OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 18/Bettesworth's Exultation, Upon Hearing that His Name Would Be Transmitted to Posterity in Dr. Swift's Works

BETTESWORTH'S EXULTATION,
UPON HEARING THAT HIS NAME WOULD BE TRANSMITTED TO POSTERITY IN DR. SWIFT'S WORKS.
WELL ! now, since the heat of my passion's abated, That the dean hath lampoon'd me, my mind is elated: — Lampoon'd did I call it? — No — what was it then! What was it? — 'Twas fame to be lash'd by his pen: For had he not pointed me out, I had slept till E'en doomsday, a poor insignificant reptile, Half lawyer, half actor, pert, dull, and inglorious, Obscure, and unheard of — but now I'm notorious. Fame has but two gates, a white and a black one, The worst they can say is, I got in at the back one: ​ If the end be obtain'd 'tis equal what portal I enter, since I'm to be render'd immortal: So clysters applied to the anus, 'tis said, By skilful physicians, give ease to the head — Though my title be spurious, why should I be dastard, A man is a man, though he should be a bastard. Why sure 'tis some comfort that heroes should slay us, If I fall, I would fall by the hand of Æneas; And who, by the Drapier would not rather damn'd be,
Than demigoddized by madrigal Namby. A man is no more, who has once lost his breath; But poets convince us there's life after death. They call from their graves the king or the peasant, React our old deeds, and make what's past present; And when they would study to set forth a like, So the lines be well drawn, and the colours but strike, Whatever the subject be, coward or hero, A tyrant or patriot, a Titus or Nero, To a judge 'tis all one which he fixes his eye on, And a well-painted monkey's as good as a lion. The scriptures affirm (as I heard in my youth, For indeed I ne'er read them, to speak for once truth,) That death is the wages of sin, but the just Shall die not, although they be laid in the dust. They say so, so be it, I care not a straw, Although I be dead both in Gospel and law; In verse I shall live, and be read in each climate; What more can be said of prime sergeant or primate? While Carter and Prendergast both may be rotten, And damn'd to the bargain, and yet be forgotten.
# The Writings of Oscar Wilde/Volume 1/At Verona

HOW steep the stairs within Kings’ houses are   For exile-wearied feet as mine to tread,   And O how salt and bitter is the bread Which falls from this Hound’s table,—better far That I had died in the red ways of war,   Or that the gate of Florence bare my head,   Than to live thus, by all things comraded Which seek the essence of my soul to mar.
"Curse God and die: what better hope than this?   He hath forgotten thee in all the bliss   Of his gold city, and eternal day”— Nay peace: behind my prison’s blinded bars   I do possess what none can take away,   My love, and all the glory of the stars.
# The Writings of Oscar Wilde/Volume 1/Athanasia

To that gaunt House of Art which lacks for naught Of all the great things men have saved from Time, The withered body of a girl was brought Dead ere the world's glad youth had touched its prime, And seen by lonely Arabs lying hid In the dim womb of some black pyramid.
But when they had unloosed the linen band Which swathed the Egyptian's body,---lo! was found Closed in the wasted hollow of her hand A little seed, which sown in English ground Did wondrous snow of starry blossoms bear And spread rich odours through our spring-tide air.
With such strange arts this flower did allure That all forgotten was the asphodel, And the brown bee, the lily's paramour, Forsook the cup where he was wont to dwell, For not a thing of earth it seemed to be, But stolen from some heavenly Arcady.
In vain the sad narcissus, wan and white At its own beauty, hung across the stream, The purple dragon-fly had no delight With its gold dust to make his wings a-gleam, Ah! no delight the jasmine-bloom to kiss, Or brush the rain-pearls from the eucharis.
For love of it the passionate nightingale Forgot the hills of Thrace, the cruel king, And the pale dove no longer cared to sail Through the wet woods at time of blossoming, But round this flower of Egypt sought to float, With silvered wing and amethystine throat.
While the hot sun blazed in his tower of blue A cooling wind crept from the land of snows, And the warm south with tender tears of dew Drenched its white leaves when Hesperos up-rose
Amid those sea-green meadows of the sky On which the scarlet bars of sunset lie.
But when o'er wastes of lily-haunted field The tired birds had stayed their amorous tune, And broad and glittering like an argent shield High in the sapphire heavens hung the moon, Did no strange dream or evil memory make Each tremulous petal of its blossoms shake?
Ah no! to this bright flower a thousand years Seemed but the lingering of a summer's day, It never knew the tide of cankering fears Which turn a boy's gold hair to withered grey, The dread desire of death it never knew, Or how all folk that they were born must rue.
For we to death with pipe and dancing go, Nor would we pass the ivory gate again, As some sad river wearied of its flow Through the dull plains, the haunts of common men, Leaps lover-like into the terrible sea! And counts it gain to die so gloriously.
We mar our lordly strength in barren strife With the world's legions led by clamorous care, It never feels decay but gathers life From the pure sunlight and the supreme air, We live beneath Time's wasting sovereignty, It is the child of all eternity.
# The Writings of Oscar Wilde/Volume 1/Ballade de Marguerite

