OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/In Praise of Women (Auguste Brizeux)

IN PRAISE OF WOMEN.
AUGUSTE BRIZEUX.
In my mistress I loved nought at first but her beauty, The rosy fresh mouth to which smiles seemed a duty, The shoulder's contour smooth and shining like gold, And the lithe supple figure that the mirror adorning, Bent at each step, as under wings of the morning Bend willows o'er waves their own grace to behold.
I knew then the beauty: nought to me it imported, If a soul in her bright eyes, when spoke she, disported, Under the long-pencilled and dark Arab brows, Happy, happy to breathe the chaste air her surrounding And to hear the pure crystal of her accent resounding, I moved in a dream when we mingled our vows.
Pardon if thou canst! Lo, at thy feet I cry, pardon! When pale and heart-broken in the old walled garden More feeble than thou, woman, more feeble by far, I came all in tears, thy aid—thy counsel to borrow, Then woke thy hid beauty in the midst of my sorrow, And thy soul in its grandeur shone out like a star!
O tears! O deep sighs! O love's mystic story! Women, to charm us, have two crowns as their glory, A visible beauty and a beauty unseen— Beings twice-gifted! Souls a1l-powerful and tender! Our hearts and our wishes to them we surrender, Firm-bound in their fetters, not of earth and terrene.
# A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/In the Orchard (François Coppée)

IN THE ORCHARD.
FRANÇOIS COPPÉE.
I saw your doings, naughty little fairy! This morning, in the field with cherries planted. You were alone, bare-headed and white-vested; Hid by the copse I saw you pass the dairy And wander on, until a branch down-slanted, Heavy with ripe, ripe fruit your steps arrested. It was in reach, you plucked the reddest cherries And put them to your ears, coquette, while breezes Played lightly with your curls: and then to gather A corn-flower from the ground, O queen of Peris, You sat down, gathered one, and then a second, And then another still. And lo! it pleases Your whim to fix them in your hair. Then rather Abashed at what you did, or so I reckoned, Your arm your forehead, flower-encrowned, shading, Upon the green grass there you burst in laughter, And your teeth joyous seemed to dart joy-flashes.
But all this time, my pretty one, invading Your privacy was a witness. Then and after Happy to see you happy; and quite able To keep your secret, so lift up those lashes! What business had he there? He was comparing The corn-flowers with your eyes, my pretty Mabel, And the red cherries with your lips ensnaring.
# A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/Intérieur (André Theuriet)

INTÉRIEUR.
À MA MERE.
ANDRÉ THEURIET.
The parlour peaceful. In the chimney flames A bright fire that attracts. Whistle the winds Outside, and on the window-sash the rain Beats with a noise of sobbing, wild and strange. Cheerful a lamp, under its green shade, burns, And bathes with mellow light a table large. A rich vase full of after-season flowers Exhales a perfume vague and soft, that steals Like the familiar sound of some old air Hummed by a voice beloved that dies away. The father writes. The mother, active, pale, And thoughtful, as a mother always seems, Covers a canvas wide with brave designs Of variegated colours. One may see Under her busy fingers, as they move, Grow by degrees the tissue shaded fine Of wool, red, black, orange, and violet. At the piano, seated in the midst, Upon the ivory touches a young girl Essays a piece preferred, then turns and smiles. Her profile, lightened by a single ray, Is proud, and full of noble sympathies, And oh, so pure! An antique cameo cut
In agate; one would say, the life-long work Of some great master. Twenty blessed springs Have o'er her past. The soul of music shines In her clear eyes like a celestial fire, And her pure forehead bears the seal of heaven, And in bright bands her brown and silken hair Falls on her shoulders white and smooth as snow.
Like a fresh wind among the willow boughs, Her fingers on the instrument mute till now Modulate slowly a minuet air, A soft air from 'Don Juan,' dreamy, sad, Yet full of passion; the piano throbs As if it were a living human soul! And as at last in sobs the music bursts, The father leaves his papers and his pen To look at her, and the fond mother drops Her needle, drops the dainty flower sketched out, And leans across the table; she scarce breathes, But silently looks on, like him entranced, Until her glance meets his; then smiles break forth, And both contemplate with wet eyes the pearl, The richest pearl their jewel-casket holds, The pride of all the family—the life, The joy and sunshine of the house—their child.
# A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/La Ménagère (André Theuriet)

