OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Sermons of the Curé of Ars/Model your death upon that of Jesus Christ

❧ MODEL YOUR DEATH UPON THAT OF JESUS CHRIST
If we were required to die twice, we could jettison one death. But man dies once only, and upon his death depends his eternity. Where the tree falls, there shall it lie. If, at the hour of his death, someone is living in some bad habit, his poor soul will fall on the side of Hell. If, on the other hand, he is in the state of grace, it will take the road for heaven. Oh, happy road! .... Generally speaking, one dies as one has lived. That is one of the great truths which Holy Scripture and the Fathers repeat in many different places. If you live as good Christians, you will be sure to die as good Christians, but if you live badly, you will be sure to die a bad death. The prophet Isaias warns us that the impious man who thinks only of doing evil is in a woeful state, for he will be treated as he deserves. At death he will receive the reward for the work he has done. It is true, however, that sometimes, by a kind of miracle, one may begin badly and finish well, but that happens so rarely that, as St. Jerome puts it, death is generally the echo of life. You think that you will return then to God? No, you will perish in sin.... The Holy Ghost tells us that if we have a friend, we should do him some good before we die. Well, my dear brethren, could one have a better friend than one's soul? Let us do all the good for it that we can, for at the moment when we would like to do our souls good, we shall be able to do no more! .... Life is short. If you defer changing your ways until the hour of your death, you are blind, for you do not know either the time or the place where you will die, perhaps without any assistance. Who knows if you will not go this night, covered in your sins, before the tribunal of Jesus Christ? .... Yes, my dear brethren, as life is, so is death. Do not hope for a miracle, which God but rarely performs. You are living in sin; very well, you will die in sin.... If we desire to die a good death, we must lead a Christian life. And the way for us to prepare for a good death is to model our deaths upon the death of Jesus Christ. Can the life of the good Christian be anything other than that of a man nailed to the Cross with Jesus Christ?
# The Sermons of the Curé of Ars/Love of our neighbor

❧ LOVE OF OUR NEIGHBOUR
All of our religion is but a false religion and all our virtues are mere illusions and we ourselves are only hypocrites in the sight of God if we have not that universal charity for everyone, for the good and for the bad, for the poor people as well as for the rich, for all those who do us harm as much as for those who do us good. No, my dear brethren, there is no virtue which will let us know better whether we are the children or God than charity. The obligation we have to love our neighbour is so important that Jesus Christ put it into a Commandment which He placed immediately after that by which He commands us to love Him with all our hearts. He tells us that all the law and the prophets are included in this commandment to love our neighbour. Yes, my dear brethren, we must regard this obligation as the most universal, the most necessary and the most essential to religion and to our salvation. In fulfilling this Commandment, we are fulfilling all others. St. Paul tells us that the other Commandments forbid us to commit adultery, robbery, injuries, false testimonies. If we love our neighbour, we shall not do any of these things because the love we have for our neighbour would not allow us to do him any harm.
# The Sermons of the Curé of Ars/Lost works

❧ LOST WORKS
How is it, my dear brethren, that so few Christians behave with one end only in view -- to please God? Here is the reason, pure and simple. It is just that the vast majority of Christians are enveloped in the most shocking ignorance, so that, humanly speaking, they really do the very best they can. The result is that if you were to compare their intentions with those of pagans, you would not find any difference. Ah, dear Lord, how many good works are lost for Heaven! Others who are a little better informed are interested only in the esteem of their fellow men, and they try to dissemble as much as they can: their exterior seems good, while interiorly they are filled with duplicity and evil. Yes, my dear brethren, we shall see at the Judgment that the largest section of Christians practiced a religion of whim or caprice only -- that is to say, the greatest number of them practiced their religion merely from motives of routine, and very few sought God alone in what they did.
# The Sermons of the Curé of Ars/Merit absolution

❧ MERIT ABSOLUTION
When anyone has really given up his sins, he must not be content simply with bewailing them. He must also give up, leave far behind, and fly from anything which is capable of leading him in the direction of them again. In other words, my dear brethren, we must be ready to suffer anything rather than fall back into those sins which we have just confessed. People should be able to see a complete change in us; otherwise we have not merited Absolution, and it could even be possible that we have indeed committed sacrilege. Alas, that there are few in whom this change is apparent after having received Absolution! .... Dear God, what sacrileges are committed! .... If in every thirty Absolutions there were but one genuine case, how soon would the world be converted! Those people do not merit Absolution, then, who do not give sufficient signs of contrition. Alas, how many times, because they are sent away, do they not come back any more! This, of course, is because they have no real urge to be converted, for if they truly had, very far from leaving their Confession until another Easter, they would be working with all their hearts to change their lives and to return to make their peace with God.
# The Romance of Lust

* information about this edition.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article.
The Romance of Lust, or Early Experiences is a Victorian erotic novel published anonymously in four volumes during the years 1873–1876 by William Lazenby.

