OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 3/Hebrew Melodies/The Wild Gazelle

THE WILD GAZELLE.
I.
The wild gazelle on Judah's hills Exulting yet may bound, And drink from all the living rills That gush on holy ground; Its airy step and glorious eye May glance in tameless transport by:—
II.
A step as fleet, an eye more bright, Hath Judah witnessed there; And o'er her scenes of lost delight Inhabitants more fair. The cedars wave on Lebanon, But Judah's statelier maids are gone!
III.
More blest each palm that shades those plains Than Israel's scattered race; For, taking root, it there remains In solitary grace: It cannot quit its place of birth, It will not live in other earth.
IV.
But we must wander witheringly, In other lands to die; And where our fathers' ashes be, Our own may never lie: Our temple hath not left a stone, And Mockery sits on Salem's throne.
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 3/Impromptu, in Reply to a Friend

IMPROMPTU, IN REPLY TO A FRIEND.
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Variants
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Notes
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# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 3/Hebrew Melodies/The Harp the Monarch Minstrel swept

THE HARP THE MONARCH MINSTREL SWEPT.
I.
The Harp the Monarch Minstrel swept, The King of men, the loved of Heaven! Which Music hallowed while she wept O'er tones her heart of hearts had given— Redoubled be her tears, its chords are riven! It softened men of iron mould, It gave them virtues not their own; No ear so dull, no soul so cold, That felt not—fired not to the tone, Till David's Lyre grew mightier than his Throne!
II.
It told the triumphs of our King, It wafted glory to our God; It made our gladdened valleys ring, The cedars bow, the mountains nod; Its sound aspired to Heaven and there abode! Since then, though heard on earth no more, Devotion and her daughter Love Still bid the bursting spirit soar To sounds that seem as from above, In dreams that day's broad light can not remove.
* ↑ The Harp the Minstrel Monarch swept, The first of men, the loved of Heaven, Which Music cherished while she wept.—[MS. M.]
* ↑ It told the Triumph ——.—[MS. M.]
* ↑ ["When Lord Byron put the copy into my hand, it terminated with this line. This, however, did not complete the verse, and I asked him to help out the melody. He replied, 'Why, I have sent you to Heaven—it would be difficult to go further!' My attention for a few moments was called to some other person, and his Lordship, whom I had hardly missed, exclaimed, 'Here, Nathan, I have brought you down again;' and immediately presented me the beautiful and sublime lines which conclude the melody."—Fugitive Pieces, 1829, p. 33.]
* ↑ It there abode, and there it rings, But ne'er on earth its sound shall be; The prophets' race hath passed away; And all the hallowed minstrelsy— From earth the sound and soul are fled, And shall we never hear again?—[MS. M. erased.]
# The Veil and other poems

An anthology of Walter de la Mare's poetry.
THE VEIL and other POEMS
By WALTER DE LA MARE
New York HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 1922
COPYRIGHT, 1922,
BY
HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OT AMERICA
NOTE
Contents
* page
* The Imp Within3
* The Old Angler5
* The Willow10
* Titmouse11
* The Veil12
* The Fairy in Winter13
* The Flower14
* Before Dawn15
* The Spectre17
* The Voice18
* The Hour-Glass19
* In the Dock20
* The Wreck21
* The Suicide22
* Drugged23
* Who's That?25
* Hospital26
* A Sign28
* Good-Bye30
* The Monologue31
* Awake!34
* Forgiveness35
* The Moth36
* Not That Way37
* page
* Crazed39
* Fog40
* SOTTO VOCE42
* The Imagination's Pride44
* The Wanderers46
* The Corner Stone48
* The Spirit of Air50
* The Unfinished Dream51
* Music54
* Tidings56
* The Son of Melancholy57
* The Quiet Enemy60
* The Familiar61
* Maerchen63
* Gold64
* Mirage65
* Flotsam67
* Mourn'st Thou Now?68
* The Galliass69
* The Decoy70
* Sunk Lyonesse71
* The Chatechism72
* Futility73
* Bitter Waters74
* Who?76
* A Riddle77
* The Owl79
* The Last Coachload80
* An Epitaph84
THE VEIL AND OTHER POEMS
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1956, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 67 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Veil and other poems/An Epitaph

AN EPITAPH
LAST, Stone, a little yet;
And then this dust forget.
But thou, fair Rose, bloom on.
For she who is gone
Was lovely too; nor would she grieve to be
Sharing in solitude her dreams with thee.
# The Veil and other poems/Awake!