LA MÉNAGÈRE.
ANDRÉ THEURIET.
When the house-mistress comes in sight, Holy light Enters the house wherein she dwells, Crackle the brands, the flames rise proud, And more loud Repeats the bird his canticles.
In the great orchard every bough Bending low Salutes her with its wreath of flowers! On her straw roofs the swallows build, Faithful guild, That herald luck and sunny hours!
Floats in her kingdom—(one large room!) Soft perfume That to the chance-guest's mind conveys This thought,—lo! Plenty, Peace, Good-cheer, All are here, Thy lines are fall'n on pleasant ways.
A sober beauty, pensive, grave, Such as have The mallow, scabious, and white rose! Smooth dimpled cheeks, though somewhat pale, Where prevail The smiles that all her heart disclose!
Blue, like violets in a foss Hemmed with moss, Sparkle soft her innocent eyes, Frame-like her bonnet adds a grace To a face As calm and pure as summer skies!
Hair chestnut, hardly one may view There a few Light threads of silver mixed between: Thin flakes of snow what eye perceives 'Mid the leaves Of a vigorous tree and green?
She works beneath the lilac tree Ceaselessly, Her place is by the garden-gate, Swiftly her needle runs along, While her song Swells high and rich, and yet sedate.
And still attentive o'er her head Branches spread, As if to shield her and to bless, And thick they shower their blossoms down On her gown, To ornament her simple dress!
# A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/La Cavale (Auguste Barbier)

LA CAVALE.
AUGUSTE BARBIER.
O lank-haired Corsican! how grand was France In the fair summer month of Messidor! A wild steed, with the lightnings in her glance,— Free—free, she owned nor king nor conqueror.
No hand had ever touched her. None could dare With insult or with outrage wound her pride; Upon her flanks no housings would she bear; Untameable, the nations she defied.
A virgin skin; thin nostrils; fetlocks made For speed and strength; the mane a flag unfurled; Upon her haunches rising, when she neighed, A terror ran through Europe and the world.
Thou camest and beheld'st her attitude, Her restless croup and supple empty back; One spring! And then away—O Centaur rude, Thy spur she feels—choose, choose at will thy track.
Henceforth, as aye she loved the trumpet's sound, The smell of powder, and the flash of gun, For race-course, she had earth without a bound— For pastime, battles which she always won.
No more repose or sleep! 'Mid sword and brand, To sweep still on—her work! Her iron heel Trampled on human bodies as on sand, Till blood rose almost to her curb of steel.
For fifteen years the nations felt her ire: Prostrate they lay beneath her headlong tread; It was an Apocalyptic vision dire, The steed and rider and the myriads dead.
# A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/La Chanson des Adieux (André Theuriet)

LA CHANSON DES ADIEUX.
ANDRÉ THEURIET.
The lover said to Love, about to fly, 'Go not, dear Love, away; O my sole wealth, mine idol, refuge high, Thy gold wings furl, and stay.
'Within my heart is not thy place, the best? Reposest thou not there As the wild wood-bird in its mossy nest? Why wilt thou go, and where?
'Rest! In the house that peace and silence crown, Beside the waters still, Were we not happy when the night came down On hamlet and on hill?
'Hast thou forgotten all the eves we past, In summer side by side? See, in mine eyes the tears that gather fast! Oh, rest, whate'er betide.
'Thou dost not hear me, and thy bright wing throbs, Thou burnest to depart; Little import to thee my tears and sobs, The torture in my heart.'
Love to the lover said, as far he flew,— 'O child, no ills forebode! Have I not given thee aspirations new, And lighter made thy load?
'Have I not waked within thy slumbering breast Thoughts heretofore unknown, That like a troop of birds make music blest? Art thou not manlier grown?
'Art thou not better? vex not then thy mind, If, subject unto change, More bitter tears to dry, worse wounds to bind, From place to place I range.
'Adieu! Lone dreamers elsewhere I must cheer, And lo, I leave with thee Friends, upon earth the only friends sincere, The joys of memory.
'Some day I shall return, knock at thy pane, Perhaps a suitor stand; Who knows if thou wilt welcome me again, And give me then thy hand?'
# A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/La Chanteuse (Eugène Manuel)

