OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Dimock, James Francis

​DIMOCK, JAMES FRANCIS (1810–1876), divine and historical scholar, son of John Giles Dimock, rector of Uppingham, Rutlandshire, was born at Stonhouse, Gloucestershire, on 22 Nov. 1810. He was educated at Uppingham School under Dr. Buckland, was admitted pensioner of St. John's College, Cambridge, on 21 Feb. 1829, and was elected Bell's scholar in 1830. He graduated B.A. as twenty-ninth wrangler in 1833, and M.A. in 1837. Having been ordained deacon and priest by the bishop of Lincoln, he was in 1846 appointed minor canon of Southwell; he gave up the canonry on his appointment as rector of Barnborough, near Doncaster, in 1863. In 1869 he was made prebendary of Lincoln, and he held the prebend with his rectory until his death at Barnborough on 21 April 1876 (Guardian, 26 April 1876, p. 544).
Dimock was deeply interested in ecclesiastical and mediaeval history; his earliest work was 'Illustrations of the Collegiate Church of Southwell,' London, 1854, 8vo. In 1860 he published at Lincoln an edition of the 'Metrical Life of St. Hugh,' and in 1864 he edited for the Rolls Series the. 'Magna Vita S. Hugonis, Episcopi Lincolniensis,' 1864. He also published 'The Thirty-nine Articles … explained, proved, and compared with her other authorized formularies,' London, 1843, 1845, 2 vols. 8vo; but his most important work was his edition of part of the works of Giraldus Cambrensis for the Rolls Series; the first four volumes were edited by J. S. Brewer, and vols. v-vii., which appeared between 1867 and 1877, by Dimock; the edition was completed with an eighth volume by Mr. G. F. Warner.
[Graduati Cantabr. 1800-84; Crockford's Clerical Directory, 1876; Boase's Mod. Engl. Brit. Biogr.; Freeman's William Eufus, ii. 585; Stubbs's Lectures on Mediaeval Hist., ed. 1887, p. 431; Dimock's works in Brit. Mus. Libr.; information from R. F. Scott, esq., of St. John's College, Cambridge.]
A. F. P.
# Dictionary of National Biography, 1901 supplement/Donaldson, John (1799-1876)

​DONALDSON, JOHN (1799–1876), author of 'Agricultural Biography,' was born in Northumberland in 1799, and was probably related to James Donaldson (fl. 1794) [q. v.], whose subjects he made his own. His chief writings, upon the title- pages of which he is described as 'Professor of Botany 'and 'Government Land Drainage Survey or,' were: 1. 'A Treatise on Manures,' 1842. 2. ' The Enemies to Agriculture, Botanical and Zoological,' 1847. 3. ' Soils and Manures,' 1851. 4. 'Agricultural Biography,' 1854: a very useful specimen of biographical grouping, though the notices are often merely bibliographical. 6. 'British Agriculture : Cultivation of Land, Management of Crops, Economy of Animals,' 1860, 4to : an elaborate compilation dedicated to the Duke of Argyll.
Donaldson was presented to the Charterhouse by the Prince Consort in August 1855, ​and died a poor brother there on 22 March 1876, leaving a will in favour of Elizabeth Saine, a widow. In the year after his death a posthumous work on 'Suburban Farming' was edited by Robert Scott Burn.
[Times, 29 March 1876 (an account of the inquest of which Donaldson's sudden death by syncope was the cause); Notes and Queries, 7th ser. v. 8, 76; Donaldson's Works; Brit. Mus. Cat.]
T. S.
# Eight Harvard Poets/Helen

HELEN
AGAIN the voices of the hunting horns And the new moon, low lying on the hills, Tell that the summer night is on its way.— O languid heart, shalt thou much longer watch This pale procession of the silent hours Melt into shadows of unending years? Much longer feed on yearning and despair And all the anguish of departed time? Tomorrow is as yesterday; today No nearer than the morning when there stood In Leda's palace, asking for my hand, Tall Menelaus with his yellow hair; No nearer now than the first time these hands Dared linger in caress upon the curls Of him whose dark eyes laughed their love to mine. 'Tis only as if one short, restless sleep Lay over the wide chasm of the years Beyond which loom lost faith and ruined Troy. The night wind brings, as twenty summers since, The silver-breasted swallows from the Nile To quiet Sparta, nestled in her hills, Locked inland from the voices of the sea; And far across the porticos I hear The ivory shuttle singing in the loom
'Midst maidens' chatter, as in olden days;
And men still murmur as they pass me by:
"Lo, look on her, the wonder of the world,
Beauteous Helen, Lacedaemon's Queen!"
I watch them gaze intently on my face
As they would keep it in their memory
Forever, and the very while they gaze
I see the flame of Troy gleam in their eyes.
I think sometimes I have already passed
Into the kingdom of untroubled death,
And wandering lonely amongst them I knew
In Hellas or that land beyond the seas, Behold each shadow as it passes by
Shrink half involuntarily, and turn, And veil its face and vanish in the gloom.
Whilst out of that dim distance whence my steps
Are moving and to which they shall return
After an interval of endless years,
There comes a voice that calls me from afar: "Art thou not Helen, dowered of the gods
With all that man can covet? Wert thou not
Created the most beautiful of earth,
And is not beauty wisdom, wisdom power?
What hast thou done with their almighty gift?"
And then, ere I would answer, silence falls
Around me, and the dark divides, and I
See the blue twilight on the Spartan hills.
# Eight Harvard Poets/Incarnation

