OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 13/From John Boyle to Jonathan Swift - 5

FROM THE EARL OF ORRERY.
I AM engaged to morrow at dinner; but I will try to put it off, and send you word in the morning ​whether I can meet Mrs. Whiteway or not. To show you what a generous rival I am (now I am sure of the lady) I should be glad to carry down a letter from you to my mistress on Friday. She never drinks any wine; but she told me the other day, to do you good, she would drink a bottle. I wish you would insist on it, that I might see whether wine would alter the sweetness of her temper, for I am sure nothing else can.
I rejoice to find there is some little amendment in your health, and I pray God to increase it.
# The Venetian Bracelet, The Lost Pleiad, A History of the Lyre, and Other Poems/The Wreath

THE WREATH.
Nay, fling not down those faded flowers,  Too late they're scatter'd round; And violet and rose-leaf lie  Together on the ground.
How carefully this very morn  Those buds were cull'd and wreathed! And, mid the cloud of that dark hair,  How sweet a sigh they breathed!
And many a gentle word was said
 Above their morning dye,— How that the rose had touch'd thy cheek,  The violet thine eye.
Methinks, if but for memory,  I should have kept these flowers; Ah! all too lightly does thy heart  Dwell upon vanish'd hours.
Already has thine eager hand  Stripp'd yonder rose-hung bough; The wreath that bound thy raven curls  Thy feet are on it now.
That glancing smile, it seems to say  "Thou art too fanciful: What matters it what roses fade,  While there are more to cull?"
Ay, I was wrong to ask of thee  Such gloomy thoughts as mine: Thou in thy Spring, how shouldst thou dream  Of Autumn's pale decline?
Young, lovely, loved,—oh! far from thee  Life's after-dearth and doom; Long ere thou learn how memory clings  To even faded bloom!
# The Venetian Bracelet, The Lost Pleiad, A History of the Lyre, and Other Poems/The Nameless Grave

THE NAMELESS GRAVE.
A nameless grave,—there is no stone  To sanctify the dead: O'er it the willow droops alone,  With only wild flowers spread.
"Oh, there is nought to interest here,  No record of a name, A trumpet call upon the ear,  High on the roll of fame.
"I will not pause beside a tomb  Where nothing calls to mind Aught that can brighten mortal gloom,  Or elevate mankind;—
"No glorious memory to efface  The stain of meaner clay; No intellect whose heavenly trace  Redeem'd our earth:—away!"
Ah, these are thoughts that well may rise  On youth's ambitious pride; But I will sit and moralise  This lowly stone beside.
Here thousands might have slept, whose name  Had been to thee a spell, To light thy flashing eyes with flame,—  To bid thy young heart swell.
Here might have been a warrior's rest,  Some chief who bravely bled, With waving banner, sculptured crest,  And laurel on his head.
That laurel must have had its blood,  That blood have caused its tear,— Look on the lovely solitude—  What! wish for warfare here!
A poet might have slept,—what! he  Whose restless heart first wakes Its life-pulse into melody,  Then o'er it pines and breaks?—
He who hath sung of passionate love,  His life a feverish tale:— Oh! not the nightingale, the dove  Would suit this quiet vale.
See, I have named your favourite two,—  Each had been glad to crave Rest 'neath this turf's unbroken dew,  And such a nameless grave!
# The Venetian Bracelet, The Lost Pleiad, A History of the Lyre, and Other Poems/Warning