AWAKE!
WHY hath the rose faded and fallen, yet these
eyes have not seen?
Why hath the bird sung shrill in the tree—and
this mind deaf and cold?
Why have the rains of summer veiled her flowers
with their sheen
And this black heart untold?
Here is calm Autumn now, the woodlands quake.
And, where this splendour of death lies under the tread,
The spectre of frost will stalk, and a silence make,
And snow's white shroud be spread.
O Self! O self! Wake from thy common sleep!
Fling off the destroyer's net. He hath blinded
and bound thee.
In nakedness sit; pierce thy stagnation, and weep;
Or corrupt in thy grave—all Heaven around thee.
# The Veil and other poems/A Riddle

A RIDDLE
THE mild noon air of Spring again
Lapped shimmering in that sea-lulled lane.
Hazel was budding; wan as snow
The leafless blackthorn was a-blow.
A chaffinch clankt, a robin woke
An eerie stave in the leafless oak.
Green mocked at green; lichen and moss
The rain-worn slate did softly emboss.
From out her winter lair, at sigh
Of the warm South wind, a butterfly
Stepped, quaff'ed her honey; on painted fan
Her labyrinthine flight began.
Wondrously solemn, golden and fair,
The high sun's rays beat everywhere;
Yea, touched my cheek and mouth, as if,
Equal with stone, to me 'twould give
Its light and life.
O restless thought
Contented not. With 'Why' distraught.
Whom asked you then your riddle small?--
'If hither came no man at all
'Through this grey-green, sea-haunted lane,
Would it mere blackened nought remain?
Strives it this beauty and life to express
Only in human consciousness?'
Oh, rather, idly breaks he in
To an Eden innocent of sin;
And, prouder than to be afraid.
Forgets his Maker in the made.
# The Veil and other poems/A Sign

A SIGN
How shall I know when the end of things is coming?
The dark swifts flitting, the drone-bees humming;
The fly on the window-pane bedazedly strumming;
Ice on the waterbrooks their clear chimes dumbing—
How shall I know that the end of things is coming?
The stars in their stations will shine glamorous in
the black;
Emptiness, as ever, haunt the great Star Sack;
And Venus, proud and beautiful, go down to meet
the day,
Pale in phosphorescence of the green sea spray—
How shall I know that the end of things is coming?   Head asleep on pillow; the peewits at their crying;
A strange face in dreams to my rapt phantasma sighing;
Silence beyond words of anguished passion;
Or stammering an answer in the tongue's cold fashion—
How shall I know that the end of things is coming?
Haply on strange roads I shall be, the moorland's
peace around me;
Or counting up a fortune to which Destiny hath
bound me;
Or—Vanity of Vanities—the honey of the Fair;
Or a greybeard, lost to memory, on the cobbles in
my chair—
How shall I know that the end of things is coming?
The drummers will be drumming; the fiddlers at
their thrumming;
Nuns at their beads; the mummers at their mumming;
Heaven's solemn Seraph stoopt weary o'er his summing;
The palsied fingers plucking, the way-worn feet numbling—
And the end of things coming.
# The Vintage/Part 3/Chapter 14