INCARNATION
INCESSANTLY the long rain falls, Slanting on black walls, Which glisten gold where a street lamp shines.
In a shop-window, spangled in long lines, By rain-drops all a-glow, An Italian woman's face Flames into my soul as I go Hastily by in the turbulent darkness;— An oval olive face, With the sweetly sullen grace Of the Virgin when first she sees, Amid her garden's silver lilies, The white-robed angel gleam, And softly, as by a sultry dream, Feels all her soul subdued unto the fire And radiance of her ecstasy. So in some picture, on which as on a lyre, An old Italian painter laboriously has played His soul away, his love, all his desire For fragrant things afar from earth, Shines the Madonna, as with a veil overlaid By incense-smoke and dust age-old, At whose feet, in time of dearth
Or need, a myriad men have laid Their sorrows and arisen bold.
Incessantly the long rain falls, Slanting on black walls. But through the dark interminable streets, Along pavements where rain beats Its sharp tattoo, and gas-lamps shine, Greenish gold in the solitude, The vision flames through my mood Of that Italian woman's face, Through the dripping window-pane.
# Eight Harvard Poets/Lazarus

LAZARUS
AT morn we passed a hall where song And dance had been and wine flowed free,  And where, 'mid wrecks of revelry, Had lain the feasters all night long.
They saw us through the mist of dawn,  And, turning, called us to their feast —  The sound of lutes and cymbals ceased — But one He fixed His gaze upon.
In whose wide eyes there seemed to be —  Behind the laughing, wine-flushed face  And tilted ivy-crown's gay grace — Faint glimpses of Eternity.
Then sad, the Master bowed His head,  And, through the rosy twilight, dim,  Walked up and softly spake to him: "Art thou not he that late was dead?"
The drinker raised his cup on high,  And murmured: "Priest of Nazareth,  I am he thou didst raise from death — Lo, thus I wait again to die!"
# Eight Harvard Poets/Memory

MEMORY
BETWEEN rounded hills, White with patches of buckwheat, whose fragrance fills The little breeze that makes the birch-leaves quiver, Beside a rollicking swift river, Light green in the deeps,— Like your eyes in sunshine,— Winds the canal, Lazy and brown as a water-snake, Full of dazzle and sheen where the breeze sweeps The water with gossamer garments, that shake The reeds standing sentinel, And the marginal line Of birches and willows.
Our little steamer puffs its way With jingle of bells and panting throb Of old engines. In stiff array The water-reeds wave, And solemnly sway To the wash and swell of our passing. Among the reeds the ripples sob, And die away,
'Till the canal is still again, save For a kingfisher's flashing Across the noon shimmer.
I stood beside you in the bow, Watched the sunlight lose itself among your hair, That the breeze tugged at. Bright as the shattered sun-rays, where the prow Cut the still water, The warm light caught and tangled there, Red gold amid your hair.
You were very slim in your blue serge dress … We talked of meaningless things, education, Agreed that unless, Something were changed disaster would come to the nation. You smiled when I pointed where A group of birches shivered in the green wood-shadow, Up to their knees in water, white and fair As dryads bathing. A row Of flat white houses and a wharf Glided in sight. The hoarse whistle shrieked for a landing; Bells jangled. … You were standing A slim blue figure amid the wharf's crowd; The little steamer creaked against the side, loud Screamed the whistle again …
Monotonously the solemn reeds Waved to our passing; Ahead the canal shimmered, blotched green by the water-weeds. With a grinding swing And see-saw of sound, The steamer slunk down the canal.
I never even knew your name …
That night from a dingy hotel room, I saw the moon, like a golden gong. Redly loom Across the lake; like a golden gong In a temple, which a priest ere long Will strike into throbbing song, To wake some silent twinkling city to prayer. The lake waves were flakes of red gold, Burnished to copper, Gold, red as the tangled gleam Of sunlight in your hair.
# Eight Harvard Poets/From the Arabian Nights

