OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Carberiæ Rupes

The next poem, Translated by Dr. Dunkin, is a translation of this poem.
CARBERIÆ RUPES.
IN COMITATU CORGAGENSI. 1723.
ECCE ingens fragmen scopuli, quod vertice summo Desuper impendet, nullo fundamine nixum Decidit in fluctus: maria undique & undique saxa Horrisono stridore tonant, & ad æthera murmur Erigitur; trepidatque suis Neptunus in undis. Nam, longâ venti rabie, atque aspergine crebrâ Æquorei laticis, specus imâ rupe cavatur: Jam fultura ruit, jam summa cacumina nutant; Jam cadit in præceps moles, & verberat undas. Attonitus credas, hinc dejecisse Tonantem Montibus impositos montes, & Pelion altum In capita anguipedum cœlo jaculâsse gigantum. ​Sæpe etiam spelunca immani aperitur hiatu Exesa è scopulis, & utrinque foramina pandit, Hinc atque hinc a ponto ad pontum pervia Phœbo. Cautibus enormè junctis laquearia tecti Formantur; moles olim ruitura supernè. Fornice sublimi nidos posuere palumbes, Inque imo stagni posuere cubilia phocæ. Sed, cum sævit hyems, & venti, carcere rupto, Immensos volvunt fluctus ad culmina montis; Non obsessæ arces, non fulmina vindice dextrâ Missa Jovis, quoties inimicas sævit in urbes, Exæquant sonitum undarum, veniente procellâ: Littora littoribus reboant; vicinia latè, Gens assueta mari, & pedibus percurrere rupes, Terretur tamen, & longè fugit, arva relinquens. Gramina dum carpunt pendentes rupe capellæ, Vi salientis aquæ de summo præcipitantur, Et dulces animas imo sub gurgite linquunt. Piscator terrâ non audet vellere funem; Sed latet in portu tremebundus, & aëra sudum Haud sperans, Nereum precibus votisque fatigat.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Catullus de Lesbia

CATULLUS DE LESBIA.
LESBIA for ever on me rails, To talk of me she never fails. Now, hang me but for all her art, I find, that I have gain'd her heart. My proof is this: I plainly see, The case is just the same with me; I curse her every hour sincerely, Yet, hang me but I love her dearly.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Clad All in Brown

CLAD ALL IN BROWN. TO DICK.
IMITATED FROM COWLEY.
FOULEST brute that stinks below, Why in this brown dost thou appear? For would'st thou make a fouler show, Thou must go naked all the year. ​Fresh from the mud a wallowing sow Would then be not so brown as thou.
'Tis not the coat that looks so dun, His hide emits a foulness out; Not one jot better looks the sun Seen from behind a dirty clout: So t—ds within a glass enclose, The glass will seem as brown as those.
Thou now one heap of foulness art, All outward and within is foul; Condensed filth in every part, Thy body's clothed like thy soul; Thy soul, which through thy hide of buff Scarce glimmers like a dying snuff.
Old carted bawds such garments wear, When pelted all with dirt they shine; Such their exalted bodies are, As shrivell'd and as black as thine. If thou wert in a cart, I fear Thou would'st be pelted worse than they're.
Yet, when we see thee thus array'd, The neighbours think it is but just, That thou should'st take an honest trade, And weekly carry out the dust. Of cleanly houses who will doubt, When Dick cries, "Dust to carry out?"
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Carbery Rocks

