OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/Hope (Sainte-Beuve)

HOPE.
TO MY FRIEND FERDINAND D——.
SAINTE-BEUVE.
Ce soleil-ci n'est pas le véntable; Je m'attends à mieux.—Ducis.
When winter's last reflections lie Upon the front of leafless woods, When still the north-east wind is high, Whistling and thundering, loth to die, And snows still sheet the solitudes;
Sudden a warm, warm breath is felt, That fills the soul with0 love and awe; Sudden one morn the vapours melt, And on the ice is seen a belt, A band, that ushers in the thaw.
Then to the sun the snows exhale, The soil gets soft and seems to heave; And Nature tries her marriage veil In secret, like a virgin pale While yet far off the wedding eve.
At first, unseen, the green blade peeps In furrows high-ridged, straight and long;
On old gnarled trunks the fresh sap creeps; And on the mossy rock up leaps The cress as if it feared no wrong.
The ivy on the walls appears, Walls that have lost their snowy crest; No leaves as yet—the forest rears Now only their bright pioneers, Blossoms and sprouts by winds carest.
Water no longer dormant lies, The torrent frozen long and fast Trickles adown the hill, and tries Freer to flow, like tears from eyes Of mourners whose despair is past.
Birds! do not sing the golden morn, The morn of blessed, blessed spring! Flowers! haste not eager to be born! Winter may yet have days forlorn; In patience wait: the hour shall ring.
Thus, thus in age, when near our goal, We feel from earth-ties almost free, Away the vapours sometimes roll, And spite its vision weak, the soul Has glimpses of Eternity!
A faint reflection, far, obscure, Of brighter suns,—a sparkle pale From the life-fountain's column pure, A vague dawn, but the herald sure Of that bright Spring that shall not fail.
# A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/Dormez, Dormez (Amédée de Beauplan)

DORMEZ, DORMEZ.
AMÉDÉE DE BEAUPLAN.
Here shall no cares molest, The place seems hallowed and blest, And invites thee awhile to rest; May the voice of the waters be, With Philomel's, thy lullaby. Sleep, my darling, sleep, I shall wake a watch to keep,— Sleep, oh sleep; I shall wake, a watch to keep.
In the midst of these forests vast, If the shadows the thick trees cast, Trouble thy peace with the past, Chase that funereal fear, Think that thy friend is near. Sleep, my darling, sleep; I shall wake, a watch to keep.
Softly thine eyelids close, More low, more slow, my music flows, Enjoy a sweet repose! Then waken from a charming dream, With mornings earliest gleam. Sleep, my darling, sleep; I shall wake, a watch to keep.
# A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/Fantasy (Gérard de Nerval)

FANTASY
GÉRARD DE NERVAL.
There is an air for which I'd freely change All Weber's, Mozart's, and Rossini's spells: An old, old air, that of some sorrow tells— Sad, fascinating, endless, weird, and strange,
Each time I hear that air my soul is borne Back through the vista of two hundred years: Reigns 'Louis Treize'—and in my sight appears A hill-side green, where fading sunbeams mourn.
Then suddenly a noble castle towers— Brick, with stone fretwork, and red glass that glows, Girt by a park, through which a river flows, Bent over by innumerable ferns and flowers.
And then a lady at a window high, Fair, with dark eyes, in which a tear I trace— Oh, is it in my dreams I've seen that face? Or have I ever lived in times gone by?
# A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/Flytfaglarne (Xavier Marmier)