FROM THE ARABIAN NIGHTS
THEN, as the whispering evening crossed the sea, Sweeping the waters with her veil of grey, Wave-worn and weary of the ocean, we Beheld the enchanted island far away — Half hidden in the twilight low it lay On the horizon like a lazy cloud, Its coasts encompassed with long lines of spray. We spread the sails and swiftly the ship plowed The purple path ahead until the surf sang loud.
Between the cliffs, by the faint stars, we found A gloomy gate, and boldly sailing in, Watched the dark mountains slowly closing round, And heard faint echoes of the ocean's din Melting like spirits' voices, fleet and thin; When of a sudden, as we faltered nigh, Out of the hills where only night had been A mist of minarets and towers high, Rose like the yellow light of morning in the sky.
Gazing we drifted toward that golden bloom Of palaces whose light glowed on our sail; There we floated wrapped in wild perfume; Then music burst upon us in a gale;
Grave, deep-toned trumpets and the lyre's long wail, And farther, the faint sound of singing men. We grasped our oars—but slowly, as will pale The morning star, the vision faded, then The empty dark swept in and all was night again.
# Eight Harvard Poets/Incessu Patuit Deus

INCESSU PATUIT DEUS
THE little clattering stones along the street Dance with each other round my swimming feet; The street itself, as in some crazy dream, Streaks past, a half-perceived material stream.
Brighter than early dawn's most brilliant dye Are blown clear bands of color through the sky, That swirl and swoop and meet, to break and foam Like rainbow veils upon a bubble’s dome.
Yours are the songs that burst about my ears, Or blow away as many-colored spheres.
You are the star that made the skies all bright, Yet tore itself away in flaming flight; You are the tree that suddenly awoke; You are the rose that came to life and spoke. . . .
Guided by you, how we might stroll towards death, Our only music one another's breath, Through gardens intimate with hollyhocks, Where silent poppies burn between the rocks, By pools where birches bend to confidants Above green waters scummed with lily-plants.
There we might wander, you and I alone, Through gardens filled with marble seats moss-grown, And fountains — water-threads that winds disperse — While in the spray the birds sit and converse.
And when the fireflies mix their circling glow Through the dark plants, then gently might I know Your lips, light as the wings of the dragon-flies …
— Merely dreams, fluttering in my eyes. …
# Eight Harvard Poets/It May not Always be so

It may not always be so; and I say That if your lips, which I have loved, should touch Another's, and your dear strong fingers clutch His heart, as mine in time not far away; If on another's face your sweet hair lay In such a silence as I know, or such Great writhing words as, uttering overmuch, Stand helplessly before the spirit at bay;
If this should be, I say if this should be— You of my heart, send me a little word; That I may go unto him, and take his hands, Saying, Accept all happiness from me. Then shall I turn my face, and hear one bird Sing terribly afar in the lost lands.
# Eight Harvard Poets/Love Dream

LOVE DREAM
Strange that on warp and woof of dreams Fancy should weave the web of truth, And yet this fairy figment seems  Part of a half-forgotten youth Stolen from days I thought were sped Out of the world beyond the dead.
Smiled she not when at the edge  Of evening we walked alone Plucking spring's blossoms from the hedge  That she might wear them as her own, Or do I hold a hopeless tryst Here with a shadow, made of mist?
Now as will crumpled rose leaves, pent  By fingers we can never know, Rouse with the richness of their scent,  Thoughts of a summer long ago, All the expanse of land and sea Speaks with a thousand tongues to me.
'Twas from this coast we watched slow form,  Out of the frosty ocean's breath,
The blue-gray ramparts of the storm
 Flashing with signal fires of death,
Whilst with a murmur, far and wide,
Swept in the low wind with the tide.
Then, at last, when lips were dumb
 With fear of parting, did we wend
Along the meadow lanes that come
 From nowhere, and in nothing end,
And, smiling, kiss, though ill at ease,
Under the rustling orchard trees.
But will the promise given keep?
 Can the heart love still when 'tis dead?
What if the spirit, waked from sleep,  Never recall the words it said?
Dwell in a dreamland, or else be
Lost in life's eternity?
# Eight Harvard Poets/Largo

