OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/A Woman's Hair

[A WOMAN'S HAIR.]
Oh! little lock of golden hue In gently waving ringlet curl'd, By the dear head on which you grew, I would not lose you for a world.
​Not though a thousand more adorn The polished brow where once you shone, Like rays which gild a cloudless sky Beneath Columbia's fervid zone.
1806.
* ↑ [These lines are preserved in MS. at Newstead, with the following memorandum in Miss Pigot's handwriting: "Copied from the fly-leaf in a vol. of my Burns' books, which is written in pencil by himself." They have hitherto been printed as stanzas 5 and 6 of the lines "To a Lady," etc., p. 212.]
* ↑ —— a cloudless morn.—[Ed. 1832.]
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/An Occasional Prologue

AN OCCASIONAL PROLOGUE,
DELIVERED BY THE AUTHOR PREVIOUS TO THE PERFORMANCE OF "THE WHEEL OF FORTUNE" AT A PRIVATE THEATRE.
Since the refinement of this polish'd age Has swept immoral raillery from the stage; Since taste has now expung'd licentious wit, Which stamp'd disgrace on all an author writ; Since, now, to please with purer scenes we seek, Nor dare to call the blush from Beauty's cheek; Oh! let the modest Muse some pity claim, And meet indulgence—though she find not fame. Still, not for her alone, we wish respect, Others appear more conscious of defect: To-night no vet'ran Roscii you behold, In all the arts of scenic action old; ​No Cooke, no Kemble, can salute you here, No Siddons draw the sympathetic tear; To-night you throng to witness the début Of embryo Actors, to the Drama new: Here, then, our almost unfledg'd wings we try; Clip not owr pinions, ere the birds can fly: Failing in this our first attempt to soar, Drooping, alas! we fall to rise no more. Not one poor trembler, only, fear betrays, Who hopes, yet almost dreads to meet your praise; But all our Dramatis Personæ wait, In fond suspense this crisis of their fate. No venal views our progress can retard, Your generous plaudits are our sole reward; For these, each Hero all his power displays, Each timid Heroine shrinks before your gaze: Surely the last will some protection find? None, to the softer sex, can prove unkind: While Youth and Beauty form the female shield, The sternest Censor to the fair must yield. Yet, should our feeble efforts nought avail, Should, after all, our best endeavours fail; Still, let some mercy in your bosoms live, And, if you can't applaud, at least forgive.
* ↑ ["I enacted Penruddock, in The Wheel of Fortune, and Tristram Fickle, in the farce of The Weathercock, for three nights, in some private theatricals at Southwell, in 1806, with great applause. The occasional prologue for our volunteer play was also of my composition."—Diary; Life, p. 38. The prologue was written by him, between stages, on his way from Harrogate. On getting into the carriage at Chesterfield, he said to his companion, "Now, Pigot, I'll spin a prologue for our play;" and before they reached Mansfield he had completed his task,—interrupting only once his rhyming reverie, to ask the proper pronunciation of the French word début; and, on being told it, exclaiming, "Aye, that will do for rhyme to 'new.'"—Life, p. 39. "The Prologue was spoken by G. Wylde, Esq."—Note by Miss E. Pigot.]
* ↑ But not for her alone.—[4to]
* ↑ For them each Hero.—[4to]
* ↑ Surely these last.—[4to]
* ↑ Whilst Youth.—[4to. P. on V. Occasions.]
* ↑ The sternest critic.—[4to]
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/Answer to some Elegant Verses

