OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Songs that Quinte Sang/My Ships That Went to Sea

My Ships That Went to Sea.
From tho haven of the sheltered bay My ships sailed out in proud array; ’Twas the morn of a golden summer day And the wind blew fair and free. The air was clear, and the sky was bright, And the blue waves laughed in the glad sunlight And, Oh! But it was a goodly sight As my ships sailed out to sea.
I was proud of my ships, a gallant fleet, With their graceful hulls, so trim and neat, Sturdy and staunch and all complete From their spars to the smallest rope. One was a ship of stately mien Whose white sails shone with a silver sheen, A goodlier ship was never seen, And I called her “The Golden Hope.”
And laden was she with a cargo rare, With beautiful dreams and fancies fair, A post’s song and a true heart’s prayer, And many a smile and tear. Dreams of wealth, and dreams of fame, Hopes of winning an honored name And all the pride of a lofty aim, And many a hope and fear.
And I watched them as they sailed afar Till I saw the top of each slender spar Fade beyond the horizon’s bar, But my heart was light and gay. For why should I feel a throb of fear When the wind blew fair and the sky was clear So my heart was light with hope and cheer As I watched them sail away.
But often my heart grew sick with fear For my ships were gone for many a year And O, but the nights were long and drear And the days dragged wearily, And often when others were fast asleep And the angry storm king rode the deep, The whole night long I would watch and weep For my bonnie ships at sea.
But they bring me glad, good news to-day, “Oh! Your ships are coming in,” they say, “You can see them gliding up the bay In the glow of the morning sun.” Oh! My ships are in with their cargoes rare And their colors streaming in the air My bonnie ships, so brave and fair, They are all in—save one.
The Golden Hope with topmasts tall Hides like a queen among them all, But a fairy shallop, frail and small, The dearest of all to me, One night when the winds and waves were high Went down to her doom ’neath a pitiless sky, And never a thought for the rest have I Since Love went down at sea.
# The Songs that Quinte Sang/Only a Working Girl

Only a Working Girl.
I know I am only a working girl, And I am not ashamed to say I belong to the ranks of those who toil For a living, day by day. With willing feet I press along In the paths that I must tread, Proud that I have the strength and skill To earn my daily bread.
I belong to the “lower classes;” That’s a phrase we often meet. There are some who sneer at working girls; As they pass us on the street, They stare at us in proud disdain And their lips in scorn will curl, And oftentimes we hear them say: “She’s only a working girl.”
“Only a working girl!” Thank God, With willing hands and heart, Able to earn my daily bread, And in Life’s battle take my part. You could offer me no title I would be more proud to own, And I stand as high in the sight of God As the Queen upon her throne.
Those gentle folk who pride themselves Upon their wealth and birth, And look with scorn on those who have Naught else but honest worth, Your gentle birth we laugh to scorn, For we hold it as our creed That none are gentle, save the one Who does a gentle deed.
We are only the “lower classes,” But the Holy Scriptures tell How, when the King of Glory Came down on earth to dwell, Not with the rich and mighty ’Neath costly palace dome, But with the poor and lowly He chose to make His home.
He was one of the “lower classes,” And had to toil for bread, So poor that oftentimes He had No place to lay His head. He knows what it is to labor And toil the long day thro’, He knows when we are weary For He’s been weary too.
O working girls! Remember, It is neither crime or shame To work for honest wages, Since Christ has done the same, And wealth and high position Seem but of little worth To us, whose fellow laborer Is King of Heaven and Earth.
So when you meet with scornful sneers, Just lift your heads in pride; The shield of honest womanhood Can turn such sneers aside, And some day they will realize That the purest, fairest pearls ’Mid the gems of noble womankind Are “only working girls.”
# The Songs that Quinte Sang/Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving.
Thank God for Life! E’en tho’ it bring much bitterness and strife, And all our fairest hopes be wrecked and lost; E’en tho’ there be more ill than good in Life We cling to Life and reckon not the cost. Thank God for Life.
Thank God for Love! For tho’ sometimes Grief follows in its wake, Still we forget Love’s sorrow in Love’s joy And cherish tears with smiles for Love’s dear sake; Only in Heaven is bliss without alloy. Thank God for Love.
Thank God for Pain! No tear hath ever yet been shed in vain, And in the end each sorrowing heart shall find No curse, but blessings in the hand of Pain; Even when He smiteth, then is God most kind. Thank God for Pain.
Thank God for Death! Who touches anguished lips and stills their breath, And giveth Peace unto each troubled breast; Grief flies before thy touch, O blessed Death! God’s sweetest gift; thy name in Heaven is Rest, Thank God for Death.
# The Songs that Quinte Sang/Rest After Pain

