OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Works of Sir John Suckling in prose and verse/The Lover's Clock

That none beguiled be by Time's quick flowing,
Lovers have in their hearts a clock still going;
For, though time be nimble, his motions
Are quicker
And thicker5 Where love hath his notions.
Hope is the main-spring on which moves desire;
And these do the less wheels, Fear, Joy, inspire:
The balance is Thought, evermore
Clicking10 And striking,
And ne'er giving o'er.
Occasion's the hand which still 's moving round,
Till by it the critical hour may be found;
And, when that falls out, it will strike15 Kisses,
Strange blisses,
And what you best like.
# The Works of Sir John Suckling in prose and verse/There never yet was woman made

1
Nor shall, but to be curst;
And O, that I, fond I, should first,
Of any lover,
This truth at my own charge to other fools discover!5
2
Propriety in love,
Know women's hearts like straw do move,
And what we call
Their sympathy, is but love to jet in general.10
3
And, though we iron find
That never with a loadstone join'd,
'Tis not the iron's fault,
It is because near the loadstone it was never brought.15
4
And laboured to his power,
A new succeeds not to that flower,
But passes by,
'Tis to be thought, the gallant elsewhere loads his thigh.20
5
One buzzes round about,
One lights, one tastes, gets in, gets out;
All all ways use them,
Till all their sweets are gone, and all again refuse them.25
# The Writings of John Greenleaf Whittier

* Volume I.
* Volume II.
* Volume III.
* Volume IV.
* Volume V.
* Volume VI.
* Volume VII.
# The Writings of John Greenleaf Whittier/Volume 1/Among the Hills

AMONG THE HILLS.
This poem, when originally published, was dedicated to Annie Fields, wife of the distinguished publisher, James T. Fields, of Boston, in grateful acknowledgment of the strength and inspiration I have found in her friendship and sympathy. The poem in its first form was entitled The Wife: an Idyl of Bearcamp Water, and appeared in The Atlantic Monthly for January, 1868. When I published the volume Among the Hills, in December of the same year, I expanded the Prelude and filled out also the outlines of the story.
# The Writings of Oscar Wilde

The Writings
of
OSCAR WILDE
Uniform Edition
Illustrated KELLER-FARMER CO. LONDON NEW YORK · 1907 ·
* Volume 1—Poems
* Volume 2—The Picture of Dorian Gray
* Volume 3—A House of Pomegranates; The Happy Prince
* Volume 4—Lord Arthur Savile's Crime; The Portrait of Mr. W. H.
* Volume 5—Lady Windermere's Fan; The Importance of Being Earnest
* Volume 6—A Woman of no Importance; An Ideal Husband
* Volume 7—Salome; The Duchess of Padua; Vera
* Volume 8—De Profundis
* Volume 9—Poems in Prose
* Volume 10—Intentions
* Volume 11—Epigrams
* Volume 12—Essays, Criticisms, and Reviews
* Volume 13—What Never Dies
* Volume 14—Essays and Stories by Lady Wilde
* Volume 15—His Life; With a Critical Estimate of His Writings
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
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 Writings of Oscar Wilde/Volume 1/A Fragment

A FRAGMENT.
[It is not generally known that the poem composed by Mr. Oscar Wilde for the Shakespearean Show Book was originally conceived as an address to Miss Terry on her departure from America. For reasons which we are not at liberty to divulge, it was deemed wiser to reconstruct it and give it in the form of a serenade to an indefinite object of worship. We have, however, been enabled to rescue two of the original stanzas, which will be read with much interest. Mr. Wilde's apostrophe to the " ship that shakes on the desolate sea " has been much criticised; but a little reflection will show us that the expression is eminently appropriate, referring, as it does, to the vibratory and very unpleasant motion of a screw steamship. The rescued stanzas run as follows:]
Beautiful star with the crimson lips
And flagrant daffodil hair,
Come back, come back, in the shaking ships
O'er the much-overrated sea,
To the hearts that are sick for thee
With a woe worse than mal de mer
beautiful star with the crimson lips
And the flagrant daffodil hair.
​O ship that shakes on the desolate sea,
Neath the flag of the wan White Star,
Thou oringest a brighter star with thee
From the land of the Philistine,
Where Niagara's reckoned fine
And Tupper is popular
ship that shakes on the desolate sea,
Neath the flag of the wan White Star.
From The Pall Mall Gazette, 1884.
# The Works of Henry Fielding/The Cat And Fiddle. To The Favourite Cat Of A Fiddling Miser.