CHAPTER XIV
THE HOUSE ON THE ROAD TO NAUPLIA
"'SULEIMA!' CRIED MITSOS"
​and we do not realize them till the first turbid flood has passed.
The moon had risen before he reached the top of the pass, and, following a strange but overwhelming desire, he pushed on quickly, for he longed to look on the bay again by night. Another hour's quick riding brought him to the head of a ravine which ran straight down to the sea, and at the bottom, lying like the clipping from a silver nail, was the farther edge of the bay, ashine with the risen moon; and when Mitsos saw it his heart was all athirst for home. Gradually, as he went down, the lower hills marched like shadows to the right and left, and between moonsetting and sunrise he stood on the edge of the shelving cove again, where he had brought the fish to land one night, and once again all was still but for a whisper in the dry-tongued reeds and the lisp of sand-quenched ripples. But never again would he and one beside him sit there filled through and through with love, and never again would the man he had loved pass by like the shadow of a hawk on one of those swift, secret errands. Yet, as he had hoped, there still lingered round the place a sweetness of sorrow. Horror had come not here, nor any bloodshed, nor crash of war, and none knew the message the spot held for him, its garnered store on which his heart had fed. Then leaving it, still rounded by the infinite night, he passed on by the white house at the head of the bay, whose sea-wall had been to him the gates of love flung open, and just after sunrise he struck the road on the other side of the water, and three hundred yards off were the whistling poplars by the fountain, and his father's house and the garden-gate, and the grave and memory of his boyhood. The risen sun spun mists out of the night dews and webs of sweet smell from the damp earth. It struck a galaxy of stars from the bur​nished surface of the bay, and from the heart of some bush-bowered bird it drew forth an inimitable song.
So he was come to the gate, where he tied up his horse while he should go inside, yearning to see his father; but as he walked up the path, raising his eyes he saw him already out and working in the vineyard beyond, and he would have passed by and gone to him there when, of a sudden, he stopped, and his heart stopped too.
For the house door was open, and from inside—it seemed at first only his own thoughts made audible—came a voice singing, and it sang:
"Dig we deep among the vines, Give the sweet spring showers a home."
Then came a little feeble cry as from some young thing, and the singing stopped, and a mother's voice, so it seemed, cooed soothing to her baby; and with that Mitsos passed not on to the vineyard, but went in.
Suleima, busied with the child—the "littlest Mitsos," so she told herself—heard not his step till he was in the doorway, but then looked up, thinking it was her father, though earlier than his wont. And with a choking cry, hands outstretched, and a voice from a bursting heart:
"Suleima!" cried Mitsos.
THE END
# The Wikipedia Library-The largest encyclopedia needs a digital library and we are building it/Introduction

​Introduction
"I​ ​have​ ​always​ ​imagined​ ​that​ ​Paradise
will​ ​be​ ​a​ ​kind​ ​of​ ​library."
​​— Jorge​ ​Luis​ ​Borges
Wikipedia​ ​is​ ​positioned​ ​to​ ​become​ ​virtual​ ​front​ ​page​ ​of​ ​every​ ​library​ ​in​ ​the​ ​world​—​a​ ​ubiquitous starting​ ​point​ ​for​ ​public​ ​information​ ​gathering,​ ​a​ ​jumping​ ​off​ ​point​ ​for​ ​deeper​ ​learning​—​and​ ​a natural​ ​ally​ ​of​ ​libraries,​ ​in​ ​partnership​ ​to​ ​complete​ ​a​ ​virtuous​ ​circle​ ​of​ ​research​ ​and​ ​knowledge dissemination.​ ​With​ ​over​ ​45​ ​million​ ​articles​ ​and​ ​40​ ​million​ ​free​ ​images,​ ​Wikipedia​ ​is​ ​a​ ​top-5 global​ ​website:​ ​ ​over​ ​500,000,000​ ​readers​ ​each​ ​month​ ​view​ ​it​ ​a​ ​total​ ​of​ ​8,000​ ​times​ ​per​ ​second. And​ ​Wikipedia’s​ ​readers​ ​don't​ ​stop​ ​their​ ​learning​ ​at​ ​Wikipedia​ ​articles​—​there​ ​are​ ​many indications​ ​that​ ​people​ ​use​ ​Wikipedia​ ​as​ ​a​ ​holistic​ ​research​ ​platform.​ ​A​ ​striking​ ​example​ ​is​ ​that Wikipedia​ ​refers​ ​the​ ​sixth​ ​most​ ​traffic​ ​to​ ​all​ ​CrossRef​ ​DOIs​ ​online.​$^1$.
# The Wild Boar and the Fox