Rest After Pain.
The patient, suffering heart is hushed and still And he has gained eternal rest at last, All care is over now, all weariness, All pain is past.
Not as a foe, but as a friend Death came, Bearing the gift of peace in his pale hand; He touched the tortured heart and anguish fled At his command.
Rest, weary one, and be thou not afraid, Death guards thee well, no agonizing dart Can pierce the icy shield his hand has laid Above thy heart.
Sleep, well-beloved, no harm can come to thee, For all is peace within that “low green tent,” Sleep, and enjoy the long desired rest That Heaven sent.
# The Songs that Quinte Sang/The Bay of Quinte

The Bay of Quinte.
O lovely Bay of Quinte! Rolling on in tranquil flow, Thine azure bosom tinted By the sunset’s ruddy glow— I might roam thro’ every country, I might sail o’er every sea, And never find a place more fair Than Quinte is to me.
No rugged cliffs nor mountains Outline thy tranquil shore, But O the peaceful scenery! No heart could wish for more. Thy sloping hills and valleys All clad in freshest green, O fairer shores than Quinte’s No mortal eye hath seen.
I love thee, Bay of Quinte! I love thy pleasant shores, Thou art entwined with memories Of childhood’s vanished hours. Oft have I stood upon the shores Thy dancing wavelets kiss And thought “’Tis but in Heaven There are fairer scenes than this.”
I love the Bay of Quinte, And when this life is o’er And I with joyous steps will tread Dear Quinte’s side no more, Oh! let me sleep by Quinte’s side, More sweet would be my rest Beside the pleasant waters I have always loved the best.
# The Venetian Bracelet, The Lost Pleiad, A History of the Lyre, and Other Poems/The Dying Child

THE DYING CHILD.
The woman was in abject misery—that worst of poverty, which is haunted by shame—the only relic left by better days. She shrunk from all efforts at recovery, refused to administer the medicines, and spoke of the child's death but as a blessing.
My God! and is the daily page of life Darken'd with wretchedness like this?
Her cheek is flush'd with fever red;  Her little hand burns in my own; Alas! and does pain rack her sleep?  Speak! for I cannot bear that moan.
Yet sleep, I do not wish to look  Again within those languid eyes; Sleep, though again the heavy lash  May never from their beauty rise.
—Aid, hope for me?—now hold thy peace,  And take that healing cup away: Life, length of life, to that poor child!—  It is not life for which I pray.
Why should she live for pain, for toil,  For wasted frame, and broken heart; Till life has only left, in death,  With its base fear of death to part!
How could I bear to see her youth  Bow'd to the dust by abject toil, Till misery urge the soul to guilt,  From which its nature would recoil?
The bitterness of poverty,  The shame that adds the worst to woe,— I think upon the life I've known,  Upon the life that I shall know.
Look through yon street,—a hundred lamps  Are lighting up the revels there,— Hark! you can hear the distant laugh  Blending with music on the air.
The rich dwell there, who know not want;  Who loathe that wretchedness whose name Is there an unfamiliar sound:—  Why is not my estate the same?
I may have sinn'd, and punishment  For that most ignorant sin incur; But be the curse upon my head,—  Oh, let it not descend to her!
Sleep, dear one! 'tis a weary world;  Sleep the sweet slumber of the grave! Vex me no more with thy vain words:  What worth is that you seek to save?
Tears—tears—I shame that I should weep;  I thought my heart had nerved my eye:— I should be thankful, and I will,—  There, there, my child, lie down and die!
# The Venetian Bracelet, The Lost Pleiad, A History of the Lyre, and Other Poems/Poetical Portraits