THRICE happy cat, if, in thy A— House,
Thou luckily shouldst find a half-starv'd mouse;
The mice, that only for his music stay,
Are proofs that Orpheus did not better play.
Thou too, if danger could alarm thy fears,
Hast to this Orpheus strangely tied thy ears:
For oh! the fatal time will come, when he,
Prudent, will make his fiddle-strings of thee.
# The Works of Henry Fielding/To Euthalia. Written in the year 1728.

BURNING with love, tormented with despair,
Unable to forget or ease his care;
In vain each practis'd art Alexis tries;
In vain to books, to wine or women flies;
Each brings Euthalia's image to his eyes.
In Locke's or Newton's page her learning glows;
Dryden the sweetness of her numbers shews;
In all their various excellence I find
The various beauties of her perfect mind.
How vain in wine a short relief I boast!
Each sparkling glass recalls my charming toast.
To women then successless I repair,
Engage the young, the witty, and the fair.
When Sappho's wit each envious breast alarms, And Rosalinda looks ten thousand charms;
In vain to them my restless thoughts would run;
Like fairest stars, they show the absent sun.
# The Works of Henry Fielding/To Celia

CUPID CALLED TO ACCOUNT.
 LAST night, as my unwilling mind
To rest, dear Celia, I resign'd;
For how should I repose enjoy,
While any fears your breast annoy?
Forbid it, heav'n, that I should be
From any of your troubles free.
O! would kind Fate attend my pray'r, Greedy, I'd give you not a share.
 Last night, then, in a wretched taking,
My spirits toss'd 'twixt sleep and waking,
I dreamt (ah! what so frequent themes
As you and Venus of my dreams!)
That she, bright glory of the sky,
Heard from below her darling's cry:
Saw her cheeks pale, her bosom heave, And heard a distant sound of 'thieve!'
Not so you look when at the ball, Envied you shine, outshining all.
Not so at church, when priest perplex'd, Beholds you, and forgets the text.
 The goddess frighten'd, to her throne
Summon'd the little god her son,
And him in passion thus bespoke; 'Where, with that cunning urchin's look, 'Where from thy colours hast thou stray'd?
'Unguarded left my darling maid?
'Left my lov'd citadel of beauty,
'With none but Sancho upon duty!
'Did I for this a num'rous band
'Of loves send under thy command!
'Bid thee still have her in thy sight,
'And guard her beauties day and night!
'Were not th' Hesperian gardens taken?
'The hundred eyes of Argus shaken? 'What dangers will not men despise,
'T' obtain this much superior prize?
'And didst thou trust what Jove hath charm'd,
'To a poor sentinel unarmed?
'A gun indeed the wretch had got,
'But neither powder, ball, nor shot.
'Come tell me, urchin, tell no lies;
'Where was you hid, in Vince's eyes?
'Did you fair Bennet's breast importune?
'(I know you dearly love a fortune.)' Poor Cupid now began to whine;
'Mamma, it was no fault of mine.
'I in a dimple lay perdue, 'That little guard-room chose by you.
'A hundred Loves (all arm'd) did grace
'The beauties of her neck and face;
'Thence, by a sigh I, dispossessed, 'Was blown to Harry Fielding's breast;
'Where I was forc'd all night to stay, 'Because I could not find my way.
'But did mamma know there what work
'I've made, how acted like a Turk;
'What pains, what torment he endures, 'Which no physician ever cures, 'She would forgive.' The goddess smil'd And gently chuck'd her wicked child, Bid him go back, and take more care,
And give her service to the fair.
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 Henry Fielding/To Celia (Fielding)

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
I HATE the town and all its ways;
Ridottos, operas, and plays;
The ball, the ring, the mall, the court;
Wherever the beau-monde resort;
Where beauties lie in ambush for folks,
Earl Straffords, and the Duke of Norfolks;
All coffee-houses, and their praters;
All courts of justice, and debaters;
All taverns, and the sots within 'em;
All bubbles and the rogues that skin 'em.
I hate all critics; may they burn all,
From Bentley to the Grub Street Journal.
All bards, as Dennis hates a pun:
Those who have wit, and who have none.
All nobles, of whatever station;
And all the parsons in the nation.
All quacks and doctors read in physic,
Who kill or cure a man that is sick.
All authors that were ever heard on,
From Bavius up to Tommy Gordon;
Tradesmen with cringes ever stealing,
And merchants, whatsoe'er they deal in.
I hate the blades professing slaughter,
More than the devil holy water.
I hate all scholars, beaus, and squires;
Pimps, puppies, parasites, and liars.
All courtiers, with their looks so smooth;
And players, from Boheme to Booth.
I hate the world, cramm'd all together,
From beggars, up the Lord knows whither.
 Ask you then, Celia, if there be
The thing I love? my charmer, thee.
Thee more than light, than life adore,
Thou dearest, sweetest creature more
Than wildest raptures can express;
Than I can tell, — or thou canst guess.
 Then tho' I bear a gentle mind,
Let not my hatred of mankind
Wonder within my Celia move,
Since she possesses all my love.
# The Works of Henry Fielding/The Price. To The Same.