ANSWER TO SOME ELEGANT VERSES SENT BY A FRIEND TO THE AUTHOR, COMPLAINING THAT ONE OF HIS DESCRIPTIONS WAS RATHER TOO WARMLY DRAWN.
"But if any old Lady, Knight, Priest, or Physician, Should condemn me for printing a second edition; If good Madam Squintum my work should abuse, May I venture to give her a smack of my muse?"
Anstey's New Bath Guide, p. 169.
Candour compels me, Becher! to commend The verse, which blends the censor with the friend; ​Your Strong yet just reproof extorts applause From me, the heedless and imprudent cause; For this wild error, which pervades my strain, I sue for pardon,—must I sue in vain? The wise sometimes from Wisdom's ways depart; Can youth then hush the dictates of the heart? Precepts of prudence curb, but can't controul, The fierce emotions of the flowing soul. When Love's delirium haunts the glowing mind, Limping Decorum lingers far behind; Vainly the dotard mends her prudish pace, Outstript and vanquish'd in the mental chase. The young, the old, have worn the chains of love; Let those, they ne'er confined, my lay reprove; Let those, whose souls contemn the pleasing power, Their censures on the hapless victim shower. Oh! how I hate the nerveless, frigid song, The ceaseless echo of the rhyming throng, Whose labour'd lines, in chilling numbers flow, To paint a pang the author ne'er can know! The artless Helicon, I boast, is youth;— My Lyre, the Heart—my Muse, the simple Truth. Far be't from me the "virgin's mind" to "taint:" Seduction's dread is here no slight restraint: The maid whose virgin breast is void of guile, Whose wishes dimple in a modest smile, ​Whose downcast eye disdains the wanton leer, Firm in her virtue's strength, yet not severe; She, whom a conscious grace shall thus refine, Will ne'er be "tainted" by a strain of mine. But, for the nymph whose premature desires Torment her bosom with unholy fires, No net to snare her willing heart is spread; She would have fallen, though she ne'er had read. For me, I fain would please the chosen few, Whose souls, to feeling and to nature true, Will spare the childish verse, and not destroy The light effusions of a heedless boy. I seek not glory from the senseless crowd; Of fancied laurels, I shall ne'er be proud; Their warmest plaudits I would scarcely prize, Their sneers or censures, I alike despise.
November 26, 1806.
* ↑ —— the heedless and unworthy cause.—[P. on V. Occasions.]
* ↑ For this sole error.—[P. on V. Occasions.]
* ↑ The light effusions of an amorous boy.—[P. on V. Occasions.]
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/Damætas

DAMŒTAS.
In law an infant, and in years a boy, In mind a slave to every vicious joy; From every sense of shame and virtue wean'd, In lies an adept, in deceit a fiend; Vers'd in hypocrisy, while yet a child; Fickle as wind, of inclinations wild; Woman his dupe, his heedless friend a tool; Old in the world, though scarcely broke from school; Damœtas ran through all the maze of sin, And found the goal, when others just begin: ​Ev'n still conflicting passions shake his soul, And bid him drain the dregs of Pleasure's bowl; But, pall'd with vice, he breaks his former chain, And what was once his bliss appears his bane.
* ↑ [Moore appears to have regarded these lines as applying to Byron himself. It is, however, very unlikely that, with all his passion for painting himself in the darkest colours, he would have written himself down "a hypocrite." Damœtas is, probably, a satirical sketch of a friend or acquaintance. (Compare the solemn denunciation of Lord Falkland in English Bards, and Scotch Reviewers, lines 668-686.)]
* ↑ In law, every person is an infant who has not attained the age of twenty-one.
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/A Fragment

A FRAGMENT.
When, to their airy hall, my Fathers' voice Shall call my spirit, joyful in their choice; When, pois'd upon the gale, my form shall ride, Or, dark in mist, descend the mountain's side; Oh! may my shade behold no sculptur'd urns, To mark the spot where earth to earth returns! No lengthen'd scroll, no praise-encumber'd stone; My epitaph shall be my name alone: If that with honour fail to crown my clay, Oh! may no other fame my deeds repay! That only that shall single out the spot; By that remember'd, or with that forgot.
1803.
* ↑ [There is no heading in the Quarto.]
* ↑ No lengthen'd scroll of virtue and renown.—[4to. P. on V. Occ.]
* ↑ [In his will, drawn up in 1811, Byron gave directions that "no inscription, save his name and age, should be written on his tomb." June, 1819, he wrote to Murray: "Some of the epitaphs at the Certosa cemetery, at Ferrara, pleased me more than the more splendid monuments at Bologna; for instance, 'Martini Luigi Implora pace.' Can anything be more full of pathos? I hope whoever may survive me will see those two words, and no more, put over me."—Life, pp. 131, 398.]
* ↑ If that with honour fails.—[4to]
* ↑ But that remember'd, or forever forgot.—[4to. P. on V. Occasions.]
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/Adrian's Address to his Soul when Dying