POETICAL PORTRAITS.
# The Venetian Bracelet, The Lost Pleiad, A History of the Lyre, and Other Poems/Poetical Portrait No. V

No. V.
Thy beauty! not a fault is there;  No queen of Grecian line E'er braided more luxuriant hair  O'er forehead more divine.
The light of midnight's starry heaven  Is in those radiant eyes; The rose's crimson life has given  That cheek its morning dyes.
Thy voice is sweet, as if it took  Its music from thy face; And word and mien, and step and look,  Are perfect in their grace.
And yet I love thee not: thy brow  Is but the sculptor's mould: It wants a shade, it wants a glow,—  It is less fair than cold.
Where are thy blushes, where thy tears?  Thy cheek has but one rose: No eloquence of hopes and fears  Disturbs its bright repose.
Thy large dark eyes grow not more dark  With tears that swell unshed: Alas! thy heart is as the ark  That floated o'er the dead.
Hope, feeling, fancy, fear, and love  Are in one ruin hurl'd; Fate's dreary waters roll above  Thy young and other world.
And thou hast lived o'er scenes like these,  The terrible, the past, Where hearts must either break or freeze,—  And thine has done the last.
Thou movest amid the heartless throng  With school'd and alter'd brow: Thy face has worn its mask so long,  It is its likeness now.
Where is the colour that once flush'd  With every eager word? Where the sweet joyous laugh, that gush'd  Like spring songs from the bird?
Where are the tears a word once brought—  The heart's sweet social rain? Where are the smiles that only sought  To see themselves again?
I knew thee in thine earlier hours,  A very summer queen For some young poet's dream:—those flow'rs  Are just what thou hast been,—
Wild flow'rs, all touch'd with rainbow hues,  Born in a morning sky, Lighted with sunshine, fill'd with dews,  Made for a smile and sigh.
But now I look upon thy face,  A very pictured show, Betraying not the slightest trace  Of what may work below.
Farewell, affection!—selfish, changed,  Thine it no more may be; From love thou hast thyself estranged,—  It could not dwell with thee.
# The Venetian Bracelet, The Lost Pleiad, A History of the Lyre, and Other Poems/The Battle Field

THE BATTLE FIELD.
It was a battle field, and the cold moon Made the pale dead yet paler. Two lay there; One with the ghastly marble of the grave Upon his face; the other wan, but yet Touch'd with the hues of life, and its warm breath Upon his parted lips.
He sleeps—the night wind o'er the battle field  Is gently sighing; Gently, though each breeze bear away  Life from the dying.
He sleeps,—though his dear and early friend  A corpse lies by him; Though the ravening vulture and screaming crow  Are hovering nigh him.
He sleeps,—where blood has been pour'd like rain,  Another field before him; And he sleeps as calm as his mother's eyes  Were watching o'er him.
To-morrow that youthful victor's name  Will be proudly given, By the trumpet's voice, and the soldier's shout,  To the winds of heaven.
Yet life, how pitiful and how mean,  Thy noblest story; When the high excitement of victory,  The fulness of glory,
Nor the sorrow felt for the friend of his youth,  Whose corpse he's keeping, Can give his human weakness force  To keep from sleeping!
And this is the sum of our mortal state,  The hopes we number,— Feverish waking, danger, death,  And listless slumber.
# The Venetian Bracelet, The Lost Pleiad, A History of the Lyre, and Other Poems/Poetical Portrait No. VI