FLYTFAGLARNE.
X. MARMIER.
Behold the birds; they go away, They leave the countries of the North For foreign regions green and gay. Hark! On the air their songs break forth! Where dost Thou send us, God, they cry, Oh whither wouldst thou have us fly?
We leave the Scandinavian soil, Our birth-place dear, with bitter grief! We were so happy here; with toil Upon the limes in flower and leaf We had our nests built; and the wind The perfumed boughs swung to and fro; And now we must leave all behind; And speed,—ah, where? we little know.
Night in the forests was so fair, With her rose—crown and locks of gold! We closed our eyes, but sleep was rare, Night's beauty was so manifold! And then with songs we hailed afar The Morning's prancing steeds and car.
The green tree threw its branches wide Above the turf and trembling rose, And dewdrops shed, with pearls that vied, Pearls that on beauty's neck repose. Now all is changed. A skeleton The oak appears; the storms affray; Light breezes and the rose are gone, And snows hide all the wealth of May.
How can we stay much longer here? Each day the sun becomes more pale, The dim horizon more austere, And earth more dreary in her mail. God gave us wings and made us free; Hail, waves tempestuous of the sea!
Thus sang the wildbirds as they fled. They gained a fairer country soon, Where clustering vines the elmtrees wed, And jasmines smile beneath the moon, And rivers murmur under boughs Of myrtles and of olives green, And forests smooth their sombre brows To hear sweet songs from throats unseen.
When earthly happiness shall fade And change into a long regret, When sorrow shall the prospect shade, And hope, e'en hope the star shall set, When autumn winds shall doleful sigh, Grieve not, poor soul: look up on high.
Beyond the seas another land, A fairer land than that they knew,
Welcomed of birds the timid band, That wist not, poor things, where they flew. Beyond the tomb there is a home Where morning beams for ever shine, Where that which troubles cannot come, And tears are wiped, and none repine.
# A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/Fragment of a Jacobite Lay (Ferdinand de Gramont)

FRAGMENT OF A JACOBITE LAY.
LE COMTE F. DE GRAMONT.
Montrose, Claverhouse, where are your people all? Have I not seen, down there, your standards tall Girt by the glittering claymores of your bands? No, the last combat has not yet been lost, The earth shall shake again, and swords be crossed Hark! 'Tis the pibroch ringing o'er the lands.
Alas! It was the winds the echoes stirred, Across the thickets 'twas the passing herd Guarded by herdsman slow and taciturn. And of our sacred dead the moss-grown graves Gather around them but a band of slaves, Or of nocturnal spectres frowning stern.
Gone are the heroes, all, in battle slain, Those valiant Scotchmen shall not wake again! Claverhouse, Montrose, sleep both in the Lord. Hope there is none, yet believe, O my king, His last drop of blood thy servant would wring For thee, like his sires, who died on the sword.
# A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/France, à l'Heure où tu te Prosternes (Les Châtiments, Victor Hugo)

FRANCE, À L'HEURE OÙ TU TE PROSTERNES.
VICTOR HUGO.
(Les Châtiments.)
France! at the hour when thou bow'st down, The tyrant's foot upon thy head! A voice shall ring from caverns brown, At which the chained joy-tears shall shed.
The exile standing on the shore, And looking at the star and wave, Shall speak as prophets spake of yore, Whom God a fearless puissance gave.
And then, his menaces of might, Lightnings from east to west unrolled, Shall pass athwart the sullen night, Like glaves that unseen fingers hold.
Tremble, O mountain, to thy breast, Deep-veined with marble, towering high! Shiver, O tree with lofty crest, To hear the words when they whirl by.
They'll have the trumpet's lofty sound, The shriek that makes the ravens cower, The still small breath, on graveyard mound, That stirs the humble grass and flower.
'Shame to the Tyrant!' they shall shout, 'Shame to the vile, vile homicide!' And weakest souls shall round about Gather like warriors brave and tried.
Upon the race transforming now The words shall like a storm-cloud wheel, And if the living hide their brow, The dead shall wake with fire and steel.
# A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/Dost Thou Remember, Mary? (Philippe Dumanoir)

DOST THOU REMEMBER, MARY?
PHILIPPE DUMANOIR.
Dost thou remember, Mary, Our childhood on the green? Our gay sports in the meadows? I then was but fifteen. The dance on grass, like velvet, It cheered our leisure hours; That time hath passed for ever, The time of joy and flowers.
Dost thou remember, dearest, The evening in the glen? When first thou saidst, 'I love thee!' I was but twenty then. Both happy, both in blushes, Ah day! all days above; That time hath passed for ever, The thrilling time of love.
Dost thou remember, Mary, The war-time and thy fear, When I joined my country's banners? 'Twas in my thirtieth year. The echoes of the trumpet Made soldiers of us all; That time I now regret too, And would e'en that recall.
Dost thou remember, loveliest, The ties that bound thee fast, The holiest ties—a mother's, When my thirtieth year had past? The tumult of that revel Still rings within my heart; A happy time—Life's autumn, Ah! why should it depart?
Whilst thus I sigh, my Mary, Thine eyes are bending down; Afraid they seem to tell me That our best of days have flown. My lips in vain lament them, But though the zest be o'er, To call them back is pleasure, Those days that are no more.
# A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/Gather the Rosebuds while Ye May (Anonymous)