Byron's translation of Hadrian's Latin
ADRIAN'S ADDRESS TO HIS SOUL WHEN DYING.
Animula! vagula, Blandula, Hospes, comesque corporis, Quæ nunc abibis in Loca— Pallidula, rigida, nudula, Nec, ut soles, dabis Jocos?
Translation.
Ah! gentle, fleeting, wav'ring Sprite, Friend and associate of this clay! To what unknown region borne, Wilt thou, now, wing thy distant flight? No more with wonted humour gay, But pallid, cheerless, and forlorn.
1806.
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/Answer to a Beautiful Poem

ANSWER TO A BEAUTIFUL POEM, WRITTEN BY MONTGOMERY, AUTHOR OF "THE WANDERER OF SWITZERLAND," ETC., ENTITLED "THE COMMON LOT."
1.
Montgomery! true, the common lot Of mortals lies in Lethe's wave; Yet some shall never be forgot, Some shall exist beyond the grave.
2.
"Unknown the region of his birth," The hero rolls the tide of war; Yet not unknown his martial worth, Which glares a meteor from afar.
3.
His joy or grief, his weal or woe, Perchance may 'scape the page of fame; Yet nations, now unborn, will know The record of his deathless name.
4.
The Patriot's and the Poet's frame Must share the common tomb of all: Their glory will not sleep the same; That will arise, though Empires fall.
5.
The lustre of a Beauty's eye Assumes the ghastly stare of death; The fair, the brave, the good must die, And sink the yawning grave beneath.
6.
Once more, the speaking eye revives, Still beaming through the lover's strain; For Petrarch's Laura still survives: She died, but ne'er will die again.
7.
The rolling seasons pass away, And Time, untiring, waves his wing; Whilst honour's laurels ne'er decay, But bloom in fresh, unfading spring.
8.
All, all must sleep in grim repose, Collected in the silent tomb; The old, the young, with friends and foes, Fest'ring alike in shrouds, consume.
9.
The mouldering marble lasts its day, Yet falls at length an useless fane; To Ruin's ruthless fangs a prey, The wrecks of pillar'd Pride remain.
10.
What, though the sculpture be destroy'd, From dark Oblivion meant to guard; A bright renown shall be enjoy'd, By those, whose virtues claim reward.
11.
Then do not say the common lot Of all lies deep in Lethe's wave; Some few who ne'er will be forgot Shall burst the bondage of the grave.
1806.
* ↑ [Montgomery (James), 1771-1854, poet and hymn-writer, published Prison Amusements (1797), The Ocean; a Poem (1805), The Wanderer of Switzerland, and other Poems (1806), The West Indies, and other Poems (1810), Songs of Sion (1822), The Christian Psalmist (1825), The Pelican Island, and other Poems (1827), etc. (vide post, English Bards, etc., line 425, and note).]
* ↑ No particular hero is here alluded to. The exploits of Bayard, Nemours, Edward the Black Prince, and, in more modern times, the fame of Marlborough, Frederick the Great, Count Saxe, Charles of Sweden, etc., are familiar to every historical reader, but the exact places of their birth are known to a very small proportion of their admirers.
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/Egotism. A Letter to J. T. Becher

EGOTISM. A LETTER TO J. T. BECHER.
Ἑαυτὸν Βύρων αἔιδει.
1.
If Fate should seal my Death to-morrow, (Though much I hope she will postpone it,) I've held a share of Joy and Sorrow, Enough for Ten; and here I own it.
2.
I've lived as many other men live, And yet, I think, with more enjoyment; For could I through my days again live, I'd pass them in the same employment.
3.
That is to say, with some exception, For though I will not make confession, I've seen too much of man's deception Ever again to trust profession.
4.
Some sage Mammas with gesture haughty, Pronounce me quite a youthful Sinner— But Daughters say, "although he's naughty, You must not check a Young Beginner!"
5.
I've loved, and many damsels know it— But whom I don't intend to mention, As certain stanzas also show it, Some say deserving Reprehension.
6.
Some ancient Dames, of virtue fiery, (Unless Report does much belie them,) Have lately made a sharp Enquiry, And much it grieves me to deny them.
7.
Two whom I lov'd had eyes of Blue, To which I hope you've no objection; The Rest had eyes of darker Hue— Each Nymph, of course, was all perfection,
8.
But here I'll close my chaste Description, Nor say the deeds of animosity; For silence is the best prescription, To physic idle curiosity.
9.
Of Friends I've known a goodly Hundred— For finding one in each acquaintance, By some deceived by others plunder'd, Friendship, to me, was not Repentance.
10.
At School I thought like other Children; Instead of Brains, a fine Ingredient, Romance, my youthful Head bewildering, To Sense had made me disobedient.
11.
A victim, nearly from affection, To certain very precious scheming, The still remaining recollection Has cured my boyish soul of Dreaming.
12.
By Heaven! I rather would forswear The Earth, and all the joys reserved me, Than dare again the specious Snare, From which my Fate and Heaven preserved me.
13.
Still I possess some Friends who love me— In each a much esteemed and true one; The Wealth of Worlds shall never move me To quit their Friendship, for a new one.
14.
But Becher! you're a reverend pastor, Now take it in consideration, Whether for penance I should fast, or Pray for my sins in expiation.
15.
I own myself the child of Folly, But not so wicked as they make me— I soon must die of melancholy, If Female smiles should e'er forsake me.
16.
Philosophers have never doubted, That Ladies' Lips were made for kisses! For Love! I could not live without it, For such a cursed place as This is.
17.
Say, Becher, I shall be forgiven! If you don't warrant my salvation, I must resign all Hopes of Heaven! For, Faith, I can't withstand Temptation.
P.S.—These were written between one and two, after midnight. I have not corrected, or revised. Yours, Byron.
# The Tree of Knowledge