No. VI.
The light is kindling in his eye,  The colour on his cheek; And thoughts, the passionate, the deep,  Their charmed silence break;
Yet not to pour themselves in song,  But in those burning words That come when some chance touch has waked  The spirit's secret chords.
How eloquent, how beautiful  Like morning in the north Melting away the dreary ice,  His noble mind came forth!
He stood the centre of the ring,  Awakening in each breast Feelings and thoughts, forgotten, though  Their noblest and their best.
'Twas but a moment while they own'd  The youthful poet's sway; A beacon light upon the hill,  To warn and die away.
Again his downcast eye was dim,  Again his cheek was pale; Again around his beating heart  Closed its accustom'd veil.
A moment's pause, a moment's praise,  Sufficed to change the scene; And careless word and careless laugh  Arose where mind had been.
So flings the lamp upon the wind  Its bright and dying flame:— I thought, alas, the waste of life,  The vanity of fame!
# The Venetian Bracelet, The Lost Pleiad, A History of the Lyre, and Other Poems/Revenge

REVENGE.
Ay, gaze upon her rose-wreathed hair,  And gaze upon her smile; Seem as you drank the very air  Her breath perfumed the while:
And wake for her the gifted line,  That wild and witching lay, And swear your heart is as a shrine,  That only owns her sway.
'Tis well: I am revenged at last,—  Mark you that scornful cheek,— The eye averted as you pass'd,  Spoke more than words could speak.
Ay, now by all the bitter tears  That I have shed for thee,— The racking doubts, the burning fears,—  Avenged they well may be—
By the nights pass'd in sleepless care,  The days of endless woe; All that you taught my heart to bear,  All that yourself will know.
I would not wish to see you laid  Within an early tomb; I should forget how you betray'd,  And only weep your doom:
But this is fitting punishment,  To live and love in vain,— Oh my wrung heart, be thou content,  And feed upon his pain.
Go thou and watch her lightest sigh,—  Thine own it will not be; And bask beneath her sunny eye,—  It will not turn on thee.
'Tis well: the rack, the chain, the wheel,  Far better had'st thou proved; Ev'n I could almost pity feel,  For thou art not beloved.
# The Venetian Bracelet, The Lost Pleiad, A History of the Lyre, and Other Poems/Song 1

SONG.
Oh never another dream can be  Like that early dream of ours, When the fairy Hope lay down to sleep,  Like a child, among the flowers.
But Hope has waken'd since, and wept,  Like a rainbow, itself away; And the flowers have faded, and fallen around—  We have none for a wreath to-day.
Now Wisdom wakes in the place of Hope,  And our hearts are like winter hours: Ah! after-life has been little worth  That early dream of ours.
# The Venetian Bracelet, The Lost Pleiad, A History of the Lyre, and Other Poems/Song 2

SONG.
I pray thee let me weep to-night,  'Tis rarely I am weeping; My tears are buried in my heart,  Like cave-lock'd fountains sleeping.
But oh, to-night, those words of thine  Have brought the past before me; And shadows of long-vanish'd years  Are passing sadly o'er me.
The friends I loved in early youth,  The faithless and forgetting, Whom, though they were not worth my love,  I cannot help regretting;—
My feelings, once the kind the warm,  But now the hard, the frozen; The errors I've too long pursued,  The path I should have chosen;—
The hopes that are like failing lights  Around my pathway dying; The consciousness none others rise,  Their vacant place supplying;—
The knowledge by experience taught,  The useless, the repelling; For what avails to know how false  Is all the charmer's telling?
I would give worlds, could I believe  One half that is profess'd me; Affection! could I think it Thee,  When Flattery has caress'd me?
I cannot bear to think of this,—  Oh, leave me to my weeping; A few tears for that grave my heart,  Where hope in death is sleeping.
# The Voyage of Maelduin

Various original manuscripts in the Irish language
* The Voyage of Maeldune, a poem by Tennyson
* The Voyage of Maelduin, Joseph Jacobs (translation), John D. Batten (illustration) The Book of Wonder Voyages, 1919.
# The Voyage of Italy/Dedication