GATHER THE ROSEBUDS WHILE YE MAY.
ANONYMOUS.
Said the mother Good-Weather, To her girls as she parted, Now be happy together As ye dance merry-hearted; Know, sweet flowers of delight, Born in spring, like the rose, In summer fade quite, And in winter it snows. At fifteen is the chance For such as would dance.
At twenty I thought Love was most charming, But in his net caught, My case was alarming. A tyrant is Love, And he holds us while dying, As the hawk holds the dove, 'Tis all sighing and crying. At fifteen is the chance For such as would dance.
Amusement and Laughter Reigned at my marriage, But I learned soon after My bliss to disparage.
With a husband oft grumbling, And imps howling free, 'Twas bewildering and humbling, Could the dance then suit me? At fifteen is the chance For such as would dance.
Time made me, alas! An old grandmother, Things once at that pass All pleasure's a bother. One coughs often in talking, One reclines in a chair, One trembles in walking, One's partner is Care. At fifteen is the chance For such as would dance.
# A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/Dante (Auguste Barbier)

DANTE.
AUGUSTE BARBIER.
Dante, old Ghibelin! when I see only in passing The plaster white and dull of this mask so puissant That Art has bequeathed us of thy features majestic, I cannot help feeling a slight shudder, O poet! So strongly the hand of genius and that of misfortune Have imprinted upon them the dark seal of sorrow. Under the narrow cap that on thine ears closely presses, Is it Time's mark, or the furrow of thought and of vigils That traverses thy forehead with laborious indenture? Was it in fields of exile in thy dark degradation That thy mouth closed thus tightly, as after deep curses? Thy last thought, is it in this smile sinister apparent— The smile that Death on thy lips has nailed with his fingers? Ah! Disdain suits well the mouth of a man such as Dante, For the daylight dawned on him in a city most ardent, And his natal pavement was made of flint and of gravel That tore a long time the soles of his feet ever restless. Dante saw like us, daily, human passions in conflict Roll around him with fortunes strange, sudden, and diverse; He saw the citizens cut each other's throats in madness; The parties crushed, spring up again one after another;
He beheld on the scaffold the torch applied to the victims; He saw during thirty years pass of crime the wild surges; And the word 'Fatherland' flung to the winds of all quarters Without profit for the people or the cause of fair freedom. O Dante Alighieri of Florence! Poet immortal! I understand to-day thy sufferings poignant and deathful! O lover of Beatrice,—to exile condemned from thy country, I understand that eye hollow, and that gaunt forehead wrinkled, The disgust of the things of this world, the terrible heartache Endless—the hatred profound and all but eternal, That in whipping up thy humours made thee atrocious, And flooded thy pen and thy heart with bitterness savage. Thus, after the manners of thy town, manners long vanished, Artist, thou paintedst a canvas that holds us still spellbound, A picture of perversity—of the loosed human passions, With such energy, such grandeur, such truth, and such courage, That little children who saw thee by day in Ravenna, Traversing some plain lonely, or some street in the distance, Cried out in contemplating thy brow livid and clouded, 'Lo! lo! The man that comes back from the regions infernal!'
# A Sheaf Gleaned in French Fields/Greece (Pierre Lebrun)

GREECE.
PIERRE LEBRUN.
In the sweet vale where Lacedernon stood, Not far from the Eurotas, where the stream, Working its channel through some ruins old Of tumbled columns, hides its silver line Beneath the laurel-roses,—oh, regard! Here, here is Greece, and in a picture all.
A woman stands, of beauty ravishing, With naked feet, and with her fingers works A wretched spindle, with a common reed For distaff, and like flakes of dazzling snow The cotton spread around her; near her see A herdsman of Amyelée with his crook, In a short tunic that recalls to mind The shepherds of a bas-relief antique. Led by a charming instinct, without art, He leans against a white, white marble vase Half overturned, as in the solemn days Of Hyacinthus' worship, and his brow Is still encircled with the sacred flowers. Thus diademed in the shadow, with surprise He scans three travellers from Europe. These Sit upon mossy stones beneath an oak Beside the road. Upon a palfrey borne A Moslem woman passes, with her eyes
Flashing disdainful underneath her veil; A Negro follows, bearing in her suit Her favourite partridge in its cage of gold. Then comes an Aga in his gorgeous dress Rapidly riding. Sombre and severe His look. The thunderous gallop of his steed Raises a dust-cloud, and his silver arms, Struck by the sunbeams, through the olive groves Send lightning scintillations near and far. He darts at us a scrutinising glance As he rides past, while thoughtfully I muse— Lo, here is Sparta, here is Greece entire, A slave, a tyrant, ruins and bright flowers!
# A Dictionary of Music and Musicians/Lasserre, Jules

From volume 2 of the work.
[ T. P. H. ]
# A Dictionary of Music and Musicians/Laroche, James

From volume 2 of the work.
[ J. M. ]
# A Dictionary of Music and Musicians/Laroon, J.