This poem is a translation of the previous poem, Carberiæ Rupes.
CARBERY ROCKS.
TRANSLATED BY DR. DUNKIN.
LO! from the top of yonder cliff, that shrouds Its airy head amid the azure clouds, Hangs a huge fragment; destitute of props, Prone on the wave the rocky ruin drops; With hoarse rebuff the swelling seas rebound, From shore to shore the rocks return the sound: ​The dreadful murmurs Heaven's high convex cleaves, And Neptune shrinks beneath his subject waves: For, long the whirling winds and beating tides Had scoop'd a vault into its nether sides. Now yields the base, the summits nod, now urge Their headlong course, and lash the sounding surge. Not louder noise could shake the guilty world, When Jove heap’d mountains upon mountains hurl'd; Retorting Pelion from his dread abode, To crush Earth's rebel sons beneath the load. Oft too with hideous yawn the cavern wide Presents an orifice on either side, A dismal orifice, from sea to sea Extended, pervious to the God of Day: Uncouthly join'd, the rocks stupendous form An arch, the ruin of a future storm: High on the cliff their nests the woodquests make, And seacalves stable in the cozy lake. But when bleak Winter with his sullen train Awakes the winds to vex the watery plain; When o'er the craggy steep without control, Big with the blast, the raging billows roll; Not towns beleaguer’d, not the flaming brand, Darted from Heaven by Jove's avenging hand, Oft as on impious men his wrath he pours, Humbles their pride, and blasts their gilded towers, Equal the tumult of this wild uproar: Waves rush o'er waves, rebellows shore to shore. The neighbouring race, though wont to brave the shocks Of angry seas, and run along the rocks, Now pale with terrour, while the ocean foams, Fly far and wide, nor trust their native homes. ​The goats, while pendent from the mountain top The wither’d herb improvident they crop, Wash'd down the precipice with sudden sweep, Leave their sweet lives beneath th' unfathom'd deep. The frighted fisher, with desponding eyes, Though safe, yet trembling in the harbour lies, Nor hoping to behold the skies serene, Wearies with vows the monarch of the main.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Clever Tom Clinch

CLEVER TOM CLINCH
GOING TO BE HANGED. 1727.
AS clever Tom Clinch, while the rabble was bawling, Rode stately through Holborn to die in his calling, He stopt at the George for a bottle of sack, And promis'd to pay for it when he came back. His waistcoat, and stockings, and breeches, were white; His cap had a new cherry riband to tye't. The maids to the doors and the balconies ran, And said, "Lack-a-day! he's a proper young man!" ​But, as from the windows the ladies he spy'd, Like a beau in the box, he bow'd low on each side; And, when his last speech the loud hawkers did cry, He swore from his cart, "It was all a damn'd lye!" The hangman for pardon fell down on his knee; Tom gave him a kick in the guts for his fee: Then said, I must speak to the people a little; But I'll see you all damn'd before I will whittle. My honest friend Wild (may he long hold his place) He lengthen'd my life with a whole year of grace. Take courage, dear comrades, and be not afraid, Nor slip this occasion to follow your trade; My conscience is clear, and my spirits are calm, And thus I go off without prayer-book or psalm; Then follow the practice of clever Tom Clinch, Who hung like a hero, and never would flinch.
* ↑ A cant word for confessing at the gallows.
* ↑ The noted thief-catcher, under keeper of Newgate, who was hanged for receiving stolen goods.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Atlas, or the Minister of State

ATLAS; or, THE MINISTER OF STATE;
TO THE
LORD TREASURER OXFORD. 1710.
ATLAS, we read in ancient song, Was so exceeding tall and strong, He bore the skies upon his back, Just as the pedlar does his pack; But, as a pedlar overpress'd, Unloads upon a stall to rest, Or, when he can no longer stand, Desires a friend to lend a hand; ​So Atlas, lest the ponderous spheres Should sink, and fall about his ears, Got Hercules to bear the pile, That he might sit and rest a while. Yet Hercules was not so strong, Nor could have born it half so long. Great statesmen are in this condition; And Atlas is a politician, A premier minister of state; Alcides one of second rate. Suppose then Atlas ne'er so wise; Yet, when the weight of kingdoms lies Too long upon his single shoulders, Sink down he must, or find upholders.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Bec's Birthday