TO THE RIGHT HONORABLE AND MOST TRULY NOBLE LORD
RICHARD LORD LUMLEY VICOUNT WATERFORD &c.
MY LORD,
It were needlesse to tell you, by how many titles this little Orphan booke, claimes the honour of your Lord$^{ps}$ protection. First, by the law of Nature, its parent dying in your service, you stand bound to be a ​foster-father to it; again it having been my fortune to contribute something to the bringing it forth to light, it hath a new relation to you under the title by which I have long agoe consecrated all my endeavours to your service. But to pass by these two, there is yet a third reason, whereby it will appear, not the effect of choise, but of necessity, that it should come forth under the favour of your name: The well grounded experience which you have gained in your travels; the exact and judicious account you are able to give of the places you have seen, which make a great part of the subject of this book; the mature judgment of the interests of states, and manners of people whereof it treats, which in you is not the after fruit of age; ​the Gentile and courteous behaviour which you have acquired, and which charmes all those who have the honour to converse with you: These, I say, are vertues so peculier to your Person, and so conspicuous in the eyes of all the world, that the design of this Book being to form the like in the rest of the Gentry of our Nation that pretend to travel; It would be a wrong to the publick to let it appear under the Patronage of any other than of him that is the Idea of an accomplished and consummate Traveller. And this, I doubt not, was the reason, why the Author having had the honour to have been a Governour to so many of the flower of our Gentry, made choise of your Lordship to bequeath this work unto, by his last Will and Testament: And which imposeth upon ​me a necessity, both in complyance to the memory of my worthy friend and fellow traveller, and to the duty I owe unto your Lordship, by the honour I have to succeed unto him in his last engagement, to offer up this his last work to you, as an everlasting monument of esteem and gratitude, of him who while hee lived ever was, and of him who living ever is,
MY LORD
Your Lordships most humble & most obedient servant S. Wilson.
# The Voyage of Italy/Table

A TABLE
OF THE NAMES
OF THE CHIEF TOWNS
contained in this first part.
A.
AIguebelle. 69
Aiguebellet Mt. 66
Aix. 42
Alexandria. 103
Apennins Mts. 154
Aquapendente. 241
Avignon. 38
B.
S. Baume. 43
Beauvoysin. 66
Berlin. Mt. 58
Bologna. 141
Bolsena. 242
Briare. 32
Briga. 62
C.
Caprarola. 247
Cassale. 103
Castelfranco. 141
Chambery. 67
Cenis. Mt. 70
Coire. 57
D.
Devedra. 65
Domodoscela. 65
​F.
Florence. 155
Fontainbleau. 27
Fort-Urban. 140
G.
Geneva. 48
Genua. 82
I.
S. Iohn Morian. 69
Isere Riu. 68
L.
Lake of Geneva 49
Lake of Bolsena. 243
Lakes of Wollinstade and Isee. 59
Lake Major. 65
Lasneburg. 69
Lausanna. 50
Ligorne. 232
Lodi. 133
Lucca. 225
Lyons. 32
M.
Marseiles. 42
Marguzzi. 65
Marignano. 133
S Maurice. 59
S. Maximin. 44
Milan. 112
Modena. 138
Monserrat. 103
Montargis. 32
Montefiascone. 243
Monterosa. 249
Montmelian. 68
Murat. 52
N.
Nevers. 32
Novalese. 71
Novi 103
P.
Parma. 135
Pavia. 105
Piacenza. 104
Piemont. 72
Pisa. 228 ​Pistoia. 225
Po. Riv. 72
Poggibonzi. 235
Pont S. Esprit. 38
Pougues. 32
R.
Radicofino. 241
Regio. 238
Riviera di Genua. 82
Roanne. 32
S.
Sampion. M. 63
Savona. 80.
Savoy. 76
Sesto. 66
Siena. 235
Sion. 62
Soleur. 52
Splug. Mt. 58
Susa. 71
Swisserland. 51
T.
Terrara. 32
Ticinum. 105
Tortona. 104
Tournon. 38
Turin. 72
V. Valance. 25
Valtaline. 57
Valetians. 59
Veij. 250
Vienne. 38
Viterbo. 246
Y.
Yssonne. 25
Z.
Zuric. 54
# The Voyages and Adventures of Captain Hatteras