LARGO
THOU only from this sorrow wert relief, Inviolate death, grave deity of rest, Wherein all things past somehow seem the best That ever could have come to be. Proud grief Her lustrous torch hath lighted in this brief Dim time before the dark, when the wide west Fades where illimitable skies suggest Days vanished in the beauty of belief.
As one unto a battle come, that stands Aloof awhile, beholding friend and foe Clashing in conflict, till his soul commands He, too, prest on whither the bugles blow, Lifting his eyes sees over wasted lands Life's dust and shadow drifting to and fro.
# Eight Harvard Poets/My Peace I Leave with You

"MY PEACE I LEAVE WITH YOU"
HE pondered long, and watched the darkening space Close the red portals whence the hours had run, As like young wistful angels, one by one, The stars cast timid flowers about His face. "Yea, now another scarlet day is done!" He cried in anguish, and with sudden grace Stretched forth His arms, as though He would erase The few, dim embers of the scattered sun.
"The scarlet day is done, and soon the light Will wake again my desecrated skies. Oh, that another dawn might never rise! — My foolish children!" Through the vast of night The young stars shivered in a silver horde Before the Infinite Sorrow of their Lord.
# Edwards's Botanical Register/Appendix to the first twenty-three volumes/A sketch of the vegetation of the Swan River Colony/Explanation of the Plates

EXPLANATION OF THE PLATES.
B. Diuris filifolia. 1. a side view of the labellum.
B. Macdonaldia Smithiana. 1. a flower magnified.
# Edwards's Botanical Register/Appendix to the first twenty-three volumes/A sketch of the vegetation of the Swan River Colony/Pittosporaceae

Pittosporaceæ.
The forms of this order found in the Colony are, with the exception of a Plttosporum of which I have seen fragments, almost peculiar to the West Coast. Both Sollya heterophylla and S. linearis are found; the latter is a new species, with very narrow undivided leaves, and flowers of the brightest blue; it has recently been introduced by Mr.
​Mangles. There are at least three species of Campylanthera or Pronaya, twining shrubs, with loose cymes of very pretty flowers; of these, Campylanthera (Pronaya) elegans has close clusters of lilac and white blossoms, and has been introduced by Baron Hugel, in whose Archiv it is figured at t.6; C. Frazeri has very narrow leaves, and rather loose violet cymes on long peduncles; and the third, which is perhaps not different from the Pronaya speciosa, Endl., is much the finest of the genus, having very compound smooth cymes, fully five inches in diameter; of this plant the flowers are large and white; I have in addition to these what may be a mere variety of the last, with smaller flowers and a hairy inflorescence. In Hugel's Enumeration is mentioned a Marianthus candidus, found among rocks at the Swan, with white flowers arranged in long-stalked repeatedly di- or trichotomous terminal cymes; this plant I have not seen, but in Mr. Toward's collection there is a plant, apparently belonging to the same genus, with branching, half twining, smooth and deep brown branches, oblong leaves, some of which are serrated, and few flowered terminal cymes of white flowers striped with purple; this, which may be named Marianthus pictus,$^{93}$ would form a neat and pretty twiner.
$^{(93)}$ Marianthus pictus; ramis subvolubilibus resinoso-rugosis nitidis, follis petiolatis ovalibus glaberrimis subtùs pallidis nunc inæqualiter serratis, cymis paucifloris sessilibus.—Flores irregulares, petalis ascendentibus spathulatis obtusis. Stamina 5, inæqualia, declinata; antheris ovatis rectis, basifixis, long, dehiscentibus. Ovarium declinatum, 2-loculare, ovulis 00 uniseriatis, stylo continuo, stigmate simplici.
# Diplomacy and the Study of International Relations

* information about this edition.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, quotes, Wikidata item.
Published in 1919, Diplomacy and the Study of International Relations was written by D.P. Heatley, a lecturer in history at the University of Edinburgh, and author of Studies in British history and politics.
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DIPLOMACY and THE STUDY OF INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS
Oxford University Press
London Edinburgh Glasgow New York Toronto Melbourne Cape Town Bombay
Humphrey Milford Publisher to the University
DIPLOMACY and the STUDY OF INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS
BY
D. P. HEATLEY
lecturer in history, university of edinburgh author of ‘studies in british history and politics’
OXFORD
AT THE CLARENDON PRESS
1919
* Preface
* Part 1: Diplomacy and the Conduct of Foreign Policy
** Part 1: Chapter 1
** Part 1: Chapter 2
** Part 1: Supplementary Notes
* Part 2: The Literature of International Relations
** Part 2: Chapter 1
** Part 2: Chapter 2
** Part 2: Chapter 3
** Part 2: Chapter 4
** Part 2: Chapter 5
** Part 2: Chapter 6
** Part 2: Chapter 7
** Part 2: Chapter 8
** Part 2: Chapter 9
* Appendix I
* Appendix II
* Index
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1944, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 79 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Diplomacy and the Study of International Relations/Part 1/Supplementary Notes