I am weary of lying within the chase When the knights are meeting in market-place.
Nay, go not thou to the red-roofed town Lest the hooves of the war-horse tread thee down.
But I would not go where the Squires ride, I would only walk by my Lady's side.
Alack! and alack! thou art overbold, A Forester's son may not eat off gold.
Will she love me the less that my Father is seen, Each Martinmas day in a doublet green?
Perchance she is sewing at tapestrie, Spindle and loom are not meet for thee.
Ah, if she is working the arras bright I might ravel the threads by the fire-light.
Perchance she is hunting of the deer, How could you follow o'er hill and mere?
Ah, if she is riding with the court, I might run beside her and wind the morte.
Perchance she is kneeling in St. Denys, (On her soul may our Lady have gramercy!)
Ah, if she is praying in lone chapelle, I might swing the censer and ring the bell.
Come in my son, for you look sae pale, The father shall fill thee a stoup of ale.
But who are these knights in bright array? Is it a pageant the rich folks play?
'Tis the King of England from over sea, Who has come unto visit our fair countrie.
But why does the curfew toll sae low And why do the mourners walk a-row?
O 'tis Hugh of Amiens my sister's son Who is lying stark, for his day is done.
Nay, nay, for I see white lilies clear, It is no strong man who lies on the bier.
O 't is old Dame Jeannette that kept the hall, I knew she would die at the autumn fall.
Dame Jeannette had not that gold-brown hair, Old Jeannette was not a maiden fair.
O 't is none of our kith and none of our kin, (Her soul may our Lady assoil from sin!)
But I hear the boy's voice chaunting sweet, Elle est morte, la Marguerite.
Come in my son and lie on the bed, And let the dead folk bury their dead.
O mother, you know I loved her true: O mother, hath one grave room for two?
# The Writings of Oscar Wilde/Volume 1/Apologia

Is it thy will that I should wax and wane, Barter my cloth of gold for hodden grey, And at thy pleasure weave that web of pain Whose brightest threads are each a wasted day?
Is it thy will---Love that I love so well--- That my Soul's House should be a tortured spot Wherein, like evil paramours, must dwell The quenchless flame, the worm that dieth not?
Nay, if it be thy will I shall endure, And sell ambition at the common mart, And let dull failure be my vestiture, And sorrow dig its grave within my heart.
Perchance it may be better so---at least I have not made my heart a heart of stone, Nor starved my boyhood of its goodly feast, Nor walked where Beauty is a thing unknown.
Many a man hath done so; sought to fence In straitened bonds the soul that should be free, Trodden the dusty road of common sense, While all the forest sang of liberty.
Not marking how the spotted hawk in flight Passed on wide pinion through the lofty air, To where the steep untrodden mountain height Caught the last tresses of the Sun God's hair.
Or how the little flower he trod upon, The daisy, that white-feathered shield of gold, Followed with wistful eyes the wandering sun Content if once its leaves were aureoled.
But surely it is something to have been The best beloved for a little while, To have walked hand in hand with Love, and seen His purple wings flit once across thy smile.
Ay! though the gorged asp of passion feed On my boy's heart, yet have I burst the bars, Stood face to face with Beauty, known indeed The Love which moves the Sun and all the stars!
# The Writings of Oscar Wilde/Volume 1/A Lament

O well for him who lives at ease With garnered gold in wide domain, Nor heeds the splashing of the rain, The crashing down of forest trees.
O well for him who ne'er hath known The travail of the hungry years, A father grey with grief and tears, A mother weeping all alone.
But well for him whose foot hath trod The weary road of toil and strife, Yet from the sorrows of his life Builds ladders to be nearer God.
# The Writings of Oscar Wilde/Volume 1/A Vision