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
Another poem addressed to Celia.
CAN there on earth, my Celia, be
A price I would not pay for thee?
Yes, one dear precious tear of thine
Should not be shed to make thee mine.
# The Works of Henry Fielding/The Question (Fielding)

IN Celia's arms while bless'd I lay,
My soul in bliss dissolved away:
'Tell me,' the charmer cried, 'how well
'You love your Celia; Strephon, tell.'
Kissing her glowing, burning cheek,
'I'll tell,' I cried — but could not speak.
At length my voice return'd, and she
Again began to question me.
I pulled her to my breast again, And tried to answer, but in vain:
Short falt'ring accents from me broke,
And my voice fail'd before I spoke.
The charmer, pitying my distress,
Gave me the tenderest caress,
And sighing cried, 'You need not tell;
'Oh! Strephon, Oh! I feel how well.'
# The Works of Henry Fielding/To John Hayes, Esq.

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
THAT Varius huffs, and fights it out to-day,
Who ran last week so cowardly away,
In Codrus may surprise the little skill, Who nothing knows of humankind, but ill:
Confining all his knowledge, and his art,
To this, that each man is corrupt at heart.
 But thou who Nature thro' each maze canst trace,
Who in her closet forcest her embrace;
Canst with thy Horace see the human elves
Not differ more from others than themselves:
Canst see one man at several times appear,
Now gay, now grave, now candid, now severe;
Now save his friends, now leave 'em in the lurch;
Now rant in brothels, and now cant in church.
 Yet farther with the muse pursue the theme,
And see how various men at once will seem;
How passions blended on each other fix,
How vice with virtues, faults with graces mix;
How passions opposite, as sour to sweet,
Shall in one bosom at one moment meet,
With various luck for victory contend, And now shall carry, and now lose their end.
The rotten beau, while smell'd along the room,
Divides your nose 'twixt stenches and perfume:
So vice and virtue lay such equal claim,
Your judgment knows not when to praise or blame.
Had Nature actions to one source confin'd,
Ev'n blund'ring Codrus might have known mankind.
But as the diff'ring colours blended lie
When Titian variegates his clouded sky;
Where white and black, the yellow and the green,
Unite and undistinguish'd form the scene.
So the great artist diff'ring passions joins,
And love with hatred, fear with rage combines.
 Nor Nature this confusion makes alone, She gives us often half, and half's our own.
 Men what they are not struggle to appear,
And Nature strives to shew them as they are;
While Art, repugnant thus to Nature, fights, The various man appears in different lights.
The sage or hero on the stage may shew
Behind the scenes the blockhead or the beau.
For tho' with Quin's or Garrick's matchless art,
He acts; my friend, he only acts a part:
For Quin himself, in a few moments more,
Is Quin again, who Cato was before.
Thus while the courtier acts the patriot's part,
This guides his face and tongue, and that his heart.
Abroad the patriot shines with artful mien,
The naked courtier glares behind the scene.
What wonder then to-morrow if he grow
A courtier good, who is a patriot now.
# The Yellow Book/Volume 7/Charcoal StudyB

​Two Pictures
By T. C. Gotch
* Blue Hills Mine
* Charcoal Study
page
# The Yellow Book/Volume 7/Charcoal Study B

Charcoal Study
By John da Costa
page
# The Yellow Book/Volume 7/By the Fireside

​Two Pictures
By Stanhope A. Forbes, A.R.A.
* Their Daily Bread
* By the Fireside
page
# The Yellow Book/Volume 7/An Old Campaigner

An Old Campaigner
By Walter Langley
page
# The Yellow Book/Volume 7/Blue Hills Mine

​Two Pictures
By T. C. Gotch
* Blue Hills Mine
* Charcoal Study
page
# The Yellow Book/Volume 7/Charcoal Study

​Two Pictures
By T. C. Gotch
* Blue Hills Mine
* Charcoal Study
page
# The Yellow Book/Volume 7/Fair Play

Fair Play
By Fred Hall
page
# The letters of John Hus/Letter 77, To the Faithful Bohemians