LA CHANTEUSE.
EUGÈNE MANUEL.
Along the green sward of the Bois, the child Begged. She had veritable tears in her eyes, Humble her air, a face modest and mild, And hands clasped tight, to wake men's sympathies.
A sun-browned brow by dark, dark hair o'erhung, Tangled and long, feet gray with dust, for dress Around her figure an old garment hung, That barely served to hide her nakedness.
She followed every traveller to declare The same unvaried, melancholy tale; Our consciences would have too much to bear, Were we to credit all such stories stale.
She begged a farthing and a bit of bread, She had, I know not in what wretched street, One parent out of work, one sick in bed, Brothers in cradles—they had nought to eat.
Heard or repelled, she passed, where trees embower, On moss-spread turf to rest awhile, poor thing! Played with an insect, stripped of leaves a flower, Or broke the new shoots summoned forth by spring.
And sang! The sun seemed to smile in her song! Some scrap it was of popular melody; Thus sings the linnet clear and loud and long, Until its notes mount straight up to the sky.
O breath of lovely days! Mysterious strength Of sunbeam warm, or blossom newly blown! O joy to hear, to see, to feel at length The charm divine by God on all things thrown!
In spring can any child a long time sob? The blade of grass attracts it, or the leaf; The human pulse keeps time to nature's throb; How little need the poor to cheat their grief.
I heard her, and I saw; no, not one tear! As a load-carrier sometimes flings his load, Her heart she lightened when she saw none near, And fairy colours on her brown face glowed.
Then wakening up, as to neglected task, To every passer she went begging round, Her visage donned its sad and sombre mask, And took her voice its low pathetic sound.
But when she came to me and stretched her hand, With moistened eye, sad look, and tangled tress, 'Be off!' I cried, 'thy tricks I understand, I followed thee; thy part needs more address.
'Thy parents taught thee, and these tears are lies, I heard thee sing, this woe is stratagem!' The girl said simply, lifting up her eyes, 'I sing for myself, my tears are for them.'
# A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/Landscape (Georges Lafenestre)

LANDSCAPE.
[[Author::Georges Lafenestre|GEORGES LAFENESTRE]].
On the wet plateau of the sandy shore, Where green sea-weeds their own sad fate deplore, Left by the tide's forgetful wave to rot, When it receded murmuring from the spot, Bulls with broad dewlaps, cows in careworn plight, Heifers that startle at the curlew's flight, With solemn steps, and balancing their heads, Dull, as reluctant to forsake their beds Of straw, descend, preceded one by one, By their long shadows in the risen sun; Around the black reefs ranged along the creek The herd dispersed, kneel noiseless, docile, meek, And to the salt wind from the sea that blows, With wide dilated nostrils tinged with rose, Voluptuous turn large eyes, they half unclose. It seems, as if the sea in pensive mood To rock Life's rest, hath changed its manner rude, And hardly dares upon the silver sand To roll its waves except with murmurs bland. Unwrinkled, like a forehead without care, It spreads in peace, and hills that rise in air
In a horizon limpid, scattered grand, Gird it in part, like a transparent band, A veil of azure that shall float away When the wind rises with the rising day. Opens above, the blue, blue firmament, Where large and pale, but yet magnificent, The sun is seen, lord of eternal light! Seagulls traverse his rays, in long, long flight. The sea and sky, forgetting that they seal Snows, and fierce waves, that make the navies reel, Without a threat to-day, or surge, or cloud, Call on each other. Well may both be proud To blend the depths of their serenity, Symbol as each is of eternity! And earth that suffers, earth that men degrade, Pleased with the splendour everywhere displayed, Seems almost, like a child surprised, to fear This dream of happiness may disappear Too quickly from its sight. In sheltering boughs Birds waken and repeat their songs and vows; The fishers, humming, on the steep white rock March two and two, and, careful of their stock, Hang upon rusty hooks their humid nets Whence shivering vapours rise. By rivulets On which the elm-trees lean, near roofs of thatch, A Babel of young voices, or a snatch From some old ballad, or sweet laughter shrill, Shows where the girls bleach clothes beside a mill; Rough wooden shoes upon the pebbles sound; Old dames with busy feet the wheel turn round; And 'mid these songs of women, birds and springs, The murmurs of the flowers that ask for wings, The cries, inexpressively soft and sweet, Of infants waking in their snug retreat,
Half-naked, while their mothers hang above Their cradle-beds and utter words of love,— In the deep calm and thoughtful joy that reign, Sudden is heard along the humid plain, Like a voice sent from heaven with day new-born, To make the unknown future less forlorn, The low, low rustle of the ripening corn.
# A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/L'Enfant Mourant (Xavier Marmier)