Two crownèd Kings, and One that stood alone With no green weight of laurels round his head, But with sad eyes as one uncomforted, And wearied with man's never-ceasing moan For sins no bleating victim can atone, And sweet long lips with tears and kisses fed.
Girt was he in a garment black and red, And at his feet I marked a broken stone Which sent up lilies, dove-like, to his knees.
Now at their sight, my heart being lit with flame, I cried to Beatricé, `Who are these?' And she made answer, knowing well each name, `Æschylos first, the second Sophokles,' `And last (wide stream of tears!) Euripides.'
# The Writings of Oscar Wilde/Volume 1/Ave Maria Gratia Plena

Was this His coming! I had hoped to see A scene of wondrous glory, as was told Of some great God who in a rain of gold Broke open bars and fell on Danae: Or a dread vision as when Semele Sickening for love and unappeased desire Prayed to see God's clear body, and the fire Caught her white limbs and slew her utterly:
With such glad dreams I sought this holy place, And now with wondering eyes and heart I stand Before this supreme mystery of Love: A kneeling girl with passionless pale face, An angel with a lily in his hand, And over both with outstretched wings the Dove.
(Florence)
# The Writings of Oscar Wilde/Volume 1/Amor Intellectualis

Oft have we trod the vales of Castaly And heard sweet notes of sylvan music blown From antique reeds to common folk unknown: And often launched our bark upon that sea Which the nine Muses hold in empery, And ploughed free furrows through the wave and foam, Nor spread reluctant sail for more safe home Till we had freighted well our argosy.
Of which despoiled treasures these remain, Sordello's passion, and the honied line Of young Endymion, lordly Tamburlaine Driving his pampered jades, and more than these, The seven-fold vision of the Florentine, And grave-browed Milton's solemn harmonies.
# The Writings of Oscar Wilde/Volume 1/An Inscription

Go, little book, To him who, on a lute with horns of pearl, Sang of the white feet of the Golden Girl: And bid him look Into thy pages: it may hap that he May find that golden maidens dance through thee.
# The Writings of Oscar Wilde/Volume 1/Ave Imperatrix

Ave Imperatrix.
# The Tragedy of the Dutchesse of Malfy/Commendatory verse 2

To his friend M$^{r.}$ John Webster Upon his Dutchesse of Malfy.
I Never saw thy Dutchesse, till the day, That She was lively body'd in thy Play; How'ere she answer'd her low-rated Love, Her brothers anger, did so fatall proove, Yet my opinion is, she might speake more; But (never in her life) so well before.
Wil. Rowley.
# The Tragedy of the Dutchesse of Malfy/Commendatory verse 3

To the Reader of the Authour, and his Dutchesse of Malfy.
CRowne Him a Poet, whom nor Rome, nor Greece, Transcend in all their's, for a Master-peece: In which, Whiles words and matter change, and Men, Act one another; Hee, from whose cleare Pen. They All tooke life, To Memory hath lent A lasting Fame, to raise his Monument.
John Ford.
# The Tragedy of the Dutchesse of Malfy/Dedicatory Epistle

❧ TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE, GEORGE HARDING, Baron Barkeley, of Barkeley Castle and Knight of the Order of the Bathe To the Illustrious Prince Charles.
My Noble Lord,
HAT I may present my excuse why, (being a stranger to your Lordshippe) I offer this Poem to your Patronage, I plead this warrant; Men (who never saw the Sea, yet desire to behold that regiment of waters,) choose some eminent River, to guide them thither; and make that as it were, their Conduct, or Postilion: By the like ingenious meanes, has your fame arrived at my knowledge, receiving it from some of worth, who both in contemplation, and practise, owe to your Honor their clearest service. I do not altogether looke up at your Title: The ancien'st Nobility, being but a rellique of time past, and the truest Honor indeede beeing for a man to conferre Honor on himselfe, which your Learning strives to ​propagate, and shall make you arrive at the Dignity of a great Example. I am confident this worke is not unworthy your Honors perusal for by such Poems as this, Poets have kist the hands of Great Princes, and drawne their gentle eyes to looke downe upon their sheetes of paper, when the Poets themselves were bound up in their winding-sheetes. The like curtesie from your Lordship, shall make you live in your grave, and laurell spring out of it when the ignorant scorners of the Muses ( that like wormes in Libraries, seeme to live onely, to destroy learning) shall wither, neglected, and forgotten. This worke and my selfe I humbly present to your approved censure. It being the utmost of my wishes, to have your Honorable selfe my weighty and perspicuous Comment: which grace so done me, shall ever be acknowledged
By your Lordships
in all duty and
Observance,
John Webster.
Layout 2
# The Zoologist/4th series, vol 2 (1898)/Issue 685