BEC'S BIRTHDAY.
NOVEMBER 8, 1726.
THIS day, dear Bec, is thy nativity; Had Fate a luckier one, she'd give it ye: She chose a thread of greatest length, And doubly twisted it for strength; Nor will be able with her shears To cut it off these forty years. Then who says care will kill a cat? Rebecca shows they're out in that. For she, though overrun with care, Continues healthy, fat, and fair. As, if the gout should seize the head, Doctors pronounce the patient dead; But, if they can, by all their arts, Eject it to th' extremest parts, They give the sick man joy, and praise The gout that will prolong his days. Rebecca thus I gladly greet, Who drives her cares to hands and feet: For, though philosophers maintain The limbs are guided by the brain, Quite contrary Rebecca's led, Her hands and feet conduct her head, By arbitrary power convey her, She ne'er considers why, or where: Her hands may meddle, feet may wander, Her head is but a mere by-stander; And all her bustling but supplies The part of wholesome exercise. ​Thus nature has resolv'd to pay her The cat's nine lives, and eke the care. Long may she live, and help her friends Whene'er it suits her private ends; Domestick business never mind Till coffee has her stomach lin'd; But, when her breakfast gives her courage, Then think on Stella's chicken-porridge; I mean when Tiger has been serv'd, Or else poor Stella may be starv'd. May Bec have many an evening nap, With Tiger slabbering in her lap; But always take a special care She does not overset the chair! Still be she curious, never hearken To any speech but Tiger's barking! And when she's in another scene, Stella long dead, but first the dean, May fortune and her coffee get her Companions that will please her better! Whole afternoons will sit beside her, Nor for neglects or blunders chide her; A goodly set as can be found Of hearty gossips prating round; Fresh from a wedding or a christening, To teach her ears the art of listening, And please her more to hear them tattle, Than the Dean storm, or Stella rattle. Late be her death, one gentle nod, When Hermes, waiting with his rod, Shall to Elysian fields invite her, Where there will be no cares to fright her!
* ↑ Mrs. Dingley.
* ↑ Mrs. Dingley's favourite lap dog.
# Tik-Tok of Oz/Chapter 4

THE waves dashed and the lightning flashed and the thunder rolled and the ship struck a rock. Betsy Bobbin was running across the deck and the shock sent her flying through the air until she fell with a splash into the dark blue water. The same shock caught Hank, a thin little, sad-faced mule, and tumbled him also into the sea, far from the ship's side.
When Betsy came up, gasping for breath because the wet plunge had surprised her, she reached out in the dark and grabbed a bunch of hair. At first she thought it was the end of a rope, but presently she heard a dismal "Hee-haw!" and knew she was holding fast to the end of Hank's tail.
Suddenly the sea was lighted up by a vivid glare. The ship, now in the far distance, caught fire, blew up and sank beneath the waves.
Betsy shuddered at the sight, but just then her eye caught a mass of wreckage floating near her and she let go the mule's tail and seized the rude raft, pulling herself up so that she rode upon it in safety. Hank also saw the raft and swam to it, but he was so clumsy he never would have been able to climb upon it had not Betsy helped him to get aboard.
They had to crowd close together, for their support was only a hatch-cover torn from the ship's deck; but it floated them fairly well and both the girl and the mule knew it would keep them from drowning.
The storm was not over, by any means, when the ship went down. Blinding bolts of lightning shot from cloud to cloud and the clamor of deep thunderclaps echoed far over the sea. The waves tossed the little raft here and there as a child tosses a rubber ball and Betsy had a solemn feeling that for hundreds of watery miles in every direction there was no living thing besides herself and the small donkey.
Perhaps Hank had the same thought, for he gently rubbed his nose against the frightened girl and said "Hee-haw!" in his softest voice, as if to comfort her.
"You'll protect me, Hank dear, won't you?" she cried helplessly, and the mule said "Hee-haw!" again, in tones that meant a promise.
On board the ship, during the days that preceded the wreck, when the sea was calm, Betsy and Hank had become good friends; so, while the girl might have preferred a more powerful protector in this dreadful emergency, she felt that the mule would do all in a mule's power to guard her safety.
All night they floated, and when the storm had worn itself out and passed away with a few distant growls, and the waves had grown smaller and easier to ride, Betsy stretched herself out on the wet raft and fell asleep.
Hank did not sleep a wink. Perhaps he felt it his duty to guard Betsy. Anyhow, he crouched on the raft beside the tired sleeping girl and watched patiently until the first light of dawn swept over the sea.
The light wakened Betsy Bobbin. She sat up, rubbed her eyes and stared across the water.
"Oh, Hank; there's land ahead!" she exclaimed.
"Hee-haw!" answered Hank in his plaintive voice.
The raft was floating swiftly toward a very beautiful country and as they drew near Betsy could see banks of lovely flowers showing brightly between leafy trees. But no people were to be seen at all.
# Thom's Irish Who's Who/Monroe, James Harvey