WARNING.
Pray thee, maiden, hear him not! Take thou warning by my lot; Read my scroll, and mark thou all I can tell thee of thy thrall. Thou hast own'd that youthful breast Treasures its most dangerous guest; Thou hast own'd that Love is there: Though now features he may wear, Such as would a saint deceive, Win a sceptic to believe, Only for a time that brow, Will seem what 'tis seeming now.
I have said, heart, be content! For Love's power o'er thee is spent. That I love not now, oh true!— I have bade such dreams adieu: Therefore deemest thou my heart Saw them tranquilly depart; That they past, nor left behind Wreck and ruin in my mind. Thou art in the summer hour Of first passion's early power; I am in the autumn day, Of its darkness, and decay. —Seems thine idol now to thee Even as a divinity? Such the faith that I too held; Not the less am I compell'd
All my heart-creed to gainsay, Own my idol gilded clay, And yet pine to dream again What I know is worse than vain. Ay, I did love, and how well, Let thine own fond weakness tell: Still upon the soften'd mood Of my twilight solitude, Still upon my midnight tear, Rises image all too dear; Dark and starry eyes, whose light Make the glory of the night; Brow like ocean's morning foam, For each noble thought a home. Well such temple's fair outline Seem'd the spirit's fitting shrine.
—Is he hero, who hath won Fields we shrink to think upon? Patriot, on whose gifted tongue Senates in their wonder hung? Sage, before whose gifted eyes Nature spreads her mysteries? Bard, to whose charm'd lute is given All that earth can breathe of heaven?— Seems thy lover these to thee? Even more mine seem'd to me. Now, my fond belief is past; Strange, methinks, if thine should last. "Be content, thou lovest not now:" Free, thou sayest,—dream'st thou how? Loathing wouldst thou shun dismay'd Freedom by such ransom paid.
—Girl, for thee I'll lay aside Veil of smiles and mask of pride; Shrowds that only ask of Fate Not to seem so desolate. —I am young,—but age's snow Hides not colder depths below; I am gay,—but such a light Shines upon the grave by night. —Yet mine is a common tale; Hearts soon changed, and vows were frail; Each one blamed the other's deed, Yet both felt they were agreed; Ne'er again might either prove Those sweet fallacies of love. —Still for what so vain I hold Is my wasted heart grown cold.
Can hopes be again believed, When their sweetest have deceived? Can affection's chain be trusted, When its dearest links have rusted? Can life's dreams again be cherish'd, When its dearest ones have perish'd? I know Love will not endure;— Nothing now to me seems sure. —Maiden, by the thousand tears, Lava floods on my first years; By the nights, when burning pain Fed upon my heart and brain; By the wretched days now past, By the weary days to last; Be thou warn'd, for still the same Is Love, beneath whatever name.
Keep thy fond faith like a thing Where Time never change may bring. Vow thee to thine idol's shrine,— Then, maiden! read thy fate in mine.
# The Wanderer (Burney)/Volume 4

THE
WANDERER;
OR,
FEMALE DIFFICULTIES.
BY
THE AUTHOR OF
EVELINA; CECILIA; and CAMILLA.
IN FIVE VOLUMES. VOL. IV.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME, AND BROWN, PATERNOSTER–ROW.
1814.
Book VII.
* Chapter LX.
* Chapter LXI.
* Chapter LXII.
* Chapter LXIII.
* Chapter LXIV.
* Chapter LXV.
* Chapter LXVI.
* Chapter LXVII.
* Chapter LXVIII.
* Chapter LXIX.
* Chapter LXX.
Book VIII.
* Chapter LXXI.
* Chapter LXXII.
* Chapter LXXIII.
* Chapter LXXIV.
* Chapter LXXV.
* Chapter LXXVI.
# The World Factbook (1990)/South Georgia and the South Sandwich Islands

page 286
​South Georgia and the South Sandwich Islands (dependent territory of the UK)
See regional map IV
Geography
Total area: 4,066 km²; land area: 4,066 km²; includes Shag and Clerke Rocks
Comparative area: slightly larger than Rhode Island
Land boundaries: none
Coastline: undetermined
Maritime claims:
    Continental shelf: 200 meters or to depth of exploitation
    Exclusive fishing zone: 200 nm
    Territorial sea: 12 nm
Disputes: administered by the UK, claimed by Argentina
Climate: variable, with mostly westerly winds throughout the year, interspersed with periods of calm; nearly all precipitation falls as snow
Terrain: most of the islands, rising steeply from the sea, are rugged and mountainous; South Georgia is largely barren and has steep, glacier-covered mountains; the South Sandwich Islands are of volcanic origin with some active volcanoes
Natural resources: fish
Land use: 0% arable land; 0% permanent crops; 0% meadows and pastures; 0% forest and woodland; 100% other; largely covered by permanent ice and snow with some sparse vegetation consisting of grass, moss, and lichen
Environment: reindeer, introduced early in this century, live on South Georgia; weather conditions generally make it difficult to approach the South Sandwich Islands; the South Sandwich Islands are subject to active volcanism
Note: the north coast of South Georgia has several large bays, which provide good anchorage
People
Population: no permanent population; there is a small military garrison on South Georgia and the British Antarctic Survey has a biological station on Bird Island; the South Sandwich islands are uninhabited
Government
Long-form name: South Georgia and the South Sandwich Islands (no short-form name)
Type: dependent territory of the UK
Capital: Grytviken Harbour on South Georgia is the chief town
Administrative divisions: none (dependent territory of the UK)
Independence: none (dependent territory of the UK)
Constitution: 3 October 1985
Legal system: English common law
National holiday: Liberation Day, 14 June (1982)
Executive branch: British monarch, commissioner
Legislative branch: none
Judicial branch: none
Leaders: Chief of State—Queen ELIZABETH II (since 6 February 1952), represented by Commissioner William Hugh FULLERTON (since 1988; resident at Stanley, Falkland Islands)
Economy
Overview: Some fishing takes place in adjacent waters. There is a potential source of income from harvesting fin fish and krill. The islands receive income from postage stamps produced in the UK.
Budget: revenues $291,777; expenditures $451,011, including capital expenditures of $NA (FY88 est.)
Electricity: 900 kW capacity; 2 million kWh produced, NA kWh per capita (1989)
Communications
Highways: NA
Ports: Grytviken Harbour on South Georgia
Airports: none
Telecommunications: coastal radio station at Grytviken; no broadcast stations
Defense Forces
Note: defense is the responsibility of the UK
# The World Factbook (1990)/Spratly Islands