## Contents

* Volume I
* Volume II
* Volume III
* Volume IV
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 Sick-a-Bed Lady/Woman's Only Business

​THE men at the club were horridly busy that night discussing the silly English law about marrying your dead wife's sister. The talk was quite rabid enough even be- fore an English High-churchman infused his pious venom into the subject-matter. When the argument was at it's highest and the drinks were at their lowest, Bertus Sagner, the biology man at the university, jumped up from his seat with blazing eyes and said "RATS!" not any thing long and Latin, not anything obscure and evasive, not even "rodents," but just plain "RATS! "The look on his face was inordinately disgusted, or indeed more than disgusted, unless disgust is perhaps an emotion that may at times be served red-hot. As he broke away from the gabbling crowd and began to hunt noisily round the room for his papers, I gathered up my own chemistry notebook and started after him. I was a
"Oh, I wish I had a sister," fretted the boy
# The Sick Kite

Perry index 324
* "Of the Mylan whiche was Secke and his Moder", translated by William Caxton, edited by Joseph Jacobs, in The fables of Aesop, as first printed by William Caxton in 1484 (1484)
* "A Sick Kite and her Mother", in Fables of Æsop and Other Eminent Mythologists (1692)
* "The Sick Kite", translated by George Fyler Townsend, in Three Hundred Æsop's Fables (1867)
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 Spirit of the Nation/The Ulster Septs

GATHERING CHAUNT
OF THE ULSTER SEPTS, IN THE REIGN OF ELIZABETH.
The sword of the Saxon is red on our hills, And blood has empurpled the tide of our rills; O'Hanlon, unfurl your banner of green, And high let the sun-burst of Erin be seen.
O'Donnell, come down from your dark Donegal, And drive back the Saxon, and scatter the Scaul; Maguire, come forth with the men of your might, And red let your falchion be seen through the fight.
MacMahon, let victory gleam from your crest, O'Reilly, come forth, with your boldest and best; O'Hagan, M'Donnell, and Derry's bright star, Advance to the hot crimson banquet of war.
​M'Kenna of Treugh, and Maguinniss of Down, Up, forward, and share in the deathless renown; O'Dogherty, prince of the wild Innishowen, Up, up to the slogan of gallant Tyrone.
The heartless invader his banner extends, And deep 'neath its shade is the woe of our friends, The crags of Slieve-guillen resound with their wail, And Newry is red with the blood of the Gael.
We've fish in our streamlets, and kine in our glens, We've shade in our wild woods, and strength in our fens, We've men on our mountains, and hearts in our heath, To welcome the foe to the banquet of death.
Bid Essex remember "the Pass of the Plumes," Where the corse of the foeman the valley illumes; Bid Norris again the proud Sassenagh bring, To scatter his bones on "the lawn of the spring."
The Eagles of Erin are up for their prey, And wolves prowl about in the full face of day. "Dunaveeragh" will feast them with flesh of the foe, Where Clifford was slain and his churls laid low.
Blackwater, Benburb, and Drum-fluich can declare, The rout of De Burgh, and the fate of Kildare— The bells of Armagh spoke their joy on the peal, Which rung forth the conquest of gallant O'Neill.
The spear of the stranger was broken in twain, Where Vaughan, and Waller, and Turner were slain, And oh! it was lovely the blood-hounds to see, Like Boecachs retreating from "Beal na ath buidhe."
Then, onward, ye sons of the great Clan-hughboy, Shout back your defiance to bloody Mountjoy; We've hope in each arm, and fire in each eye, And resolve in each bosom to conquer or die.
# The Spirit of the Nation/The United Irishmen

