OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 3/Napoleon's Farewell

NAPOLEON'S FAREWELL.
[FROM THE FRENCH.]
1.
Farewell to the Land, where the gloom of my Glory Arose and o'ershadowed the earth with her name— She abandons me now—but the page of her story, The brightest or blackest, is filled with my fame. I have warred with a World which vanquished me only When the meteor of conquest allured me too far; I have coped with the nations which dread me thus lonely, The last single Captive to millions in war.
2.
Farewell to thee, France! when thy diadem crowned me, I made thee the gem and the wonder of earth,— But thy weakness decrees I should leave as I found thee, Decayed in thy glory, and sunk in thy worth. ​Oh! for the veteran hearts that were wasted In strife with the storm, when their battles were won— Then the Eagle, whose gaze in that moment was blasted Had still soared with eyes fixed on Victory's sun!
3.
Farewell to thee, France!—but when Liberty rallies Once more in thy regions, remember me then,— The Violet still grows in the depth of thy valleys; Though withered, thy tear will unfold it again— Yet, yet, I may baffle the hosts that surround us, And yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice— There are links which must break in the chain that has bound us, Then turn thee and call on the Chief of thy choice!
July 25, 1815. London. [First published, Examiner, July 30, 1815.]
* ↑ ["We need scarcely remind our readers that there are points in these spirited lines, with which our opinions do not accord; and, indeed, the author himself has told us that he rather adapted them to what he considered the speaker's feelings than his own."—Examiner, July 30, 1815.]
* ↑ The brightest and blackest are due to my fame.—[MS.]
* ↑ But thy destiny wills ——.—[MS.]
* ↑ Oh for the thousands of Those who have perished By elements blasted, unvanquished by man— Then the hope which till now I have fearlessly cherished, Had waved o'er thine eagles in Victory's van.—[MS.]
# Napoleon's Farewell

* "Bonaparte's farewell", in Bonaparte's farewell (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Glasgow
* "Napoleon's Farewell", in The Works of Lord Byron (1904), edited by Ernest Hartley Coleridge and Rowland Edmund Prothero
# Bonaparte's farewell/Bonaparte's farewell

Bonaparte's Farewell.
Farewell to the land, where the gloom of my glory
Arose and o'ershaded the earth with her name, She abandons me now, but the page of her story, The brightest or blackest, is fill'd with my fame I have warred with a world which vanquish'd me only, when the meteor of conquest allur'd me too far, I have coped with the nations which dread me thu lonely, the last single captive to millions in war!
Farewell to thee France—when thy diadem crown'd me, I made thee the glory and pride of the earth; Bat thy weakness decrees I should leave as I found thee, decayed in thy glory and sunk in thy worth. Oh! for the veteran hearts that were wasted in strife with the storm when their battles were won. Then the eagle whose gaze in that moment was blasted, had still soar'd with eyes fix'd on victory's sun.
Farewell to thee France--but then liberty rallies once more in thy regions remember in then; ​The violet grows in the depths of thy vallies, though wither’d thy tears shall unfold it again; Yet, yet I may baffle the hosts that surround us, and yet may thy heart leap awake to my voice, There are links which must break in the chain that has bound us; then turn thee and call on the chief of thy choice!
# The Bay of Biscay

* "The Bay of Biscay o", in Bonaparte's farewell (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Glasgow
* "The Bay of Biscay", in Cruel father, or, The loyal lover's downfal (1820), a chapbook printed in Edinburgh
# Cruel father, or, The loyal lover's downfal (1820)

THE
CRUEL FATHER.
OR
Loyal Lover's Downfal,
To which are added,
THE HALLOW FAIR.
The Bay of Biscay.
EDINBURGH.
PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.
1820
* The Cruel Father, or The Loyal Lover's Downfall
* The Hallow Fair
* The Bay of Biscay
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
# Bonaparte's farewell/The Bay of Biscay o