page 291
​Spratly Islands
See regional map IX
Geography
Total area: less than 5 km²; land area: less than 5 km²; includes 100 or so islets, coral reefs, and sea mounts scattered over the South China Sea
Comparative area: undetermined
Land boundaries: none
Coastline: 926 km
Maritime claims: undetermined
Disputes: China, Malaysia, the Philippines, Taiwan, and Vietnam claim all or part of the Spratly Islands
Climate: tropical
Terrain: flat
Natural resources: fish, guano; oil and natural gas potential
Land use: 0% arable land; 0% permanent crops; 0% meadows and pastures; 0% forest and woodland; 100% other
Environment: subject to typhoons; includes numerous small islands, atolls, shoals, and coral reefs
Note: strategically located near several primary shipping lanes in the central South China Sea; serious navigational hazard
People
Population: no permanent inhabitants; garrisons
Government
Long-form name: none
Economy
Overview: Economic activity is limited to commercial fishing and phosphate mining. Geological surveys carried out several years ago suggest that substantial reserves of oil and natural gas may lie beneath the islands; commercial exploitation has yet to be developed.
Industries: some guano mining
Communications
Airports: 3 total, 2 usable; none with runways over 2,439 m; 1 with runways 1,220-2,439 m
Ports: none; offshore anchorage only
Defense Forces
Note: approximately 50 small islands or reefs are occupied by China, Malaysia, the Philippines, Taiwan, and Vietnam
# The Wanderings of Oisin and Other Poems/The Stolen Child

The poem was written in 1886 and is considered to be one of Yeats' more notable early poems. The poem is based on Irish legend and concerns faeries beguiling a child to come away with them. Yeats had a great interest in pagan Irish legends about faeries resulting in his publication of Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry in 1888 and Fairy Folk Tales of Ireland in 1892. The places mentioned in the poem are in Sligo where Yeats spent much of his childhood.
The poem reflects the early influence of Romantic literature and Pre-Raphaelite verse.
Where dips the rocky highland Of Sleuth Wood in the lake, There lies a leafy island Where flapping herons wake The drowsy water-rats; There we've hid our faery vats, Full of berries And of reddest stolen cherries. Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wave of moonlight glosses The dim grey sands with light, Far off by furthest Rosses We foot it all the night, Weaving olden dances, Mingling hands and mingling glances Till the moon has taken flight; To and fro we leap And chase the frothy bubbles, While the world is full of troubles And is anxious in its sleep. Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wandering water gushes From the hills above Glen-Car, In pools among the rushes That scarce could bathe a star, We seek for slumbering trout And whispering in their ears Give them unquiet dreams; Leaning softly out From ferns that drop their tears Over the young streams. Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Away with us he's going, The solemn-eyed: He'll hear no more the lowing Of the calves on the warm hillside Or the kettle on the hob Sing peace into his breast, Or see the brown mice bob Round and round the oatmeal-chest. For he comes, the human child, To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, From a world more full of weeping than he can understand.
# The Wanderings of Oisin and Other Poems/The Song of the Happy Shepherd