​MONROE, James Harvey, Educ.: Armagh Royal School; Dublin University Scholar, T.C.D. (1904); B.A. (1905), LL.B. (1908); Gold Medalist, Legal and Political Science: Auditor, College Historical Society, 1908; called to Irish Bar, 1909; Junior Crown Prosecutor, Co. Monaghan, 1919; K.C., 1920; Judge Native Court, Egypt; Lieut., R.N.V.R.; b. 7th April, 1884; only son of Samuel Holmes Monroe, of Armagh; m. Margaret Adelaide, only dau. of Andrew McClelland, of Banbridge. Res.: Judge's House, Assiort, Upper Egypt. Clubs: University, Dublin; Turf, Cairo.
# Thom's Irish Who's Who/Montgomery, Col. James Alexander Laurence

​MONTGOMERY, Col. James Alexander Laurence, C.S.I. (1903); Knight of Grace, Order of St. John (1917); C.B.E. (1918); Commander Order of Christ (Portugal); F.R.G.S., D.L., J.P., Co. Donegal (High Sheriff, 1915); Col. Indian Army (ret.). Educ.: Harrow School; joined 92nd Gordon Highlanders, 1867; Indian Army, 1869; entered Punjab Commission, 1870; Lieut.-Col., 1893; retired from Indian Army, 1905; Commissioner of Lands, British East Africa, 1906-10; Red Cross Commissioner, East Africa, 1916-19 (despatches); son of late Robert Montgomery, G.C.S.I., K.C.B.; b. 1849; m., 1st, 1876, Jessie Alice, dau. of Sir T. Douglas Forsyth, K.C.S.I.; 2nd, ​1881, Katherine Mary dau. of Col. F. J. Millar. Res.: St. Columb's, Moville, Co. Donegal. Club: Junior United Service, London.
# Thom's Irish Who's Who/Monck, Viscount

Henry Power Charles Stanley Monck
​MONCK, Viscount, 1800; Baron Monck, 1797 (Irld.); Baron Monck (Unit. Kgd., 1866, Henry Power Charles Stanley Monck, 5th Viscount; B.A., Christ Church, Oxford; late Capt., Coldstream Guards: Vice-Lieutenant Co. Wicklow, 1914; D.L., J.P. Co. Wicklow (High Sheriff, 1887); a J.P. for Co. Dublin; served in Egyptian; Campaign, 1882, and in Suakin Expedition, 1885 (medal with two clasps, bronze star): son of Charles, 4th Viscount, P.C, G.C.M.G., and Lady Elizabeth (d. 1892), dau. of 1st Earl of Rathdown (title extinct): b. 8th Jan., 1849; s. his father 29th Nov., 1894: m. 23rd July, 1874, Lady Edith Scott, youngest dau. of 3rd Earl of Clonmell, and has issue surviving, one dau. Res.: Charleville, Enniskerry, Co. Wicklow. Clubs: Carlton, London, S.W.; Kildare Street, Dublin.
# Thom's Irish Who's Who/Molony, Right Hon. Thomas Francis