THE BAY OF BISCAY O
Load roar’d the dreadful thunder, the rain in deluge showers! The clouds were rent asunder, by lightning’s vivid powers! The night both drear and dark, Our poor devoted bark, Till next day, There she lay, In the bay of Biscay O!
Now dash’d upon the billow, her op’ning timbers creak; Each fears a wat’ry pillow, none stops the dreadful leak! To climb to slipp’ry shrouds, Each breathless seaman crowds, ​As she lay, Till next day, In the bay of Biscay O!
At length the wish’d for morrow broke through the hazy sky; Absorb’d in silent sorrow, each heav’d a bitter sigh: The dismal wreck to view, Struck horror to the crew, As she lay, On that day, In the bay of Biscay O!
Her yielding timbers sever, her pitchy seams are rent; When heav’n, all-bounteous ever, Its boundless mercy sent! A sail in sight appears, We hail her with three cheers, Now we sail, With the gale, From the bay of Biscay O!
# Bonaparte's farewell/Lash'd to the helm

LASH’D TO THE HELM.
In storms when clouds obscure the sky, And thunders roll, and lightnings fly, ​In midst of all these dire alarms, I think, my Sally, on thy charms. The troubled main, The wind and rain, My ardent passion prove; Lash’d to the helm. Should seas o’erwhelm, I’d think on thee, my love.
When rocks appear on every side. And art is vain the ship to guide;
In varied shapes when death appears, The thought of thee my bosom cheers: The troubled n a n, The wind and rain, My ardent passion prove; Lash’d to the helm, Should seas o’erwhelm, I’d think on thee my love.
But should the gracious pow’rs be kind. Dispel the gloom and still the wind, And waft me to tby arms once more, Safe to my long-lost native shore, No more the main I’d tempft again, But tender joys improve; I then with thee Should happy be And think on nougnt but love.
# Dugald MacTaggart (2)/I'll think on thee, my love

I'LL THINK ON THEE, MY LOVE.
In storms, when clouds obscure the sky, And thunders roll, and lightnings fly, In midst of all these dire alarms, I think, my Sally, on thy charms. The troubled main, The wind and rain, My ardent passion prove; Lash'd to the helm, Should seas o'erwhelm, I'd think on thee, my love.
When rocks appear on every side, And art is vain the ship to guide; In varied shapes wheu death appears, The thought of thee my bosom cheers; ​The troubled main, The wind and rain, My ardent passion prove; Lash'd to the helm, Should seas o'erwhelm, I'd think on thee, my love.
But should the gracious pow'rs be kind, Dispel the gloom, and still the wind, And waft me to thy arms once more, Safe to my long lost native shore. No more the main I'd tempt again, But tender joys improve; I then with thee Should happy be, And think on nought but love.
# The Birks of Invermay (1815)/Lash'd to the Helm

LASH'D TO THE HELM.
In storms, when clouds obscure the sky, And thunders roll, and lightnings fly, In midst of all these dire alarms I think, my Sally, on thy charms. The troubled main, The wind and rain, My ardent passion prove; Lash'd to the helm, Should seas o'erwhelm I'd think on thee, my love.
When rocks appear on every side, And art is vain the ship to guide: In varied shapes when death appears, The thought of thee my bosom cheers The troubled main, The wind and rain, My ardent passion prove; Lash'd to the helm, Should seas o'erwhelm I'd think on thee, my love.
But should the gracious pow'rs be kind, Dispel the gloom, and still the wind, And waft me to thy arms once more, Safe to my long lost native shore ​No more the main I‘d tempt again, But tender joys improve; I then with thee Should happy be, And think on nought but love.
# Heaving of the Lead (1825)/Lash'd to the helm

LASH’D TO THE HELM.
In storms, when clouds obscure the sky, And thunders roll, and lightnings fly, In midst of all these dire alarms, I think, my Sally, on thy charms. The troubled main, The wind and rain, My ardent passion prove; Lash'd to the helm, Should seas o'erwhelm, I‘d think on thee, my love.
When rocks appear on every side, And art is vain the ship to guide: In varied shapes when death appears, The thought of thee my bosom cheers; The troubled main, The wind and rain; ​My ardent passion prove; Lash'd to the helm, Should seas o’erwhelm, I’d think on thee, my love.
But should the gracious pow'rs be kind, Dispel the gloom, and still the wind, And waft me to thy arms once more, Safe to my long lost native shore. No more the main I'd tempt again, But tender joys improve; I then with thee Should happy be, And think on nought but love.
# Bonaparte's farewell/Kitty of Colrain