* information about this edition.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Commons category, Wikidata item.
The Adventures of Captain Hatteras (French: Voyages et aventures du capitaine Hatteras) is an adventure novel by Jules Verne. The novel was published for the first time in 1864. The definitive version from 1866 was included into Voyages Extraordinaires series (The Extraordinary Voyages). :Warning: template has been deprecated.
This translation was first published by James R. Osgood & Co (Boston, 1874). Other early translations were published by Routledge and Ward, Lock & Tyler; however, the Osgood translation is the most complete and accurate of the three.

## Table of Contents
### Part I: The English At The North Pole

* Chapter I: The Forward.
* Chapter II: An Unexpected Letter.
* Chapter III: Dr. Clawbonny.
* Chapter IV: The Dog-Captain.
* Chapter V: At Sea.
* Chapter VI: The Great Polar Current.
* Chapter VII: The Entrance of Davis Strait.
* Chapter VIII: The Talk of the Crew.
* Chapter IX: Another Letter.
* Chapter X: Dangerous Sailing.
* Chapter XI: The Devil's Thumb.
* Chapter XII: Captain Hatteras.
* Chapter XIII: The Captain's Plans.
* Chapter XIV: The Expeditions in Search of Franklin.
* Chapter XV: The Forward Driven Southward.
* Chapter XVI: The Magnetic Pole.
* Chapter XVII: The Fate of Sir John Franklin.
* Chapter XVIII: The Way Northward.
* Chapter XIX: A Whale in Sight.
* Chapter XX: Beechey Island.
* Chapter XXI: The Death of Bellot.
* Chapter XXII: The First Signs of Mutiny.
* Chapter XXIII: Attacked by the Ice.
* Chapter XXIV: Preparations for Wintering.
* Chapter XXV: One of James Ross's Foxes.
* Chapter XXVI: The Last Piece of Coal.
* Chapter XXVII: The Great Cold at Christmas.
* Chapter XXVIII: Preparations for Departure.
* Chapter XXIX: Across the Ice-Fields.
* Chapter XXX: The Cairn.
* Chapter XXXI: The Death of Simpson.
* Chapter XXXII: The Return to the Forward.

### Part II: The Desert of Ice

* Chapter I: The Doctor's Inventory.
* Chapter II: Altamont's First Words.
* Chapter III: Seventeen Days of Land Journey.
* Chapter IV: The Last Charge of Powder.
* Chapter V: The Seal and the Bear.
* Chapter VI: The Porpoise.
* Chapter VII: A Discussion About Charts.
* Chapter VIII: Excursion to the North of Victoria Bay.
* Chapter IX: Cold and Heat.
* Chapter X: The Pleasures of Winter-Quarters.
* Chapter XI: Disquieting Traces.
* Chapter XII: The Ice Prison.
* Chapter XIII: The Mine.
* Chapter XIV: The Polar Spring.
* Chapter XV: The Northwest Passage.
* Chapter XVI: Northern Arcadia.
* Chapter XVII: Altamont's Revenge.
* Chapter XVIII: The Last Preparations.
* Chapter XIX: The Journey Northward.
* Chapter XX: Footprints on the Snow.
* Chapter XXI: The Open Sea.
* Chapter XXII: The Approach to the Pole.
* Chapter XXIII: The English Flag.
* Chapter XXIV: Polar Cosmography.
* Chapter XXV: Mount Hatteras.
* Chapter XXVI: Return to the South.
* Chapter XXVII: Conclusion.
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.