* related authors: Aesop.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
Perry index 224
* "A Boar and a Fox", part of "Fable CCCXIX and CCCXX", translated by Roger L'Estrange, in Fables of Æsop and Other Eminent Mythologists (1692)
* "The Wild Boar and the Fox", translated by George Fyler Townsend, in Three Hundred Æsop's Fables (1887)
* "The Wild Boar and the Fox", translated by Vernon Stanley Jones, in Æsop's fables: A New Translation (1912)
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 Wild Ass and the Tame Ass

Perry index 183
* "A Wild Ass and a Tame", in Fables of Æsop and Other Eminent Mythologists (1692)
* "The Pack-Ass and the Wild Ass", translated by Vernon Stanley Jones, in Æsop's fables: A New Translation (1912)
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 Wild Boar and the Ass

Perry index 484
* "Of the Lyon and of the Aſſe", translated by William Caxton, edited by Joseph Jacobs, in The fables of Aesop, as first printed by William Caxton in 1484 (1484)
* "A Lion and an Aſſe", in Fables of Æsop and Other Eminent Mythologists (1692)
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 Wild Ass and the Lion

Perry index 339; also known as The Lions Share
* "Of the Lyon and of the Cowe of the Goote and of the Sheep", translated by William Caxton, edited by Joseph Jacobs, in The fables of Aesop, as first printed by William Caxton in 1484 (1484)
* "A Lion, an Aſs, &c. a Hunting", in Fables of Æsop and Other Eminent Mythologists (1692)
* "The Wild Ass and the Lion", translated by George Fyler Townsend, in Three Hundred Æsop's Fables (1867)
* "The Lion's Share", translated by Joseph Jacobs, edited by Joseph Jacobs, illustrated by Richard Heighway, in The Fables of Æsop (1894)
* "The Lion and the Wild Ass", translated by Vernon Stanley Jones, in Æsop's fables: A New Translation (1912)
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 Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 18/Letter from Thomas Sheridan to Martha Whiteway - 1

DR. SHERIDAN TO MRS. WHITEWAY.
CAVAN,
YOUR account of the dean gives me much grief. I hope in God he will disappoint all his friends fears, and his enemies hopes. Nothing can be a greater affliction to me than my distance from him; and, what is full as bad, my being so near to one who has been the occasion of it. Very rich folks in my debt have made such apologies for nonpayment, that I now feel for Ireland, but much more for myself, because I was in hopes of being able to make my appearance in Dublin with a good grace — namely, to pay some debts, which I can not.
My poor lady Mountcashell has a right to a visit from me; and thither I will venture for a day and a night — and I will venture to the deanery for another. I could wish the best friend I had in the world (you may guess who I mean) and am sure is so still, would take a little of my advice —— You may depend upon this, it should be all for my own advantage.
Now I have done raving — I must turn my pen, which is my tongue's representative, against you for a while, because I am certain it might be in your power to paint my Siberia so agreeably to the dean, as to send him hither while our good weather lasted — My new kitchen is disappointed; so is my gravel walk; but what is worse, his only favourite, my rib — ​ who dreamed with great pleasure, that he would never come. I am sorry she is disappointed; for I am certain she would run away if he had come — God forgive him for not doing it — I will make all the haste I can out of this Hell; and I hope my friends, (I beg pardon, I mean my friend) will cast about a little for me — if he does not, I will try England, where the predominant phrase is, down with the Irish. I will say no more, but tell you that you are a false mistress; and if you do not behave yourself better, I will choose another. In the mean time God bless you and my dearest friend the dean. I am, notwithstanding all your upbraidings, dear madam, your most obedient humble servant,
THOMAS SHERIDAN.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 18/Letter from Unknown Person to Jonathan Swift - 1