L'ENFANT MOURANT.
X. MARMIER.
I am tired, my mother, and the day is ending; Let me lie softly on thy dear, dear breast, But hide thy tears while thus above me bending: Sad are thy sighs, they do not let me rest. 'Tis cold; and round us all the objects darken; But while I sleep an angel form I see, With brow resplendent, shedding rays,—and hearken! Is that not music? And it comes for me.
What songs! What songs! Dost thou not hear them ringing? Such songs in heaven we all must hear one day! Nor see the angel, garlands for us bringing? He beckons us. Oh, what has he to say? He smiles, he speaks to me, and to none other; What glorious hues! These are the flowers he throws; Look at his wings. Shall I have wings, my mother, And here on earth, as beautiful as those?
Why dost thou press me in thine arms so tightly? Wherefore these sighs? I understand them not. And whence these scalding tears that channel brightly Thy cheek once pallid, now inflamed and hot? My own dear mother thou shalt be for ever, But weep not thus, for when I see thee weep I suffer too. Adieu! Oh, mourn me never; The angel clasps me. I but fall asleep.
# A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/L'Oiseau que j'attends (Hégésippe Moreau)

L'OISEAU QUE J'ATTENDS.
HÉGÉSIPPE MOREAU.
The bright suns dead will soon be born, And lo! the birds already make Their nests on bush, and tree, and thorn, And graze the wood, and skim the lake; Each morn a sound of wings goes by, And I arise, and hope, and fret; The swallows darken half the sky, But where's my bird?—it comes not yet.
I've known ambition since the day I saw an eagle heavenward bound Contemplate from its cloudlands grey The dusty insects of the ground. In tempests black I hear it scream, And see its beak in red blood wet, But now no more of glory dream— Ah, where's my bird?—it comes not yet.
The nightingale delights to pick A blade, or worm, or bit of bread, And hides in woods 'mid foliage thick, To sing one day; and then is dead. It sings of love—oh irony! It only wakes a vain regret; What need have I of harmony? My bird, my bird,—it comes not yet.
I see the martlet of the shore Above a lake of blue and gold, As o'er his dreams a poet, soar, Then balanced, slumber in the cold. Wheel, flutter, sleep, at thy sweet will, O happy brother! I have met But scorn upon the Muse's hill; Ah, where's my bird,—it comes not yet.
O come at last, I pray thee, bird! Dark messenger from heaven of good, Raven, whose croak Elijah heard, Whose crumbs in deserts were his food; Come with the part to me assigned, 'Tis time, alas! the shadows set; Past with the prophet! I can find Nowhere my bird,—it comes not yet.
# A Naval Biographical Dictionary/Beddek, Henry

Layout 4
​BEDDEK. (Lieut., 1829. f-p., 18; h-p., 15.)
Henry Beddek, born 19 Sept. 1799, is brother of Rich. Pritchard Beddek, Esq., Purser, and Paymaster, R.N.
This officer entered the Royal Naval College ​1 June, 1814; and embarked, 12 Dec. 1816, as a Volunteer, on board the Leander 60, Capt. Edward Chetham, flag-ship on the Halifax station of Sir David Milne. He was subsequently, from Jan. 1819 until Feb. 1829, employed, on the Home and American stations, in the Spartan frigate, Capts. Wm. Furlong Wise and Fras. Newcombe, Impregnable 104, bearing the flag of Lord Exmouth, Bulwark 74, Capt. Thos. Dundas, Jupiter 60, flag-ship from 1824 to 1827 of Rear-Admiral Willoughby Thos. Lake, and Hussar 46, bearing the flag of Sir Chas. Ogle, by whom he was lent for a short time to the Ringdove 18, Capt. Chas. English. He then (having passed his examination 7 March, 1821) became Acting-Lieutenant of the Mersey 26, Capt. Geo. Wm. Conway Courtenay, on the West India station; but on the occasion of his official promotion, which took place 1 June following, was superseded. We afterwards find him holding a command in the Coast Guard, from 4 Aug. 1830, until 28 Feb. 1832; and employed for a few months, in 1336-7, on board the Russell 74, Capt. Sir Wm. Henry Dillon, off Lisbon. He has not since held any official occupation.
Lieut. Beddek married, 26 Aug. 1830, Mary Hellyer, daughter of Commander Thos. Arscott, R.N., and has issue an only child.
# A Naval Biographical Dictionary/Beddoes, Charles Henry