From volume 2 of the work.
[ J. M. ]
# A Dictionary of Music and Musicians/Larigot

From volume 2 of the work.
[ E. J. H. ]
# A Dictionary of Music and Musicians/Lassen, Eduard

From volume 2 of the work.
[ G. ]
# A Dictionary of Music and Musicians/Last Judgment, The

From volume 2 of the work.
[ G. ]
# A Dictionary of Music and Musicians/Laub, Ferdinand

From volume 2 of the work.
[ P. D. ]
# A Dictionary of Music and Musicians/Lassalle, Jean

[ A. C. ]
# A Treatise on Painting/Chapter 91

Chap. XCI.—On the Motion of driving any Thing into or drawing it out of the Ground.
He who wishes to pitch a pole into the ground, or draw one out of it, will raise the leg and bend the knee opposite to the arm which acts, in order to balance himself upon the foot that rests, without which he could neither drive in, nor pull out any thing.
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# A Treatise on Painting/Chapter 90

Chap. XC.—Of throwing any Thing with Violence, Plate XV.
A man throwing a dart, a stone, or any thing else with violence, may be represented, chiefly, two different ways; that is, he may be preparing to do it, or the act may be already performed. If you mean to place him in the act of preparation, the inside of the foot upon which he rests will be under the perpendicular line of the pit of the neck; and if it be the right foot, the left shoulder will be perpendicular over the toes of the same foot.
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# A Treatise on Painting/Chapter 93

Chap. XCIII.—The Action of Jumping.
Nature will of itself, and without any reasoning in the mind of a man going to jump, prompt him to raise his arms and shoulders by a sudden motion, together with a great part of his body, and to lift them up high, till the power of the effort subsides. This impetuous motion is accompanied by an instantaneous extension of the body which had bent itself, like a spring or bow, along the back, the joints of the thighs, knees, and feet, and is let off obliquely, that is, upwards and forwards; so that the disposition of the body tending forwards and upwards, makes it describe a great arch when it springs up, which increases the leap.
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# A Treatise on Painting/Chapter 96

Chap. XCVI.—The greatest Twist which a Man can make, in turning to look at himself behind. Plate XVII.
The greatest twist that the body can perform is when the back of the heels and the front of the face are seen at the same time. It is not done without difficulty, and is effected by bending the leg and lowering the shoulder on that side towards which the head turns. The cause of this motion, and also which of the muscles move first and which last, I shall explain in my treatise on anatomy.
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# A Treatise on Painting/Chapter 98

Chap. XCVIII.—Postures of Figures.
Figures that are set in a fixed attitude, are nevertheless to have some contrast of parts. If one arm come before, the other remains still or goes behind. If the figure rest upon one leg, the shoulder on that side will be lower than the other. This is observed by artists of judgment, who always take care to balance the figure well upon its feet, for fear it should ​appear to fall. Because by resting upon one foot, the other leg, being a little bent, does not support the body any more than if it were dead; therefore it is necessary that the parts above that leg should transfer the centre of their weight upon the leg which supports the body.
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# A Treatise on Painting/Chapter 92

Chap. XCII.—Of forcible Motions, Plate XVI.
London Published by J. Taylor High Holborn.
London Published by J. Taylor High Holborn.
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# A Treatise on Painting/Chapter 99

Chap. XCIX.—Of the Gracefulness of the Members.
The members are to be suited to the body in graceful motions, expressive of the meaning which the figure is intended to convey. If it had to give the idea of genteel and agreeable carriage, the members must be slender and well turned, but not lean; the muscles very slightly marked, indicating in a soft manner such as must necessarily appear; the arms, particularly, pliant, and no member in a straight line with any other adjoining member. If it happen, on account of the motion of the figure, that the right hip be higher than the left, make the joint of the shoulder fall perpendicularly on the highest part of that hip; and let that right shoulder be lower than the left. The pit of the neck will always be perpendicular over the middle of the instep of the foot that supports the body. The leg that does not bear will have its knee a little lower than the other, and near the other leg.
In regard to the positions of the head and arms, they are infinite, and for that reason I shall not enter into any detailed rule concerning them; suffice it to say, that they are to be easy and free, graceful, and ​varied in their bendings, so that they may not appear stiff like pieces of wood.
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# A Treatise on Painting/Chapter 94