LXXVII. To the Same
(June 27, 1415)
God be with you! I had many reasons for suspecting that I was to die on the morrow after sending you my last letter. But I hear that my death is put off, so I am writing to you once more, kind and faithful friends in God, to assure you of my gratitude as long as I have opportunity. I always find it a ​solace to be able to converse with you by letter, and I tell you God knows why He delays my death and that of my dear brother, Master Jerome, who, I trust, will die holy and blameless and be of a braver spirit in meeting pain than I, a weak-kneed sinner. God hath granted us a long time that we may the better recall our sins and be able to do fitting penance for them. He hath granted us time that a continuous and great trial may destroy great sins and bring us comfort. He hath granted us time that we may remember the foul shame of our King, the merciful Lord Jesus, and meditate on His cruel death, and so bear our sufferings with the greater patience; and, besides this, that we may not suppose that we pass from a banquet in this world to one in the next, but may remember how the saints went through many pains before they entered in the heavenly kingdom. Some were cut in pieces, others impaled, others boiled, others roasted, others flayed alive, buried alive, stoned, crucified, crushed between millstones, drawn in opposite directions, drowned, burnt, suffocated by gags, torn asunder into pieces, and before death shamefully entreated and tortured with imprisonment, stripes, and chains. And who can recount all the sufferings which the saints in Old and New Testament times endured for the truth of God; but especially those who rebuked the wickedness of of priests and preached against them? It will be strange if any one now escapes punishment who shall bravely resist wickedness—in particular of the priests—which doth not suffer itself to be rebuked. But I rejoice that they were compelled to read my books, in which their wickedness was revealed. I ​know that they have perused these books more carefully than the Holy Scriptures in their desire to discover my errors.
Sent off on Thursday evening before St. Peter’s Eve. Amen.
# The letters of John Hus/Letter 72, To Master Christian

LXXII. To Master Christian
(Without date: about June 22, 1415)
Master Christian, my master and particular benefactor, take your stand on Christ’s truth and cling to the faithful. Do not be afraid; for the Lord will shortly grant you a defence and increase the number ​of Christ’s faithful ones. Be kind to the poor, as you have ever been. You have, I hope, kept your chastity and fled avarice; continue to flee it, and for your own sake do not be a pluralist. Ever hold fast the Church, that the faithful may flock to you as to a kind father. Greet affectionately Master Jakoubek and all friends of the truth. Written in chains, in expectation of being burnt.
Luther’s comment on the following beautiful letter will be, we think, the verdict of all its readers. ‘Read this,’ he wrote, ‘and you will rejoice.’ In no letter does Hus rise to serener heights of resignation and conviction. The last paragraph is especially beautiful, and in the copy which I have used of the Epistolæ Piissimæ they have been underlined by one who, long ago, gained comfort from them.
The Council evidently had not yet given up all hopes of procuring a recantation. Palecz, we note, is somewhat softening towards his old friend, but Michael is as relentless as ever. But the issue had passed from their hands.
# The letters of John Hus/Letter 79, To Barons Wenzel de Duba and John of Chlum

LXXIX. To Barons Wenzel de Duba and John of Chlum
(Undated: ? middle or end of June)
Most gracious benefactors and guardians of the truth, I exhort you by the tender mercies of Jesus Christ to lay aside at once the vanities of this world and fight for the eternal King, even Christ the Lord. Put not your trust in princes, in the sons of men, in whom is no safety, for to-day the sons of men are liars and deceivers, and to-morrow they will perish; but God abideth for ever. He hath servants not because He is in need of them, but for their own welfare. What He promises to them, He holds to; what He pledges himself to grant, He fulfils; He deceives no man by a safe-conduct and dismisses no faithful servant; for He saith: Where I am, there shall My servant be also. Each of His servants He, their Master, maketh to be master of all that He hath, ​giving to that servant Himself, and with Himself all things so that he may possess all things without weariness or fear, nay, without any lack, and may rejoice with all the saints in unending joy. Oh, blessed is that servant whom, his master when he cometh, findeth watching! Serve then, dear lords, with fear this King Who will, I trust, bring you now to Bohemia by His grace in good health, and afterwards to the everlasting life of glory. Farewell!
Methinks this is my last letter to you, for tomorrow I suppose I shall be cleansed from my sins in hope of Jesus Christ by a dreadful death. I cannot write of what I passed through last night. Sigismund hath acted deceitfully throughout. God spare him, and that only for your sakes; you yourselves heard the advice which he gave. I beg you to have no suspicion of the faithful Veit.
On June 29th Hus wrote his last letters of farewell—three in number—to his dearest friends. There is in them no trace of struggle, only the peace of God. Hus had entered already the
Porte after stormie seas.
* ↑ Ps. cxlv. 3.
* ↑ John xii. 26.
* ↑ Luke xii. 43.
* ↑ At the Council; see p. 213.
* ↑ P. 225.
# The Wheels of Chance: A Bicycling Idyll/Chapter 11