SONG OF THE UNITED IRISHMEN.
Air—"The Siege of Belleisle."
I.
'Tis the green—oh, the green is the colour of the true, And we'll back it 'gainst the orange, and we'll raise it o'er the blue! For the colour of our fatherland alone should here be seen— 'Tis the colour of the martyr'd dead—our own immortal green; Then up for the green, boys, and up for the green! Oh, 'tis down to the dust, and a shame to be seen; But we've hands—oh, we've hands, boys, full strong enough, I ween, To rescue and to raise again our own immortal green!
II.
They may say they have power 'tis vain to oppose— 'Tis better to obey and live, than surely die as foes; ​But we scorn all their threats, boys, whatever they may mean; For we trust in God above us, and we dearly love the green. So, we'll up for the green, and we'll up for the green! Oh, to die is far better than be curst as we have been; And we've hearts—oh, we've hearts, boys, full true enough, I ween, To rescue and to raise again our own immortal green!
III.
They may swear as they often did, our wretchedness to cure; But well never trust John Bull again, nor let his lies allure. No, we won't—no we won't, Bull, for now nor ever more! For we've hopes on the ocean, and we've trust on the shore. Then up for the green, boys, and up for the green! Shout it back to the Sassenagh, "We'll never sell the green!" For our Tone is coming back, and with men enough, I ween, To rescue, and avenge us and our own immortal green.
IV.
Oh, remember the days when their reign we did disturb, At Limerick and Thurles—Blackwater and Benburb; And ask this proud Saxon if our blows he did enjoy, When we met him on the battle-field of France—at Fontenoy. Then we'll up for the green, boys, and up for the green! Oh, 'tis still in the dust, and a shame to be seen; But we've hearts and we've hands, boys, full strong enough, I ween, To rescue and to raise again our own unsullied green!
# The Spirit of the Nation/The Vision

THE VISION.
A NATIONAL ODE.
I.
Where iron rocks tow'r o'er Th' Atlantic billows' roll, Prophetic muses bore The Poet's raptur'd soul; And Freedom rose in light from the spray. Behold her swiftly glide, O'er the strong and reinless tide, And the surges swelling pride Round her play!
II.
Sublime the steeds rush on Till panting next they stand On the brow of Slieve-na-mon, In the Sparta of our land; And the stormy hills are mov'd at the sound. From Cashel's royal rock To Benburb is felt the shock, And the startled eagles flock, Screaming round.
III.
As she moves along the plain, Like the march of ocean's wave, Our martyr'd heroes slain Rise in armour from the grave, And they clash their phantom shields on the gale. The fires of rage and shame Thro' their visors barred that came, Wrapt in wild unearthly flame Hill and vale.
IV.
From a throne of trampled crowns, On a mount of broken chains, The Aventine goddess frowns O'er the desolated plains, ​Where of old a tyrant's horde ply'd the lash, She flung her blazon'd shield On the far-illumin'd field, And the lofty mountains reeled With the clash.
V.
Clouds distent with gore Above her darkly hang— Lightnings leap before, Around her thunders clang, And marshall'd tempests roar like the sea. Her splendour fills the air, And the nations, in its glare, By their broken altars swear To be free!
VI.
Then our iron fetters fall Like poison weeds around, And lie inky as a pall On the stain'd and loathing ground; And the carrion-birds of heaven o'er them sail. While the sound of joyful bells On the laughing zephyr swells From thy glorious em'ral' dells, Innisfail!
VII.
The sounding woods rejoice, And the waves around thee sing, And the tones of Freedom's voice Thro' thy ruin'd turrets ring; And thy buried monarchs smile from the spheres. And many a hallow'd name, That long slept in silent shame, Now in characters of flame Bright appears.
VIII.
Ul-Erin laughs above, O'er Shannon's wave below, And songs of joy and love Swell the melting airs that blow, Enamour'd ling'ring long near thy shore. Around dear Freedom's shrine Thy dewy shamrocks twine, And resound thy harps divine Evermore!
# The Spirit of the Nation/The Spirit of the Times

II.
THE SPIRIT OF THE TIMES.
"From pole to pole the deep electric tone Of Liberty is out. Wilt thou not share?"
Anon.
Up, recreant, up! Our land hath called her sons From solitudes and cities, courts and marts, To fight her fight, and lo! what eager hearts Answer her call. But not with blades and guns, But arms more keen than Europe's or the Hun's— Reason and Truth, come they to play their parts. Shake off the dream-world's thraldom and awake To see thy land become regenerate, And aid, if aid thou may'st, a work so great ​The mist of prejudice, as from a lake, Is rising from men's minds, and tyrants quake Reading the signs aright that speak our coming fate. Then up! for here the patriot heart may glow With ecstacy that tame life cannot know.
# The Spirit of the Nation/The Squire's Complaint