KITTY OF COLRAIN.
As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping, with a pitcher of milk to the town of Colrain, When she saw me she stumbled, the pitcher it tumbled, and all the sweet butter-milk water’d the plain. “Ah! what shall I do now, "Twas looking at you now, “Sure, sure such a pitcher I’ll ne’er see again; “Twas the pride of my dairy, “O Barney M‘Leary “You’re sent as a plague to the girls of Colrain.”
I sat down beside her, and gently did chide her, That such a misfortune should give her such pain; A kiss then I gave her, before I did leave her, She vow’d for such pleasure she’d break it again. ’Twas hay-making season— I can’t tell the reason, But single misfortunes come seldom, that’s plain, For very soon after Poor Kitty’s disaster, The devil a pitcher was whole in Colrain!
F I N I S.
# Goldfinch (1)/The Rosebud of Summer

The Rosebud of Summer.
⟨When⟩ the rosebud of summer, its beauties bestowing, ⟨On⟩ winter's rude banks all its sweetness shall pour, ⟨And⟩ the sunshine of day in night's darkness be glowing, ⟨O⟩, then, dearest Ellen, I'll love you no more.
⟨When⟩ of hope the last spark which thy smile used to cherish ⟨In⟩ my bosom shall die, and its splendour be o'er, ⟨And⟩ the pulse of this heart which adores you shall perish, ⟨O⟩, then, dearest Ellen, I'll love you no more.
# Goldfinch (1)/Wilt thou say, Farewell

Wilt thou say, Farewell.
Wilt thou say, Fareweel love, And from Rosa part, Rosa's tears will tell love, The anguish of her heart. I'll still be thine, and thou‘lt be mine, I'll love thee, though we sever. Oh, say, can I e'er cease to sigh, Or cease to love? No never.
Wilt thou think of me, love, When thou'rt far away? Oh! I'll think of thee, love, Never, never stray. I'll still be thine, and thou'lt be mine; I'll love thee, though we sever. Oh, say, can I ere cease to sigh, Or cease to love? No, never.
Let not other’s wiles, love, Thy ardent heart betray: Remember Rosa's smiles, love, Rosa far away. ​⟨I'll⟩ still be thine, and thou‘lt be mine; I‘ll love thee, though we sever. ⟨Oh⟩, say, can I ere cease to sigh, Or cease to love? No, never.
# Goldfinch (1)/The fair young Knight

The fair young Knight.
⟨At⟩ the Baron of Mowbray's gate was seen, A page with a courser black, ⟨There⟩ came out a knight of noble mien. And he leapt on the courser s back. ⟨His⟩ arms was bright, and his heart was light, And he sung this merry lay, "How jollily lives this fair young knight, He loves and he rides away.”
⟨A⟩ lady look'd over the castle wall, And she heard the knight thus sing, ⟨The⟩ lady's tears began to fall, And her hands she began to wring. And didst thou then thy true love plight, And was it but to betray? ⟨Oh⟩! tarry a while, my own dear knight, In pity don't ride away.”
⟨The⟩ knight of her tears he took no heed, While scornful laugh d his eye; ⟨He⟩ gave the spur to his prancing steed, “Good b'ye, sweetheart, good b'ye.” ⟨And⟩ soon he vanish'd from her sight, While she was heard to say, Ah! ladies, beware of a fair young knight; He'll love, and he'll ride away.”
# Goldfinch (1)/Fair Eliza

Fair Eliza.
Turn again thou fair Eliza, Ae kind blink before we part: Look on thy despairing lover; Canst thou break his faithful heart? Turn again thou fair Eliza; If to love thy heart denies, Far pity, hide the cruel sentence Under friendship's kind disguise.
Thee, dear maid, ⟨have⟩ I offended? The offence is loving thee: Canst thou wreck his peace for ever Wha for thine would gladly die? While the life beats in my bosom. Thou shalt mix in ilka throb: Turn again, thou lovely maiden, Ae sweet smile on me bestow.
Not the bee upon the blossom, In the pride o’ sunny noon; Not the little sporting fairy, All beneath the summer moon; Not the poet, in the moment Fancy lightens on his ee, Kens the pleasure, feels the rapture, That thy presence gi'es to me.
# Goldfinch (1)/Love's Silent Language