OMISSIONS
XI
Now the rest of the acts of Mr. Hoopdriver in Guildford, on the great opening day of his holidays, are not to be detailed here. How he wandered about the old town in the dusk, and up to the Hogsback to see the little lamps below and the little stars above come out one after another; how he returned through the yellow-lit streets to the Yellow Hammer Coffee Tavern and supped bravely in the commercial room—a Man among Men; how he joined in the talk about flying-machines and the possibilities of electricity, witnessing that flying-machines were "dead certain to come," and that electricity was "wonderful, wonderful"; how he went and watched the billiard playing and said, "Left 'em" several times with an oracular air; how he fell a-yawning; and how he got out his cycling map and studied it intently,—are things that find no mention here. Nor will I enlarge upon his going into the writing-room, and marking the road from London to Guildford with a fine, bright ​line of the reddest of red ink. In his little cyclist hand-book there is a diary, and in the diary there is an entry of these things—it is there to this day, and I cannot do better than reproduce it here to witness that this book is indeed a true one, and no lying fable written to while away an hour.
At last he fell a-yawning so much that very reluctantly indeed he set about finishing this great and splendid day. (Alas! that all days must end at last!) He got his candle in the hall from a friendly waiting-maid, and passed upward—whither a modest novelist, who writes for the family circle, dare not follow. Yet I may tell you that he knelt down at his bedside, happy and drowsy, and said, "Our Father 'chartin' heaven," even as he had learnt it by rote from his mother nearly twenty years ago. And anon when his breathing had become deep and regular, we may creep into his bedroom and catch him at his dreams. He is lying upon his left side, with his arm under the pillow. It is dark, and he is hidden; but if you could have seen his face, sleeping there in the darkness, I think you would have perceived, in spite of that treasured, thin, and straggling moustache, in spite of your memory of the coarse words he had used that day, that the man before you was, after all, only a little child asleep.
# The Zoologist/4th series, vol 3 (1899)/Issue 695

Contents :
| | | PAGE |
| Cordeaux, John | Early Spring Migrations | 193 |
| Davenport, H.S. | Original Sketches of British Birds (part 2) | 198 |
| Cronwright-Schreiner, S.C. | The Trek-bokke (Gazella euchore) of the Cape Colony | 213 |
| | Notes and Queries | 220 |
| | Notices of New Books | 227 |
| | Editorial Gleanings | 234 |
# The Zoologist/4th series, vol 3 (1899)/Issue 696

editor: William Lucas Distant
Contents :
| | | PAGE |
| Arrigoni degli Oddi, Count Ettore | The Nesting of the Black Kite (Milvus migrans) in the Territory of Verona | 241 |
| Hugh Mackay | Ornithological Notes from Malta | 254 |
| Howard, H.E. | Notes on Some Birds from North Worcestershire | 259 |
| Friend, Hilderic | New British Annelids | 262 |
| | Notes and Queries | 266 |
| | Notices of New Books | 276 |
| | Editorial Gleanings | 280 |
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/From an Album of 1604

FROM AN ALBUM OF 1604.
Hope provides wings to thought, and love to hope. Rise up to Cynthia, love, when night is clearest, And say, that as high on her figure changeth, So, upon earth, my joy decays and grows. And whisper in her ear with modest softness, How doubt oft hung its head, and truth oft wept. If ye are therefore by the loved one chided, And, oh, ye thoughts, distrustfully inclined, Answer: 'tis true ye change, but alter not. As she remains the same, yet changeth ever. ​Doubt may invade the heart, but poisons not, For love is sweeter, by suspicion flavoured. If it with anger overcasts the eye, And heaven's bright purity perversely blackens, Then zephyr-sighs straight scare the clouds away, And, changed to tears, dissolve them into rain. Thought, hope, and love remain there as before, Till Cynthia gleams upon me as of old.
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/From the Mountain

FROM THE MOUNTAIN.
[Written just after the preceding one, on a mountain overlooking the Lake of Zurich.]
Dearest Lili, if I did not love thee, How transporting were a scene like this! Yet, my Lili, if I did not love thee, What were any bliss?