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "The Tree of Knowledge."
* 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.
* "The Tree of Knowledge", a poem by Abraham Cowley
* "The Tree of Knowledge", a story by Henry James
# The Tree of Knowledge (James)

* "The Tree of Knowledge" in The Soft Side (London: Methuen & Co., 1900): 158–178.
    — First English book edition
* "The Tree of Knowledge" in The Soft Side (New York: The Macmillan Company, 1900): 132–149.
    — First American book edition
* "The Tree of Knowledge" in The Novels and Tales of Henry James 16 (New York: Scribner; London: Macmillan, 1907–1909): 167–190.
    — The "New York Edition"; revised for publication by James; this is the last revised version published in James' lifetime.
* "The Tree of Knowledge" in The Author of Beltraffio, The Middle Years, Greville Fane, and Other Tales (London: Macmillan, 1922): 145–165.
    — Volume 21 of The Novels and Stories of Henry James, the first posthumous collection of James' works; uses the New York Edition text.
# The Tree of Life (Beadle)

   "It is a search for strange superstitions that takes Dr Herdwether into the French Congo. He finds one that is more strange than he expected. And more dangerous."
BY CHARLES BEADLE
Author of "The Winged Avenger," "Witch-Doctors," etc.
* Chapter 1
* Chapter 2
* Chapter 3
* Chapter 4
* Chapter 5
* Chapter 6
* Chapter 7
* Chapter 8
* Chapter 9
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 1944, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 79 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 Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 8/A Love Song in the Modern Taste

A LOVE SONG,
IN THE MODERN TASTE. 1733.
I.
FLUTTERING spread thy purple pinions, Gentle Cupid, o'er my heart; I, a slave in thy dominions; Nature must give way to art.
II.
Mild Arcadians, ever blooming, Nightly nodding o'er your flocks, See my weary days consuming All beneath yon flowery rocks.
III.
Thus the Cyprian goddess weeping Mourn'd Adonis, darling youth: Him the boar, in silence creeping, Gor'd with unrelenting tooth.
IV.
Cynthia, tune harmonious numbers; Fair Discretion, string the lyre; Sooth my ever-waking slumbers: Bright Apollo, lend thy choir.
​V.
Gloomy Pluto, king of terrours, Arm'd in adamantine chains, Lead me to the crystal mirrors, Watering soft Elysian plains.
VI.
Mournful cypress, verdant willow, Gilding my Aurelia's brows, Morpheus, hovering o'er my pillow, Hear me pay my dying vows.
VII.
Melancholy smooth Mæander, Swiftly purling in a round, On thy margin lovers wander, With thy flowery chaplets crown'd.
VIII.
Thus when Philomela drooping Softly seeks her silent mate, See the bird of Juno stooping; Melody resigns to fate.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 8/A Vindication of the Libel