Contents :
| | | PAGE |
| Meyrick, E | Moths and their Classification | 289 |
| Patterson, Arthur | The Mammalia of Great Yarmouth and its Immediate Neighbourhood | 299 |
| Cockerell, T.D.A. | The Insect Visitors of Flowers in New Mexico.—II | 311 |
| | Obituary: Osbert Salvin | 315 |
| | Notes and Queries | 317 |
| | Notices of New Books | 324 |
| | Editorial Gleanings | 330 |
# The University Hymn Book/Adeste fideles

* related portals: Song lyrics.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
English lyrics of the hymn Adeste Fideles as published in The University Hymn Book Oxford, 1912, No. 83. According to A Dictionary of Hymnology, this translation is the most popular arrangement. It first appeared in Murray's Hymnal, 1852 (with an alternative second line reading "Joyfully triumphant"), and has since passed into a great number of collection in the UK and other English-speaking countries.
Anon. (18th cent.) Tr. Frederick Oakeley (1802-1880).
Adeste fideles.
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 Unknown Mr. Kent

THE UNKNOWN MR. KENT
ROY NORTON
The Unkown Mr. Kent
By ROY NORTON
Author of
"The Plunderer," "The Mediator," Etc.
A. L. BURT COMPANY
PublishersNew York
Published by arrangements with George H. Doran Company
COPYRIGHT, 1916,
BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
THE UNKNOWN MR. KENT
* Chapter One
* Chapter Two
* Chapter Three
* Chapter Four
* Chapter Five
* Chapter Six
* Chapter Seven
* Chapter Eight
* Chapter Nine
* Chapter Ten
* Chapter Eleven
* Chapter Twelve
* Chapter Thirteen
* Chapter Fourteen
* Chapter Fifteen
* Advertisements
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 1942, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 81 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
# The University of Nanking Magazine

In English, 1909-1912; in English and Chinese, 1913-1930.

## Volume 4

* Issue 1 (1913)

## Volume 6

* Issue 2 (1914)
* Issue 9 (1915)

## Volume 7

* Issue 1 (1915)

## Volume 8

* Issue 3 (1917)

## Volume 9

* Issue 3 (1918)

## Volume 10

* Issue 4 (1919)

## Volume 14

* Issue 1 (1925)

## Volume 15

* Issue 1 (1926)
* Issue 3 (1926)
* Issue 4 (1927)

## Volume 16

* Issue 1 (1927)
* Issue 2 (1930)

## Volume 17

* Issue 1 (1930)
This work is anonymous or pseudonymous, and is in the public domain in the United States because it was first published outside the United States (and not published in the U.S. within 30 days), and it was first published before 1989 without complying with U.S. copyright formalities (renewal and/or copyright notice) and it was in the public domain in its home country on the URAA date (January 1, 1996 for most countries). It is also in the public domain in other countries and areas where the copyright terms of anonymous or pseudonymous works are 93 years or less since publication.
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
# The Universal Songster and Museum of Mirth/The Song of Fionnuala

THE SONG OF FIONNUALA
Tune—‘Arrah, my dear Eveleen.’
Silent, oh Moyle! be the roar of thy water,  Break not, ye breezes, your chain of repose! While murmuring mournfully, Lir's lonely daughter  Tells to the night star her tale of woes.
When shall the swan, her death note singing,  Sleep with wings in darkness furl'd? When will heav'n it's sweet bells ringing  Call my spirit from this stormy world?
Sadly, oh Moyle! to thy winter-wave weeping,  Fate bids me languish long ages away: Yet still in her darkness doth Erin lie sleeping  Still doth the pure light its dawning delay. When shall that day-star mildly springing,  Warm our isle with peace and love? When will Heav'n, its sweet bell ringing,  Call my spirit to the fields above?
# The University Hymn Book/God reveals his presence

Gerhard Tersteegen (1687-1769). Tr: Foster and Miller, altd. Mercer.
GOD reveals his presence— Let us now adore him, And with awe appear before him,  God is in his temple— All within keep silence, Prostrate lie with deepest reverence.  Him alone  God we own.
Him our God and Saviour: Praise his name for ever.
 God reveals his presence— Hear the harps resounding! See the crowds the throne surrounding!  'Holy, holy, holy,' Hear the hymn ascending, Angels, saints, their voices blending!  Bow thine ear  To us here: Hearken, Lord Jesus, To our meaner praises.
 O thou Fount of blessing, Purify my spirit Trusting only in thy merit.  Like the holy angels Who behold thy glory May I ceaselessly adore thee.  Let thy will  Ever still Rule thy church terrestrial. As the hosts celestial.
# The University of Nanking Magazine/Volume 6/Issue 2