Love's Silent Language.
⟨When⟩ the heart in the bosom is beating, ⟨In⟩ vain we suppress the warm sigh: ⟨Though⟩ the lips no fond truth be repeating, ⟨A⟩ tell-tale is found in the eye. ⟨'Tis⟩ there the heart-language is spoken, ⟨For⟩ words may by falsehood subdue: ⟨The⟩ vows of the lips are oft broken, ⟨The⟩ eye, though ‘tis silent, is true.
⟨Then⟩ give me the glance that expresses, ⟨The⟩ bright beam of joy when we meet, ⟨The⟩ bosom that throbs to caresses, ⟨The⟩ heart that in silence can beat: ⟨For⟩ while I can boast such a treasure, ⟨I⟩ ask no conviction but this,— ⟨The⟩ eye that beams welcome and pleasure, ⟨And⟩ nought of the lips but a kiss.
# Goldfinch (1)/Have you not seen

Have you not seen.
⟨Have⟩ you not seen the timid tear, ⟨Steal⟩ trembling from mine eye? ⟨Have⟩ you not mark'd the flush of fear, ⟨Or⟩ caught the murmur'd sigh? ⟨And⟩ can you think my love is chill, ⟨Nor⟩ fix'd on you alone? ⟨And⟩ can you rend, by doubting still,
​To you you my soul's affection move, Devoutly, warmly, true;
My life has been a task of love, One long, long thought of you.
If all your tender faith is o'er, If still my truth you'll try,
Alas! I know but one proof more— I'll bliss your name and die.
# Goldfinch (1)/Beauty in tears

Beauty in tears.
O weep not, sweet maid, nor let sorrow ⟨oppress⟩ thee; Thy innocent bosom should banish all fears:
Kind Heav'n will protect thee, fair virtue ⟨caress⟩ thee, And angels will pity such beauty in tears.
But some cruel tyrants compassion ne'er cherish In all their dark actions ambition appears;
They suffer the wretched to languish and perish And look without pity on beauty in tears.
How blest is the heart which with charity floweth And tranquil the bosom that virtue reverse! How sweet is the balm which kind pity bestoweth To soften the sorrow of beauty in tears! But some cruel tyrants, &c.
FINIS.
# The Rosebud of Summer

* "Dearest Ellen", in Heaving of the Lead (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Glasgow
* "The Rosebud of Summer", in Goldfinch (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Falkirk
* "I'll Love Thee No More", in Highland plaid (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Glasgow
# Heaving of the Lead (1825)/Dearest Ellen

DEAREST ELLEN.
When the rose-bud of summer, its beauties bestowing,
On winter's rude banks all its sweetness shall pour;
And the sunshine of day in night's darkness be glowing, Oh! then, dearest Ellen, I'll love you no more.
​When of hope, the last spark which thy smile us'd to cherish! In my bosom shall die, and its splendour be o'er; And the pulse of this heart which adores you shall perish,
Oh! then, dearest Ellen, I'll love you no more.
# Highland plaid (3)

The Highland Plaid.
Irish Providence.
THE BRAW WOOER.
I'll love thee no more.
GLASGOW:
PRINTED FOR THE BOOKSELLERS.
* The Highland Plaid
* Irish Providence
* The Braw Wooer
* I'll Love Thee No More
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
# Goldfinch (1)/Fly from the World