The woods of Arcady are dead, And over is their antique joy; Of old the world on dreaming fed; Grey Truth is now her painted toy; Yet still she turns her restless head: But O, sick children of the world, Of all the many changing things In dreary dancing past us whirled, To the cracked tune that Chronos sings, Words alone are certain good. Where are now the warring kings, Word be-mockers? — By the Rood, Where are now the warring kings? An idle word is now their glory, By the stammering schoolboy said, Reading some entangled story: The kings of the old time are dead; The wandering earth herself may be Only a sudden flaming word, In clanging space a moment heard, Troubling the endless reverie.
Then nowise worship dusty deeds, Nor seek, for this is also sooth, To hunger fiercely after truth, Lest all thy toiling only breeds New dreams, new dreams; there is no truth Saving in thine own heart. Seek, then, No learning from the starry men, Who follow with the optic glass The whirling ways of stars that pass— Seek, then, for this is also sooth, No word of theirs— the cold star-bane Has cloven and rent their hearts in twain, And dead is all their human truth. Go gather by the humming sea Some twisted, echo-harbouring shell. And to its lips thy story tell, And they thy comforters will be. Rewording in melodious guile Thy fretful words a little while, Till they shall singing fade in ruth And die a pearly brotherhood; For words alone are certain good: Sing, then, for this is also sooth.
I must be gone: there is a grave Where daffodil and lily wave, And I would please the hapless faun, Buried under the sleepy ground, With mirthful songs before the dawn. His shouting days with mirth were crowned; And still I dream he treads the lawn, Walking ghostly in the dew, Pierced by my glad singing through, My songs of old earth’s dreamy youth: But ah! she dreams not now; dream thou! For fair are poppies on the brow: Dream, dream, for this is also sooth.
# The Wanderings of Oisin and Other Poems/The Madness of King Goll

I sat on cushioned otter-skin: My word was law from Ith to Emain, And shook at Inver Amergin The hearts of the world-troubling seamen, And drove tumult and war away From girl and boy and man and beast; The fields grew fatter day by day, The wild fowl of the air increased; And every ancient Ollave said, While he bent down his fading head. ‘He drives away the Northern cold.’ They will not hush, the leaves a-flutter round me, the beech leaves old.
I sat and mused and drank sweet wine; A herdsman came from inland valleys, Crying, the pirates drove his swine To fill their dark-beaked hollow galleys. I called my battle-breaking men And my loud brazen battle-cars From rolling vale and rivery glen; And under the blinking of the stars Fell on the pirates by the deep, And hurled them in the gulph of sleep: These hands won many a torque of gold. They will not hush, the leaves a-flutter round me, the beech leaves old.
But slowly, as I shouting slew And trampled in the bubbling mire, In my most secret spirit grew A whirling and a wandering fire: I stood: keen stars above me shone, Around me shone keen eyes of men: I laughed aloud and hurried on By rocky shore and rushy fen; I laughed because birds fluttered by, And starlight gleamed, and clouds flew high, And rushes waved and waters rolled. They will not hush, the leaves a-flutter round me, the beech leaves old.   And now I wander in the woods When summer gluts the golden bees, Or in autumnal solitudes Arise the leopard-coloured trees; Or when along the wintry strands The cormorants shiver on their rocks; I wander on, and wave my hands, And sing, and shake my heavy locks. The grey wolf knows me; by one ear I lead along the woodland deer; The hares run by me growing bold. They will not hush, the leaves a-flutter round me, the beech leaves old.
I came upon a little town That slumbered in the harvest moon, And passed a-tiptoe up and down, Murmuring, to a fitful tune, How I have followed, night and day, A tramping of tremendous feet, And saw where this old tympan lay Deserted on a doorway seat, And bore it to the woods with me; Of some inhuman misery Our married voices wildly trolled. They will not hush, the leaves a-flutter round me, the beech leaves old.
I sang how, when day’s toil is done, Orchil shakes out her long dark hair That hides away the dying sun And sheds faint odours through the air: When my hand passed from wire to wire It quenched, with sound like falling dew The whirling and the wandering fire; But lift a mournful ulalu, For the kind wires are torn and still, And I must wander wood and hill Through summer’s heat and winter’s cold. They will not hush, the leaves a-flutter round me, the beech leaves old.
# The Wanderings of Oisin and Other Poems/The Meditation of the Old Fisherman

You waves, though you dance by my feet like children at play, Though you glow and you glance, though you purr and you dart; In the Junes that were warmer than these are, the waves were more gay, When I was a boy with never a crack in my heart.
The herring are not in the tides as they were of old; My sorrow! for many a creak gave the creel in the cart That carried the take to Sligo town to be sold, When I was a boy with never a crack in my heart.
And ah, you proud maiden, you are not so fair when his oar Is heard on the water, as they were, the proud and apart, Who paced in the eve by the nets on the pebbly shore, When I was a boy with never a crack in my heart.
# The Wanderings of Oisin and Other Poems/The Sad Shepherd