A VINDICATION OF THE LIBEL:
OR,
A NEW BALLAD,
Written by a Shoeboy, on an Attorney who was formerly a Shoeboy.
"Qui color ater erat, nunc est contrarius atro."
WITH singing of ballads, and crying of news, With whitening of buckles, and blacking of shoes, Did Hartley set out, both shoeless and shirtless, And moneyless too, but not very dirtless; Two pence he had gotten by begging, that's all; One bought him a brush, and one a black ball; For clouts at a loss he could not be much, The clothes on his back as being but such; Thus vamp'd and accoutred, with clouts, ball, and brush, He gallantly ventur'd his fortune to push: Vespasian thus, being bespatter'd with dirt, Was omen'd to be Rome's emperor for 't. But as a wise fiddler is noted you know, To have a good couple of strings to one bow; So Hartley judiciously thought it too little, To live by the sweat of his hands and his spittle: He finds out another profession as fit, And straight he becomes a retailer of wit. ​One day he cried — "Murders, and songs, and great news!" Another as loudly — "Here blacken your shoes!" At Domvile's full often he fed upon bits, For winding of jacks up, and turning of spits; Lick'd all the plates round, had many a grubbing, And now and then got from the cook-maid a drubbing: Such bastings effect upon him could have none: The dog will be patient that's struck with a bone. Sir Thomas, observing this Hartley withal So expert and so active at brushes and ball, Was mov'd with compassion, and thought it a pity A youth should be lost, that had been so witty: Without more ado, he vamps up my spark, And now we'll suppose him an eminent clerk; Suppose him an adept in all the degrees Of scribbling cum dasho, and hooking of fees; Suppose him a miser, attorney per bill, Suppose him a courtier — suppose what you will — Yet would you believe, though I swore by the Bible, That he took up two news-boys for crying the libel?
* ↑ See the next poem.
* ↑ Sir T. Domvile, patentee of the Hanaper office.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 8/A Beautiful Young Nymph Going to Bed

A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG NYMPH GOING TO BED.
WRITTEN FOR THE HONOUR OF THE FAIR SEX.
CORINNA, pride of Drurylane, For whom no shepherd sighs in vain; Never did Covent-garden boast So bright a batter'd strolling toast! No drunken rake to pick her up; No cellar, where on tick to sup; Returning at the midnight hour, Four stories climbing to her bower; Then, seated on a three-legg'd chair, Takes off her artificial hair; Now picking out a crystal eye, She wipes it clean, and lays it by. Her eyebrows from a mouse's hide Stuck on with art on either side, Pulls off with care, and first displays 'em, Then in a play-book smoothly lays 'em. Now dextrously her plumpers draws, That serve to fill her hollow jaws. Untwists a wire, and from her gums A set of teeth completely comes; Pulls out the rags contrived to prop Her flabby dugs, and down they drop. Proceeding on, the lovely goddess Unlaces next her steel-ribb'd bodice, Which, by the operator's skill, Press down the lumps, the hollows fill. ​Up goes her hand, and off she slips The bolsters that supply her hips, With gentlest touch she next explores Her shankers, issues, running sores; Effects of many a sad disaster, And then to each applies a plaster: But must, before she goes to bed, Rub off the daubs of white and red, And smooth the furrows in her front With greasy paper stuck upon't. She takes a bolus ere she sleeps; And then between two blankets creeps. With pains of love tormented lies; Or, if she chance to close her eyes, Of Bridewell and the Compter dreams, And feels the lash, and faintly screams; Or, by a faithless bully drawn, At some hedge-tavern lies in pawn; Or to Jamaica seems transported Alone, and by no planter courted; Or, near Fleet ditch's oozy brinks, Surrounded with a hundred stinks, Belated, seems on watch to lie, And snap some cully passing by; Or, struck with fear, her fancy runs On watchmen, constables, and duns, From whom she meets with frequent rubs; But never from religious clubs, Whose favour she is sure to find, Because she pays them all in kind. Corinna wakes. A dreadful sight! Behold the ruins of the night! A wicked rat her plaster stole, Half eat, and dragg'd it to his hole. ​The crystal eye, alas! was miss'd; And puss had on her plumpers p—ss'd. A pigeon pick'd her issue-peas: And Shock her tresses fill'd with fleas. The nymph, though in this mangled plight, Must every morn her limbs unite. But how shall I describe her arts To re-collect the scatter'd parts? Or show the anguish, toil, and pain, Of gathering up herself again? The bashful Muse will never bear In such a scene to interfere. Corinna, in the morning dizen'd, Who sees, will spew; who smells, be poison'd.