FROM A QUAKER.
WHEN THREE HUNDRED POUNDS WERE OFFERED FOR TAKING UP THE DRAPIER.
"AND the people said unto Saul, shall Jonathan die, who hath wrought this great salvation in ​ Israel? God forbid: As the Lord liveth, there shall not one hair of his head fall to the ground; for he wrought with God this day. So the people rescued Jonathan, that he died not."
* ↑ Another member of this pacifick tribe has testified his esteem for our author in a more substantial manner, if we may be allowed to say, "A solid gammon weighs down empty praise." See p. 266, of this volume.
* ↑ I Sam. chap, xiv, ver. 45.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 18/Letter from Unknown Person to Jonathan Swift - 3

FROM * * * * * *.
SOME people here having flattered me that I have a genius for poetry, and my circumstances a little ​ favouring it, I have resolved to turn my thoughts that way: I have already tried my talent on some little amusements, and have had the pleasure in secret to see them pretty well received; but few here being much conversant in that study, can be proper judges; and as I would not venture my character abroad in the world without the advice of those who have succeeded in it, I thought I could not more properly apply than to you, who have been pretty happy that way. What I mean is, that you would be pleased to furnish me with a theme to try my genius, with what rules you may think necessary. I expect your compliance with this, as it is the first, at least of this nature, you ever had from this place; and as soon as it is finished, you may expect a copy of the performance from, sir, your most humble servant,
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 18/Letter from Unknown Person to Jonathan Swift - 4

FROM AN UNKNOWN GENTLEMAN.
THIS letter is not to return you country thanks for your royal bounty to the army of Parnassus. Every body knows that Lewis the 14th built and endowed the noblest foundation in the world for his invalides; we in imitation have our Greenwich, Chelsea, and Killmainham; and it was but fit that the king of poets should provide for his jingling subjects, that are so maimed and wounded in reputation, they have ​no other way of subsistence. The occasion of this is as follows: This evening two learned gentlemen (for aught I know) laid a wager on the matter following, and referred it to you to decide; viz. Whether Homer or Tacitus deserves most praise on the following account; Homer makes Helen give a character of the men of gallantry and courage upon the wall; but, as if it were not a fine lady's province to describe wisdom in Ulysses, the hero of his second poem, he makes Antenor, the wisest of all Troy, interrupt her. The passage in Tacitus is as follows, viz. On this year died Junia, being the sixtieth after the Philippi battle, wife to Cassius, sister to Brutus, niece to Cato, the images of twenty houses were carried before her, &c. Sed præfulgebant Brutus & Cassius, eo ipso quod imagines eorum non visebantur. These gentlemen beg they may not have apartments assigned them in your observatory. Your most obedient humble servant.
T. L. P.
Be pleased to direct to the reverend Mr. Birch at Roscrea.
* ↑ This letter is endorsed, "whimsical, and little in it."
* ↑ The writer seems to allude to Swift's then designed hospital for idiots and lunaticks.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 18/Letter from Unknown Person to Jonathan Swift - 5

FROM AN UNKNOWN LADY.
CASTLETOWN,
EXCUSE a stranger's address; nothing but the opinion I have of your generosity and humanity could encourage me to lay before you the enclosed poem, being the product of a woman's pen. I see the severe strokes you lay on the faulty part of our sex, from which number I do not pretend to exempt myself; yet venture to desire your judgment of this little unfinished piece, which I send you without giving myself the leisure to correct it, willing that your hand should bestow the last beauties. The muse is my best companion; and if you compassionate the desolate, permit me this satisfaction, since a book and a lonely walk are all the gratifications I afford my senses, though not dulled with years. I must entreat you to throw away two or three lines in answer to this; and beg leave to conceal my name, till I have the honour of writing to you again; which, if you will allow, I shall trouble you with a view ​ of several sketches that I writ occasionally, and will no longer conceal the name of, honoured sir, your most humble servant,
M. M.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 18/Letter from Unknown Person to Jonathan Swift - 2

FROM A QUAKER IN PHILADELPHIA.
CHILAD,
HAVING been often agreeably amused by thy Tale, &c. &c. and being now loading a small ship for Dublin, I have sent thee a gammon, the product of the wilds of America; which perhaps may not be ​ unacceptable at thy table, since it is only designed to let thee know that thy wit and parts are here in esteem at this distance from the place of thy residence. Thou needest ask no questions who this comes from, since I am a perfect stranger to thee.