There was a man whom Sorrow named his Friend, And he, of his high comrade Sorrow dreaming, Went walking with slow steps along the gleaming And humming Sands, where windy surges wend: And he called loudly to the stars to bend From their pale thrones and comfort him, but they Among themselves laugh on and sing alway: And then the man whom Sorrow named his friend Cried out, Dim sea, hear my most piteous story.! The sea Swept on and cried her old cry still, Rolling along in dreams from hill to hill. He fled the persecution of her glory And, in a far-off, gentle valley stopping, Cried all his story to the dewdrops glistening. But naught they heard, for they are always listening, The dewdrops, for the sound of their own dropping. And then the man whom Sorrow named his friend Sought once again the shore, and found a shell, And thought, I will my heavy story tell Till my own words, re-echoing, shall send Their sadness through a hollow, pearly heart; And my own talc again for me shall sing, And my own whispering words be comforting, And lo! my ancient burden may depart. Then he sang softly nigh the pearly rim; But the sad dweller by the sea-ways lone Changed all he sang to inarticulate moan Among her wildering whirls, forgetting him.
# The Wanderings of Oisin and Other Poems/To an Isle in the Water

Shy one, shy one, Shy one of my heart, She moves in the firelight Pensively apart.
She carries in the dishes, And lays them in a row. To an isle in the water With her would I go.
She carries in the candles, And lights the curtained room, Shy in the doorway And shy in the gloom;
And shy as a rabbit, Helpful and shy. To an isle in the water With her would I fly.
# The Waning Moon

* "The Waning Moon" in The Complete Poetical Works of Percy Bysshe Shelley (1914), edited by Thomas Hutchinson
* "The Moon" in the Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1900 (1931), edited by Arthur Quiller-Couch
* "The Moon" in the Oxford Book of English Verse 1250-1918 (1940), edited by Arthur Quiller-Couch
# The Wanderings of Oisin and Other Poems/The Indian Upon God

I passed along the water’s edge below the humid trees, My spirit rocked in evening light, the rushes round my knees, My spirit rocked in sleep and sighs; and saw the moorfowl pace All dripping on a grassy slope, and saw them cease to chase Each other round in circles, and heard the eldest speak: Who holds the world between His bill and made us strong or weak Is an undying moorfowl, and He lives beyond the sky. The rains are from His dripping wing, the moonbeams from His eye. I passed a little further on and heard a lotus talk: Who made the world and ruleth it, He hangeth on a stalk, For I am in His image made, and all this tinkling tide Is but a sliding drop of rain between His petals wide. A little way within the gloom a roebuck raised his eyes Brimful of starlight, and he said: The Stamper of the Skies, He is a gentle roebuck; for how else, I pray, could He Conceive a thing so sad and soft, a gentle thing like me? I passed a little further on and heard a peacock say: Who made the grass and made the worms and made my feathers gay, He is a monstrous peacock, and He waveth all the night His languid tail above us, lit with myriad spots of light.
# The Wanderings of Oisin and Other Poems/The Indian to his Love

The island dreams under the dawn And great boughs drop tranquillity; The peahens dance on a smooth lawn, A parrot sways upon a tree, Raging at his own image in the enamelled sea.
Here we will moor our lonely ship And wander ever with woven hands, Murmuring softly lip to lip, Along the grass, along the sands, Murmuring how far away are the unquiet lands:
How we alone of mortals are Hid under quiet boughs apart, While our love grows an Indian star, A meteor of the burning heart, One with the tide that gleams, the wings that gleam and dart,
The heavy boughs, the burnished dove That moans and sighs a hundred days: How when we die our shades will rove, When eve has hushed the feathered ways, With vapoury footsole by the water’s drowsy blaze.
# The Wreath

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "The Wreath."
* 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.
* A Wreath, a poem by George Herbert
* The Wreath, a metrical tale from The Golden Violet by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
* The Wreath, a poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
* The Wreath, a poem by Dora Sigerson Short, versions
* The Wreath, a poem by Albert Henry Wratislaw
# The Wreath (Shorter)

“Here on my path by some hard fate struck down”
* Shorter, Dora Sigerson (1918), "The Wreath" in The Sad Years
* Shorter, Dora Sigerson (1922), "The Wreath" in The Tricolour: Poems of the Irish Revolution
# The Wreck (Felicia Hemans)

* The Wreck, in The Literary Souvenir, 1826.
* The Wreck, from The League of the Alps, and Other Poems, 1826, Boston.