knowledge shall be, the greater will be our love; and if our love of God were great, we should love Him equally in pains and pleasures.
Let us not content ourselves with loving God for the mere sensible favors, how elevated soever, which He has done or may do us. Such favors, though never so great, cannot bring us so near to Him as faith does in one simple act. Let us seek Him often by faith He is within us; seek Him not elsewhere. If we do love Him alone, are we not rude, and do we not deserve blame, if we busy ourselves about trifles which do not please and perhaps offend Him? It is to be feared these trifles will one day cost us dear.
Let us begin to be devoted to Him in good earnest Let us cast everything besides out of our hearts. He would possess them alone. Beg this favor of Him. If we do what we can on our parts, we shall soon see that change wrought in us which we aspire after. I cannot thank Him sufficiently for the relaxation He has vouchsafed you. I hope from His mercy the favor to see Him within a few days. Let us pray for one another.
I am, in our Lord,
Yours, etc.
# The Practice of the Presence of God/Introduction

INTRODUCTION
“But I fear, lest by any means, as the serpent beguiled Eve through his subtlety, so your minds should be corrupted from the simplicity that is in Christ.”—2 Cor. xi. 3.
The value of this little book is its extreme simplicity. The trouble with most of the religion of the day is its extreme complexity. “Brother Lawrence” was not troubled with any theological difficulties or doctrinal dilemmas. For him these did not exist. His one single aim was to bring about a conscious personal union between himself and God, and he took the shortest cut he could find to accomplish it. The result can best be described in his own words: “If I dare use the expression, I should choose to call this state the bosom of God, for the inexpressible sweetness which I taste and experience there.”
What Brother Lawrence did all can do. No theological training nor any especial theological views are needed for the blessed “practice” he recommends. No gorgeous churches, nor stately cathedral, nor elaborate ritual, could either make or mar it. A kitchen and an altar were as one to him; and to pick up a ​ straw from the ground was as grand a service as to preach to multitudes. “The time of business,” said he, “does not with me differ from the time of prayer; and in the noise and clutter of my kitchen, while several persons are at the same time calling for different things, I possess God in as great tranquillity as if I were upon my knees at the blessed sacrament.”
This little book, therefore, seems to me one of the most helpful I know. It fits into the lives of all human beings, let them be rich or poor, learned or unlearned, wise or simple. The woman at her wash-tub, or the stone-breaker on the road, can carry on the “practice” here taught with as much ease and as much assurance of success as the priest at his altar or the missionary in his field of work.
All must feel that anything that brings the religion of Christ within reach of overworked and poverty-stricken humanity, in the midst of its ignorance and its helplessness, is a priceless boon, and this is what Brother Lawrence does. His “practice” requires neither time, nor talents, nor training. At any moment, in the midst of any occupation, under any circumstances, the soul that wants to know God can “practise the presence” and can come to the knowledge. The Lord of hosts is with us, the God of Jacob is our refuge, let the “seemings” be what they may; and we need but to recognize this as a continual, ever-present fact, and the inexpressible sweetness to which Brother Lawrence attained will become ours.
Hannah Whitall Smith.
London, 1897.
# The Practice of the Presence of God/Eighth Letter

EIGHTH LETTER
(Concerning Wandering Thoughts in Prayer)
You tell me nothing new; you are not the only one that is troubled with wandering thoughts. Our mind is extremely roving; but, as the will is mistress of all our faculties, she must recall them, and carry them to God as their last end.
When the mind, for want of being sufficiently reduced by recollection at our first engaging in devotion, has contracted certain bad habits of wandering and dissipation, they are difficult to overcome, and commonly draw us, even against our wills, to the things of the earth.
I believe one remedy for this is to confess our faults and to humble ourselves before God. I do not advise you to use multiplicity of words in prayer, many words and long discourses being often the occasions of wandering. Hold yourself in prayer before God like a dumb or paralytic beggar at a rich man's gate. Let it be your business to keep your mind in the presence of the Lord. If it sometimes wander and withdraw itself from Him, do not much disquiet yourself for that: trouble and disquiet serve rather to distract the mind than to recollect it; the will must bring it back in tranquillity. If you persevere in this manner, God will have pity on you.
One way to recollect the mind easily in the time of ​prayer, and preserve it more in tranquillity, is not to let it wander too far at other times. You should keep it strictly in the presence of God; and being accustomed to think of Him often, you will find it easy to keep your mind calm in the time of prayer, or at least to recall it from its wanderings.
I have told you already at large, in my former letters, of the advantages we may draw from this practice of the presence of God. Let us set about it seriously, and pray for one another.
Yours, etc.