​MOLONY, Right Hon. Thomas Francis, P.C. (Irld.), 1913; M.A., LL.D. and Visitor Trinity College, Dublin; ​Barrister King's Inns. 1887: Q.C., 1899; Bencher, 1911: Barrister Mid. Temple, 1900; Crown Counsel, Co. Carlow 1906, and Dublin Co. and City, 1907; Second Serjeant-at-Law, 1911; Solicitor-General for Ireland, 1912-13; Attorney-General for Ireland, 1913; Justice King's Bench Division, High Court of Justice, Ireland, 1913-15; Lord Justice of Appeal in Ireland, 1915-18: Lord Chief Justice of Ireland from 1918; a Commissioner of Education since 1907; Member of the Board of Intermediate Education in Ireland since 1914; Chairman Viceregal Committee on Intermediate Education, 1918; President City of Dublin Corps St. John's Ambulance Brigade, 1919; Knight of Grace of the Order of St. John of Jerusalem, 1920; President of the Statistical Society of Ireland, 1920; is a J.P. Co. Dublin; son of James Molony, Dublin; b. 1865; m. 1899, Pauline, dau. of Bernard Rispin, Dublin. Res.: 35 Fitzwilliam Place, Dublin. Clubs: National Liberal; University and St. Stephen's Green, Dublin.
# Thom's Irish Who's Who/Montagu, Robert Acheson Cromie

​MONTAGU, Robert Acheson Cromie, D L., J.P., Co. Londonderry; J.P. Co. Antrim; Lieut.-Commander R N. (ret.); only surviving son of late Lord Robert Montagu, P.C., M.P., D.L, J.P., and his 1st wile, Ellen Mary (d. 1857), only child and heiress of John Cromie, of Cromore, Co. Londonderry; b. 1854; m., 1st, 1880, Annie (d. 1916) dau. of Gilbert McMicking, of Miltonise, Wigtownshire; 2nd, 1917, Edith, dau. of late Col. Eldred Pottinger, R.A., C.M.G., of Portrush, Co. Antrim. Res.: Cromore, Portstewart, Co Londonderry.
# Thom's Irish Who's Who/Monteagle, Baron

Thomas Spring-Rice
​MONTEAGLE, Baron (Unit. Kgd., 1839), Thomas Spring-Rice, 2nd Baron, K.P., 1885; B.A. (Cantab.); D.L., Co. Limerick; elder son of the Hon. Stephen Edmond Spring-Rice, and Ellen Mary (d. 1889), dau. of the late William Frere, Serjeant-at-Law; b. 31st May, 1894; s. his grandfather 7th Feb., 1866; m. 26th Oct., 1875, Elizabeth (d. 1908), eldest dau. of the late Most Rev. Dr. Butcher, Bishop of Meath, and has issue one son and one dau. Res.: Mount Trenchard, Foynes, Co. Limerick. Athenæum Club, London, S.W.; Kildare Street Club. Dublin.
# Thom's Irish Who's Who/Montgomery, Charles Hubert

​MONTGOMERY, Charles Hubert, C.B. (1920), C.V.O. (1911); entered Foreign Office, 1900: Assistant Clerk, 1910-13; Chief Clerk: and Assistant Sec, 1919; Sec. of Earl Marshal's Office for Coronation of King George V., 1910-11; H.M.'s Marshal of the Ceremonies, 1913-20; Vice-Marshal of the Diplomatic Corps from 1920; fourth son of Hugh de Fellenberg Montgomery, D.L., J.P., of Blessingbourne, Co Tyrone; b 1876; m. 1914, Grace Victoria Mills, only dau. of late Mr. Justice Boddam, Res: 3 Cranley Place, London, S.W.7; Travellers' Club.
# Thom's Irish Who's Who/Montgomery, Col. Hugh Maude de Fellenberg

​MONTGOMERY, Col. Hugh Maude de Fellenberg, C.B. (1918), C.M.G. (1919); Col. Royal Artillery; served in S. African War, 1899-1900; European War, 1914-19; D.A. & Q.M.G.. 1916-19; Senator for Northern Ireland, 1922; eldest son of Hugh de Fellenberg Montgomery, D.L., J.P, of Blessingbourne, Co. Tyrone; b. 1870; m. 1894, Mary, second dau. of late Edmund Langton and late Mrs. Massingberd, of Gunby, Lines., and has issue two sons and two daus. Res.: Blessingbourne, Fivemiletown, Co. Tyrone.
# Thom's Irish Who's Who/Molony, Capt. William Beresford