THE SQUIRE'S COMPLAINT.
I.
Oh, dear, these are shocking bad times, Sir Robert has bothered us quite; Tipperary is teeming with crimes—don't we hear of an outrage each night? But the reason is known very well to each squire from Dublin to Scariff, They are caused by that arch imp of hell, Sir Bob, and his damnable tariff, Faith, so are these shocking bad times.
II.
Time was when a stone of good wheat would fetch us a half-crown, or more; Oh, 'tis then that our labours were sweet—we had ating and drinking galore; But now we can't get thirteen pence for the self same identical corn, Though we strain every sinew, and hence we are left sick at heart and forlorn, To rail at these shocking bad times.
III.
The poor laws, to add to our griefs, are saddled upon us, poor asses, With commissioners added, the thieves, to reverse ev'ry vote the board passes; And yet, though the taxes we pay, the paupers in hordes still infest us, They'll not go to the workhouse, they say, they'd just as soon enter a pesthouse, No wonder we've shocking bad times.
IV.
Some say that provisions are cheap—so they are; but when none we can buy, Pigs, poultry, and oxen, and sheep, are as far from our reach as when high; Where all this will end I can't say, so I may as well wind up my rhymes; But this I'll observe, by the way, that I ne'er saw such shocking bad times, I ne'er saw such shocking bad times.
# The Spirit of the Nation/The Songs of the Nation

THE SONGS OF THE NATION.
Air—"Sheela na Guira."
I.
Ye songs that resound in the homes of our island— That wake the wild echoes by valley and highland— That kindle the cold with their forefather's story— That point to the ardent the pathway of glory!— Ye send to the banish'd, O'er ocean's far wave, The hope that had vanish'd— The vow of the brave; And teach each proud despot of loftiest station, To pale at your spell-word, sweet songs of The Nation!
II.
Sweet songs! ye reveal, through the vista of ages, Our monarchs and heroes—our minstrels and sages— The pomp of Emania—the glories of Temor, When Erin was free from the Saxon defamer— The green banner flying— The rush of the Gael— The Sassenach dying— His matron's wild wail— These glories forgotten, with magic creation Burst bright at your spell-word, sweet songs of The Nation!
III.
The minstrels who waken these wild notes of freedom, Have hands for green Erin—if Erin should need 'em; And hearts for the wrong'd one, wherever he ranges, From Zembla to Timor—from Shannon to Ganges— And hate for his foeman, All hatred above— And love for dear woman, Seraphical love— But chiefest the fair ones whose eyes' animation Is the spell-word that prompts the sweet songs of The Nation!
# The Spirit of the Nation/The Trampled Land

THE TRAMPLED LAND.
I.
I saw a nation sunk in grief— I heard a nation's wail; And their deep-toned misery was caught By every passing gale. Want guarded every peasant's door, Swept each mechanic's board; Yet the earth had teemed—but only teemed To swell the rich man's hoard; ​I saw the nobles of that land In pride and pomp roll by; And I read contempt for the poor man's lot, In every haughty eye.
II.
I heard the infant's cry for bread— The mother's piercing shriek; And I marked the trace of famine in The father's sunken cheek. I saw him cast his eye to heaven With a stern and sad appeal; And I knew he felt that anguish deep Which the hopeless only feel. Yet still the nobles of that land In pride and pomp rolled by; Nor less contempt for the poor man's lot Marked every haughty eye!
III.
The People humbly sued for bread, But their rulers "gave a stone:" And they steeled their sordid hearts and mocked The peasant's dying groan! "Low rents, cheap bread," the people cried— "Untrammel labour's hands!" "Taxed corn, high rents, low wages," sneered The callous ruling bands! And the manlords of that land rolled by To church in pomp and pride! And the people's dying wail despised, And the people's power defied!
IV.
Then madness came upon the land, 'Twas the madness of despair, Unarmed crowds went forth—to beg! With shouts that rent the air! ​And the rulers grinned a ghastly smile Of triumph and delight, As forth their minions came to crush, The weak with armed might; And the landlords of that land surveyed, With bland approving eye, The savage and the ruthless war Of stern monopoly!
V.
Now the council of that nation sits Again in grave divan; But care they aught for liberty, Or for the rights of man? A coxcomb's proclamations claim Discussion fierce and strong; But a starving nation's loud appeals Unheeded pass along! And still the cumberers of the earth Contrive to hold in chains The nerve and sinew of the land Throughout their wide domains.
VI.
And shall this state of thraldom last? Can Heaven's approving eye, Through clouds of blood look placidly On such vile tyranny? No! brethren, no; 'twere blasphemy These doubtings to maintain. Up! right your wrongs, let despots sink, Be freemen once again. Go! tell the locusts that the earth Shall yield the food you crave, Or * * * * * Shall * * * *
# The Spirit of the Nation/The Union