THE
GOLDFINCH.
Fly from the World.
Fly from the world, oh Bessy! to me, Thou'lt never find any sincerer, I'll give up the world, oh Bessy! to thee, I can never meet any that's dearer! Then tell me no more with a tear and a sigh, That our loves shall be censured by many; All have their follies, and who will deny That ours is the sweetest of any?
When your lip has met mine in abandonment sweet Have we felt as if virtue forbid it? Have we felt as if Heaven denied them to meet No, rather ‘twas Heaven that did it! So innocent, love, is the pleasure we sip, So little of guilt is there in it, That I wish all my errors were lodg'd on your lip, And I'd kiss them away in a minute!
​Then come to your lover, oh! fly to his shed, From a world which I know thou despisest, And slumber will hover as light on our bed, As e‘er on the couch of the wisest; And when o‘er our pillow the tempest is driven, And thou pretty innocent fearest, I‘ll tell thee it is not the chiding of heaven, ‘Tis only our lulliby dearest!
And oh! when we lie on our death-bed, my love, Looking back to the scene of our errors, A sigh from my Bessy shall plead then above And death be disarm'd of his terrors! And each to the other embracing will say, Farewell! let us hope we‘re forgiven, Thy last fading glance will illumin’ the way, And a kiss be our passport to heaven!
# Goldfinch (1)/Fancy dipp'd her Pen in Dew

Fancy dipp’d her Pen in Dew.
Fancy dipp'd her pen in dew, Distill'd from leaves of gayest flowers;
Her paper from soft fibres grew, Purloin'd from buds, in rosy bowers.
Then she wrote a lay to prove,
Hearts might safely toy with Love.
Archly smiling, love was there,
And cried, Of Fancy, maids, beware.
Roguish Love took May-day then, And from his wing a feather taken,
He dipp'd it in, and changed her pen, And all the day seem'd Love's own making. ​She wrote of love with such sweet art,
She read, and sigh'd, and lost her heart.
Archly jeering, Love was there,
And cried, Of Fancy, maids, beware.
# Goldfinch (1)/The Forester's Daughter

The Forester's Daughter.
Jenny has been to the village, And brought home a present from Harry;
But though her affection he'd pillage, Blithe Jenny he never shall marry:
For though she has taken, to vex me, The ribbon he artfully bought her,
She did it in joke to perplex me, Sweet Jenny, the forester's daughter.
Jenny has been to the gipsy, Who told her we‘re off, and for ever;
But sure the imposter was tipsy, As nothing two fond hearts can sever.
For though we have tiff'd, when I meet her, I’ll prove like a lover I've caught her;
And the making-up kiss will be sweeter, With Jenny, the forester's daughter.
Jenny has cows half-a-dozen, And mine are the sheep in the valley;
And though not so rich as her cousin, She's sweeter in temper than Sally:
And soon, very soon, we shall marry, Though many more wealthy have sought her;
And then he may whistle, poor Harry! For Jenny the foresters daughter.
# Goldfinch (1)/The Miller's Daughter

The Miller's Daughter.
On the banks of Allan Water, When the sweet spring-time did fall, Was the miller‘s lovely daughter, Fairest of them all. For his bride a soldier sought her, And a winning tongue had he; On the banks of Allan Water None so gay as she.
On the banks of Allan Water, When brown Autumn spread its store, There I saw the miller's daughter, But she smiled no more. For the summer grief had torn her, And the soldier false was he: On the banks of Allan Water None so sad as she.
On the banks of Allan Water, When the winter snow fell fast, Still was seen the miller s daughter: Chilling blew the blast; But the miller's lovely daughter, Both from cold and care was free; On the banks of Allan Water, There a corse lay she.
# Goldfinch (1)/Jock o' Hazeldean

Jock o‘ Hazeldean.
"Why weep ye by the tide lady? Why weep ye by the tide? Ill wed ye to my youngest son, And ye shall be his bride; And ye shall be his bride, lady, Sae comely to be seen;"— But aye she loot the tears down fa’ For Jock o’ Hazeldean.
"Now let this wilful grief be done, And dry that cheek sae pale: Young Frank is chief of Errington, And lord of Langley-dale;
His step is first in peaceful ha’, His sword in battle keen:"— But aye she loot the tears down fa’ For Jock o' Hazeldean.
"A chain of gold ye shall not lack, Nor braid to bind your hair, Nor mettled hounds, nor managed hawk, Nor palfrey fresh and fair; And you, the foremost o‘ them a‘, Shall ride our bridal queen:— But aye she loot the tears down fa’, For Jock o’ Hazeldean.
The kirk was deck’d at morning tide, The tapers glimmer fair; The priest and bridegroom wait the bride, And dame and knight were there. ​They sought her both by bower and ha’, The lady was not seen:
She‘s o‘er the Border and awa Wi‘ Jock o‘ Hazledean.
# Goldfinch (1)/Oh!'tis sweet' to think