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London: Oxford University Press, pages 76–82
SUPPLEMENTARY NOTES
A. ANTI-MACHIAVEL LITERATURE
B. MACHIAVELLI ON THE OFFICE OF AN AMBASSADOR
C. THE BALANCE OF POWER
D. SECRET DIPLOMACY OF LOUIS XV
E. FREDERICK THE GREAT ON PARLIAMENTS
Footnotes
# Diplomacy and the Study of International Relations/Part 2

THE LITERATURE OF INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS
Contents
# Egyptian Literature/The Book of the Dead/A Hymn to the Setting Sun

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A HYMN TO THE SETTING SUN
A Hymn of Praise to Ra when he riseth upon the horizon, and when he setteth in the land of life. Osiris, the scribe Ani, saith:
“Homage to thee, O Rā, when thou risest [as] Tem-Herukhuti (Tem-Harmachis). Thou art adored [by me when] thy beauties are before mine eyes, and [when thy] radiance [falleth] upon [my] body. Thou goest forth to thy setting in the Sektet boat with [fair] winds, and thy heart is glad; the heart of the Mātet boat rejoiceth. Thou stridest over the heavens in peace, and all thy foes are cast down; the neverresting stars sing hymns of praise unto thee, and the stars which rest, and the stars which never fail glorify thee as thou sinkest to rest in the horizon of Manu, O thou who art beautiful at morn and at eve, O thou lord who livest and art established, O my lord!
“Homage to thee, O thou who art Rā when thou risest, and Tem when thou settest [in] beauty. Thou risest and shinest on the back of thy mother [Nut], O thou who art crowned king of the gods! Nut doeth homage unto thee, and everlasting and never-changing order embraceth thee at morn and at eve. Thou stridest over the heaven, being glad of heart, and the Lake of Testes is content [thereat]. The Sebau Fiend hath fallen to the ground; his arms and his hands have been hacked off, and the knife hath severed the joints of his body. Rā hath a fair wind; the Sektet boat goeth forth and sailing along it cometh into port. The gods of the south and of the north, of the west and of the east, praise thee, O thou divine substance, from whom all forms of life come into being. Thou sendest forth the word, and the earth ​is flooded with silence, O thou only One, who didst dwell in heaven before ever the earth and the mountains came into existence. O Runner, O Lord, O only One, thou maker of things which are, thou hast fashioned the tongue of the company of the gods, thou hast produced whatsoever cometh forth from the waters, and thou springest up from them over the flooded land of the Lake of Horus. Let me snuff the air which cometh forth from thy nostrils, and the north wind which cometh forth from thy mother [Nut]. Oh, make thou to be glorious my shining form (khu), O Osiris, make thou to be divine my soul (ba)! Thou art worshipped [in] peace (or [in] setting), O lord of the gods, thou art exalted by reason of thy wondrous works. Shine thou with thy rays of light upon my body day by day, [upon me], Osiris the scribe, the teller of the divine offerings of all the gods, the overseer of the granary of the lords of Abtu (Abydos), the royal scribe in truth who loveth thee; Ani, victorious in peace.”
* ↑ I.e., the mountain of sunset.
* ↑ I.e., Maāt.
# Egyptian Literature/The Book of the Dead/Against Serpents

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AGAINST SERPENTS
[From the Papyrus of Nu (British Museum No. 10,477, sheet 6).]
The Chapter of not [letting] Nu, the chancellor-in-chief, triumphant, be devoured by serpents in the underworld. He saith:
“Hail, thou god Shu! Behold Tattu! Behold Shu! Hail Tattu! [Shu] hath the head-dress of the goddess Hathor. They nurse Osiris. Behold the twofold being who is about to eat me! Alighting from the boat I depart(?), and the serpent-fiend Seksek passeth me by. Behold sām and aaqet flowers are kept under guard(?). This being is Osiris, and he maketh entreaty for his tomb. The eyes of the divine prince are dropped, and he performeth the reparation which is to be ​done for thee; [he] giveth [unto thee thy] portion of right and truth according to the decision concerning the states and conditions [of men].”