Chap. XCIV.—Of the three Motions in jumping upwards.
When a man jumps upwards, the motion of the head is three times quicker than that of the heel, before the extremity of the foot quits the ground, and twice as quick as that of the hips; because three angles are opened and extended at the same time: the superior one is that formed by the body at its joint with the thigh before, the second is at the joint of ​the thighs and legs behind, and the third is at the instep before.
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# A Treatise on Painting/Chapter 95

Chap. XCV.—Of the easy Motions of Members.
In regard to the freedom and ease of motions, it is very necessary to observe, that when you mean to represent a figure which has to turn itself a little round, the feet and all the other members are not to move in the same direction as the head. But you will divide that motion among four joints, viz. the feet, the knees, the hips, and the neck. If it rests upon the right leg, the left knee should be a little bent inward, with its foot somewhat raised outward. The left shoulder should be lower than the other, and the nape of the neck turned on the same side as the outward ankle of the left foot, and the left shoulder perpendicular over the great toe of the right foot. And take it as a general maxim, that figures
London Published by J. Taylor High Holborn.
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# A Treatise on Painting/Chapter 97

Chap. XCVII.—Of turning the Leg without the Thigh.
It is impossible to turn the leg inwards or outwards without turning the thigh by the same motion, because the setting in of the bones at the knee is such, that they have no motion but backwards and forwards, and no more than is necessary for walking or kneeling; never sideways, because the form of the bones at the joint of the knee does not allow it. ​If this joint had been made pliable on all sides, as that of the shoulder, or that of the thigh bone with the hip, a man would have had his legs bent on each side as often as backwards and forwards, and seldom or never straight with the thigh. Besides, this joint can bend only one way, so that in walking it can never go beyond the straight line of the leg; it bends only forwards, for if it could bend backwards, a man could never get up again upon his feet, if once he were kneeling; as when he means to get up from the kneeling posture (on both knees), he gives the whole weight of his body to one of the knees to support, unloading the other, which at that time feels no other weight than its own, and therefore is lifted up with ease, and rests his foot flat upon the ground; then returning the whole weight upon that foot, and leaning his hand upon his knee, he at once extends the other arm, raises his head, and straightening the thigh with the body, he springs up, and rests upon the same foot, while he brings up the other.
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# A Naval Biographical Dictionary/Bowyear, George Le Geyt

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​BOWYEAR. (Lieutenant, 1840.)
George Le Geyt Bowyear entered the Navy 2 Dec. 1830; passed his examination in 1836; and was promoted from the Andromeda 26, Capt. Robt. Lambert Baynes, to a Lieutenancy, 19 April, 1840, in the Racehorse 18, Capts. Edw. Alfred John Harris, John Coghlan Fitzgerald, and Edm. Peel, employed on the North America and West India station, where he officiated for some time as First-Lieutenant. He has been serving in the East Indies, since 15 July, 1843, on board the Pilot 16, Capts. Wm. Henry Jervis and Geo. Knyvett Wilson.
# A Naval Biographical Dictionary/Boxer, James Michael

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​BOXER. (Lieutenant, 1840.)
James Michael Boxer entered the Navy 29 Dec. 1827; passed his examination 6 Jan. 1836; and, for his services on the coast of Syria, where he beheld the capture of St. Jean d’Acre, was promoted to the rank of Lieutenant 4 Nov. 1840. He was subsequently appointed, 15 Dec. 1840, to the Vesuvius steamer, Capt. Thos. Henderson, in the Mediterranean – 8 Sept. 1841, as Additional, to the Niagara 20, Capt. Williams Sandom, on the Lakes of Canada, whence he returned in the spring of 1842 – and, 16 Dec. 1843, in the same capacity, to the Illustrious 72, flag-ship of Sir Chas. Adam on the North America and West India station. Lieut. Boxer has been on half-pay since the autumn of 1844.
He married, in 1839, Miss Elizabeth Kington, of Deal, co. Kent. Agents – Hallett and Robinson.