​MOLONY, Capt. William Beresford, late Capt. 1st Bat. King's Own Royal Lancaster Regt.; temp. Major and Act.-Lieut.-Col. Comdg. 9th Batt., 1914-17; Lieut.-Col. Comdg. 4th Batt. Middlesex Regt. from 1918; only surviving son of late Major W. M. Molony, D.L., J.P., late 22nd Begt., of Kiltanon, Co. Clare; b. 1875; m. 1905, Lena Mara (May), only dau. of Geo. Wright, of Heysham Lodge, Lancashire. Res.: Kiltanon, Tulla, Co. Clare.
# Thom's Irish Who's Who/Moneypenny, Sir Frederick Wm.

​MONEYPENNY, Sir Frederick Wm., Knt. (1819), C.V.O. (1921), C.B.E. (1920), M.V.O., 4th Class (1905), O.B.E. (1918); Knight of Grace, Order of St. John of Jerusalem (1921); J.P. City of Belfast; is City Chamberlain of Belfast, Gentleman Usher of the Black Rod, Parliament of Northern Ireland from 22nd June, 1921 (when Parliament was opened by H.M. the King) till Feb., 1922; Private Secretary to the Lord Mayor; second son of late Joseph Moneypenny, of Belfast; b. 1859. Res.: Wyncote, Strandtown, Belfast.
# The poems of George Eliot (Crowell, 1884)/Two Lovers

TWO LOVERS.
TWO lovers by a moss-grown spring: They leaned soft cheeks together there, Mingled the dark and sunny hair, And heard the wooing thrushes sing. O budding time! O love's blest prime!
Two wedded from the portal stept: The bells made happy carollings, The air was soft as fanning wings, White petals on the pathway slept. O pure-eyed bride! O tender pride!
Two faces o'er a cradle bent: Two hands above the head were locked: These pressed each other while they rocked, Those watched a life that love had sent. O solemn hour! O hidden power!
Two parents by the evening fire: The red light fell about their knees On heads that rose by slow degrees Like buds upon the lily spire. O patient life! O tender strife!
"Two lovers by a moss-grown spring."
The two still sat together there, The red light shone about their knees; But all the heads by slow degrees Had gone and left that lonely pair. O voyage fast! O vanished past!
The red light shone upon the floor And made the space between them wide; They drew their chairs up side by side, Their pale cheeks joined, and said, "Once more!" O memories! O past that is!
1866.
# The poems of George Eliot (Crowell, 1884)/Oh, may I join the Choir invisible

"OH MAY I JOIN THE CHOIR INVISIBLE."
Longum illud tempus, quum non ero, magis me movet, quam hoc exiguum.—Cicero, ad Att., xii. 18.
OH may I join the choir invisible  Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence: live In pulses stirred to generosity, In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn For miserable aims that end with self, In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars, And with their mild persistence urge man's search To vaster issues.
So to live is heaven: To make undying music in the world, Breathing as beauteous order that controls With growing sway the growing life of man. So we inherit that sweet purity For which we struggled, failed, and agonized With widening retrospect that bred despair. Rebellious flesh that would not be subdued, A vicious parent shaming still its child Poor anxious penitence, is quick dissolved; Its discords, quenched by meeting harmonies, Die in the large and charitable air. And all our rarer, better, truer self, That sobbed religiously in yearning song, That watched to ease the burden of the world, ​Laboriously tracing what must be, And what may yet be better—saw within A worthier image for the sanctuary, And shaped it forth before the multitude Divinely human, raising worship so To higher reverence more mixed with love— That better self shall live till human Time Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb Unread forever.
This is life to come, Which martyred men have made more glorious For us who strive to follow. May I reach That purest heaven, be to other souls The cup of strength in some great agony, Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love, Beget the smiles that have no cruelty— Be the sweet presence of a good diffused, And in diffusion ever more intense. So shall I join the choir invisible Whose music is the gladness of the world.
1867