Layout 4
​BEDDOES. (Commander, 1845.)
Charles Henry Beddoes entered the Navy 28 April, 1821; passed his examination in 1827; and obtained his commission 13 March, 1830. He was afterwards appointed First Lieutenant – 10 Oct. 1833, of the Aetna surveying vessel, Capt. Wm. Geo. Skyring, employed on the African coast – 12 Sept. 1836, of the Harlequin 16, Capts. John Elphinstone Erskine and Lord Fras. John Russell, successively stationed in the Mediterranean and at the Cape of Good Hope – and, 6 Aug. 1841, of the Illustrious 72, flag-ship of Sir Chas. Adam, in North America and the West Indies. He attained his present rank 15 Nov. 1845; and has since been on half-pay.
Commander Beddoes married, 15 Jan. 1839, Cecilia Charlotte, second daughter of the Rev. J. Eagles. Agents – Case and Loudonsack.
# A Naval Biographical Dictionary/Beazeley, George

Layout 4
​BEAZELEY. (Lieut., 1811. f-p., 11; h-p., 32.)
George Beazeley entered the Navy, 24 Jan. 1804, as Fst.-cl. Vol., on board the Rattler sloop, Capts. Fras. Mason and Jas. John Chas. Agassiz. On 16 May following we find him present in a gallant attack on a division of the enemy’s flotilla, consisting of 59 sail, pushing alongshore from Flushing to Ostend, in which the above vessel had 2 men killed and 10 wounded; and, on various other occasions, coming into contact with the enemy. In Aug. 1806, having attained the rank of Midshipman, he rejoined Capt. Mason in the Daphne 20, and in that ship sailed for the Rio de la Plata, where he witnessed all the operations from the storming of Monte Video, 3 Feb. 1807, until the final evacuation of Spanish America. He was subsequently, on 5 April, 1808, employed in the boats of the Daphne and Tartarus, under Lieut. Wm. Elliott, ​at the cutting out, with a loss to the British of only 5 persons wounded, of a convoy of 10 deeply laden vessels, moored close under the fort of a castle mounting 10 guns, in the harbour of Flodstrand, near the Skawe, defended also by a heavy fire from another battery, as well as from the crews of the vessels assembled on the beach, and made fast to the shore by hawsers. On 8 Aug. 1809, Mr. Beazeley joined the Lavinia 40, Capt. Lord Wm. Stuart, then engaged in the expedition to the Scheldt. He removed, in Sept. following, to the St. Domingo 74, bearing the flag of Sir Kich. Strachan; afterwards joined the Scipion 74, flagship at the Cape of Good Hope of Hon. Sir Robt. Stopford; became Acting-Lieutenant, in Aug. 1811, of the Nereide 36, Capt. Jas. Henderson; and in May of the same year, having been officially promoted on 18 of the preceding month, returned home. His next appointments were – 2 Sept. following, to the Abercromby 74, Capt. Wm. Chas. Fahie, employed in the Channel and off the coast of Spain; and, 20 April, 1814, to the Cumberland 74, Capt. Thos. Baker, in which ship he again made a trip to the Cape. He has not been employed since Aug. 1815.
He is married, and has issue. Agent – J. Hinxman.
# A Naval Biographical Dictionary/Beaumont, Richard

Layout 4
​BEAUMONT. (Commander, 1825. f-p., 12; h-p., 24.)
Richard Beaumont entered the Navy, 26 March, 1811, as Third-cl. Vol., on board the Venerable 74, Capt. Sir Home Popham, with whom, after serving off Brest and on the north coast of Spain, he proceeded to the East Indies, as Midshipman, in 1813, of the Stirling Castle 74. He subsequently joined the Akbar 50, Capt. Archibald Dickson, and Endymion 44, Capt. Henry Hope, both on the Halifax station – the Maeander 38, Capts. John Bastard and Arthur Fanshawe, lying at Sheerness – the Prince Regent yacht, commanded at Deptford by Capt. Sir Edw. Hamilton – and the Belleisle 18, Capt. Geo. Rich. Pechell, engaged in protecting the revenue and fisheries on the coast of North America. He obtained a Lieutenancy, 13 Oct. 1819, in the Mersey 26, Capt. Edw. Collier, on the Halifax station; was next appointed, 6 May, 1824, to the Diamond 46, Capt. Lord Napier, employed on a particular service; and on 6 June, 1825, assumed command of the Weazle sloop, in the Mediterranean. Since 1827, in the course of which year the latter vessel was paid off. Commander Beaumont has been on half-pay.
He married, 16 Feb. 1832, the Hon. Susan Hussey Bosville Macdonald, fourth daughter of the late and sister of the present Lord Macdonald. Agents – Hallett and Robinson.