Oh! 'tis sweet to think.
Oh! ’tis sweet to think, that, where'r we rove, We are sure to find something blissful and dear
And that, when we’re far from the lips that we love We have to make love to the lips we are near
The heart, like a tendril, accustom’d to cling, Let it grow where it will, cannot flourish alone
But will lean to the nearest, and loveliest thing, It can twine with itself, and make closely its own.
Then oh! what pleasure, where’er we rove, To be doom’d to find something still that is dear,
And to know, when from the lips we love, We have but to make love to the lips we are near.
’Twere a shame, when flowers around us rise, To make light of the rest, if the rose is not there; And the world’s so rich in resplendent eyes, ’Twere a pity to limit one’s love to a pair. Love’s wing and the peacock’s are nearly alike, They are both of them bright, but they’re changeable too; ​And wherever a new beam of beauty can strike, It will tincture love's plume with a different hue. Then, oh! what pleasure, where’er we rove, To be doom'd to find something still that is dear, And to know, when far from the lips we love, We have to make love to the lips we are near,
# Goldfinch (1)/Sweet Kitty Clover

Sweet Kitty Clover
Oh, sweet Kitty Clover, she bothers me so, Oh, oh, oh, oh! Oh, sweet Kitty Clover, she bothers me so, Oh, oh, oh, oh! Her cheeks are round, and red, and fat, Like a pulpit cushion, and redder than that. Oh, sweet Kitty Clover, she bothers me so, Oh, oh, oh, oh !
Sweet Kitty in person is rather low, Oh, oh, oh, oh! Sweet Kitty in person is rather low, Oh, oh, oh, oh! She's three feet high, and that I prize; She‘s just a fit wife for a man of my size. Oh, sweet Kitty Clover, she bothers me so, Oh, oh, oh, oh!
Where Kitty resides I’m sure to go, Oh, oh, oh. oh! Where Kitty resides I’m sure to go, Oh, oh, oh, oh! ​One moonlight night, when—oh, what bliss! Through a hole in the window she gave me a kiss, Oh, sweet Kitty Clover she bothers me so, Oh, oh, oh, oh!
If Kitty to church with me would go, Oh, oh, oh, oh! If Kitty to church with me would go, Oh, oh, oh, oh! I think I would never be bothered again, If after the parson she'd say, Amen. Then Kitty would ne'er again bother me so, Oh, oh, oh, oh !
# Goldfinch (1)/Fareweel to Glen-Shalloch

Fareweel to Glen-Shalloch.
Fareweel to Glen Salloch, A fareweel for ever! Fareweel to my wee cot, that ⟨stands by the river⟩ The fall is loud sounding In voices that vary, And the echoes surrounding Lament with my Mary.
I saw her last night, ’Mid the rocks that enclose them, With a babe at her knee, And a babe at her bosom: I heard her sweet voice In the depth of my slumber, And the song that she sung,
​“Sleep sound my sweet babe, There’s nought to alarm thee, The sons of the valley No power have to harm thee. I’ll sing thee to rest In the balloch untrodden, With a coronach sad For the slain of Culloden.
"The brave were betray’d, And the tyrant is daring To trample and waste us, Unpitying, unsparing, Thy mother no voice has, No feeling that changes, No word, sign, or song, But the lesson of vangeance.
“I’ll tell thee, my son, How your laurels are withering; I'll gird on my sword When our clansmen are gathering; I’ll bid thee go forth In the cause of true honour, And never return Till thy country hath won her.
Our tower of devotion Is the home of the reaver; The pride of the ocean Is fallen for ever; The pine of the forest, That time could not weaken, Is trode in the dust,
​“Rise, spirits of yore, Ever dauntless in danger! For the land that was yours Is the land of the stranger. O come from your caverns All bloodless and hoary, And these fiends of the valley Shall tremble before ye!”