* Editorial:We are presenting in this number of the University Magazine…… (W.F.W.)
* The Origin of the Nanking Language School.
* History and Forecast. (Srewart,W.R.)
* The Purpose of the Department.
* How The Language School is Conducted. (Meics,F.E.)
* Reports from First Year Language Students.
* Nanking as Centre for Early Language Study. (Chapman,B.B.)
* Language Study in the Past. (W.R.S.)
* Announcements for the Year 1914-15.

## Photos

* Language Study in the Past.:PRINCIPAL ENTRANCE UNIVERSITY OF NANKING
* FACULTY AMD TEACHERS OF THE LANGUAGE SCHOOL
* SCIENCE BUILDING:HOME OF MISSIONARY TRAINING SCHOOL
This work was published in 1914 and is anonymous or pseudonymous due to unknown authorship. It is in the public domain in the United States as well as countries and areas where the copyright terms of anonymous or pseudonymous works are 109 years or less since publication.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The University of Nanking Magazine/Volume 6/Issue 9

* Editorial:The School of Forestry. (C.P.L.)
* CHANG CHIEN IN NANKING
* The Meeting of the Colonization Association
* The Inspection of the University
* The Opening of the Engineering School
* The Tree-Planting on Purple Mountain
* CHANG CHINE AND NANTUNGHSIEN (叶元鼎)
* The Need of Forestry in China (Lin,D.Y.)
* Conserve Life Through Reclamation of Waste Lands (Bailie,J.)
* Forestry in the Philippine Islands (Ngan,H.)
* Letter to the University of Nanking Magazine. (Bailie,J.)
* Letter to Dr.Fong F.Sec. (Bailie,J.)
* UNIVERSITY NOTES
* MEDICAL DEPARTMENT NOTES (Shields,R.T.)

## Photos

* A Group at Purple Mountain
* The Need of Forestry in China:Another Tree-Planting Scene
* The Tree-Planting on Purple Mountain:The Tree-Planting at Purple Mountain
* His Excellency Chang Chien at Purple Mountain
* A Group at the Exercises on Purple Mountain(H.E.Chang Chien and Mr.Consul Williams in the Center.)
This work was published in 1915 and is anonymous or pseudonymous due to unknown authorship. It is in the public domain in the United States as well as countries and areas where the copyright terms of anonymous or pseudonymous works are 108 years or less since publication.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Young Volunteer

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "The Young Volunteer."
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
This is a disambiguation page. It lists works that share the same title. If an article link referred you here, please consider editing it to point directly to the intended page.
* "The Young Volunteer", a poem by John Hill Hewitt
* "The Young Volunteer", a poem by Dora Sigerson Shorter
# The Young Volunteer (Hewitt)

"The Young Volunteer" (1863) was a song sung by Ella Wren. It was written and composed by John Hill Hewitt.
1.
Our flag is unfurl'd, and our arms flash bright, As the sun wades up the sky; But ere I join the doubtful fight, Lovely maid, I would say "Good bye" I'm a young volunteer, and my heart is true To our flag that woos the wind, Then three cheers for that flag, and our country too, And the girls we leave behind.
CHORUS Then adieu! then adieu! 'tis the last bugle's strain, This is falling on the ear; Should it so be decreed that we never meet again-- Oh, remember the Young Volunteer.
 2.
When over the desert, thru' burning rays, With a heavy heart I tread; Or when I brest the cannon's blaze, And bemoan my comrades dead, Then, then I will think of my home and you, And our flag shall kiss the wind; With huzza for our cause and our country too, And the girls we leave behind.
(CHORUS)
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
# Thom's Irish Who's Who/Longford, Earl of

Edward Arthur Henry Pakenham
​LONGFORD, Earl of, 1785; Baron Longford. 1759 (Irld.); Baron Silchester (Unit. Kgd., 1821), Edward Arthur Henry Pakenham. 6th Earl; son of Thomas. 5th Earl; K.P., H.M.L., and Lady Mary Julia Child, 2nd dau. of the 7th Earl of Jersey, P.C, G.C.B., G.C.M.G.; b 29th Dec, 1902: s. his father, who was killed in action, 21st Aug. 1915. Res.: Pakenham Hall, Castlepollard, Co. Westmeat,h.