THE UNION.
I.
How did they pass the Union? By perjury and fraud; By slaves, who sold for place or gold Their country and their God; ​By all the savage acts that yet Have followed England's track: The pitchcap and the bayonet, The gibbet and the rack. And thus was passed the Union By Pitt and Castlereagh; Could Satan send for such an end More worthy tools than they?
II.
How thrive we by the Union? Look round our native land: In ruined trade and wealth decayed See slavery's surest brand; Our glory as a nation gone— Our substance drained away— A wretched province trampled on, Is all we've left to-day. Then curse with me the Union, That juggle foul and base, The baneful root that bore such fruit Of ruin and disgrace.
III.
And shall it last, this Union, To grind and waste us so? O'er hill and lea, from sea to sea, All Ireland thunders, No! Eight million necks are stiff to bow— We know our might as men— We conquered once before, and now We'll conquer once again; And rend the cursed Union, And fling it to the wind— And Ireland's laws in Ireland's cause Alone our hearts shall bind!
# The Spirit of the Nation/The Song of Ulster

THE SONG OF ULSTER.
I.
Gray mountains of Mourne—green vallies of Down— Fair uplands of Farney and true Innishowen— From your homesteads have come in the day of our need, The stoutest of champions for country or creed— The Men of the North.
II.
When darkness and danger encompassed our Isle, And the Timid made cause with the Venal and Vile— While her hope was the least, and her hazard the most, Still, firm as Slievegullion, she found at their post The Men of the North.
III.
The first to resist the false Saxon were they, The latest to bend to his tyrannous sway, In his weakness a goad—in his triumph a curb— Bear witness Blackwater, Clontibret, Benburb, For the Men of the North.
IV.
Oh! proud was the day, when the charge of the Gael, Like a thunder-storm scattered the sons of the Pale; And the strength of the Saxon, like stubble went down Before the strong septs of the cross and the crown, The Men of the North.
V.
And what, though our God, to whom glory and praise! Hath not left to their children the spoil of those days; Why, more bright be our honour—more goodly our gain, That he gave gallant hearts to achieve it again To the Men of the North.
VI.
For tell us, ye band of the trusted and true— Ye citizen-soldiers of stern Eighty-Two, Who lent you the power to resist and o'ercome The Foe from without and the Tyrant at home? 'Twas the Men of the North.
VII.
And when the dark day of oppression began, And Power upon reason and truth set her ban, All threats and seductions they stoutly withstood Till the cause of their country they sealed with their blood— These men of the North.
VIII.
But deep as those epochs of glory we prize, A prouder and dearer is yet to arise; And we'll shrine it, Benburb and Dungannon, above, In the temple of national honour and love, The Men of the North.
IX.
'Tis that day, when the strength of the slumbering North, Again for the land of our love shall come forth; And speaking stout words, which stout hearts will maintain, Proclaim our fair country a nation again, The Men of the North.
X.
For the waters of Bann are unruffled and slow, And as coldly and calmly our pulses may flow; But as soon shall you roll back its fathomless tide As turn from their slow-chosen purpose aside The Men of the North.
XI.
Then, oh! when green Erin her trust and her might, Shall summon to battle for God and our right— For the home of our hearts, or the freedom of man, May one gallant phalanx still march in the van— The Men of the North.
# The Sea (Cornwall)

* "The Sea" in The Sentimental Songster (1840s)
* "The Sea" in Seraphim (1840s)
# The Sea-song of Gafran

* The Sea-song of Gavran, in Poetical Remains of the Late Mrs Hemans, 1836.
* The Sea-song of Gafran, in Poems of Felicia Hemans, Blackwood, 1872.
This was originally a song in Welsh Melodies, Volume 2, 1822.