OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Poems (Chesterton, 1915)/Sonnet with the Compliments of the Season

SONNET WITH THE COMPLIMENTS OF THE SEASON
TO A POPULAR LEADER MUCH TO BE CONGRATULATED ON THE AVOIDANCE OF A STRIKE AT CHRISTMAS
I KNOW you. You will hail the huge release, Saying the sheathing of a thousand swords, In silence and inj ustice, well accords With Christmas bells. And you will gild with grease The papers, the employers, the police, And vomit up the void your windy words To your New Christ; who bears no whip of cords For them that traffic in the doves of peace.
The feast of friends, the candle-fruited tree, I have not failed to honour. And I say It would be better for such men as we, And we be nearer Bethlehem, if we lay Shot dead on scarlet snows for liberty, Dead in the daylight upon Christmas Day.
# Poems (Chesterton, 1915)/The Beatific Vision

THE BEATIFIC VISION
THEN Bernard smiled at me, that I should gaze But I had gazed already; caught the view, Faced the unfathomable ray of rays Which to itself and by itself is true.
Then was my vision mightier than man's speech; Speech snapt before it like a flying spell; And memory and all that time can teach Before that splendid outrage failed and fell.
As when one dreameth and remembereth not Waking, what were his pleasures or his pains, With every feature of the dream forgot, The printed passion of the dream remains:—
Even such am I; within whose thoughts resides No picture of that sight nor any part Nor any memory: in whom abides Only a happiness within the heart,
A secret happiness that soaks the heart As hills are soaked by slow unsealing snow, Or secret as that wind without a chart Whereon did the wild leaves of Sibyl go.
​O light uplifted from all mortal knowing, Send back a little of that glimpse of thee, That of its glory I may kindle glowing One tiny spark for all men yet to be.
# Poems (Chesterton, 1915)/On Righteous Indignation

ON RIGHTEOUS INDIGNATION
WHEN Adam went from Paradise He saw the Sword and ran; The dreadful shape, the new device, The pointed end of Paradise, And saw what Peril is and Price. And knew he was a man.
When Adam went from Paradise, He turned him back and cried For a little flower from Paradise; There came no flower from Paradise; The woods were dark in Paradise, And not a bird replied.
For only comfort or contempt, For jest or great reward, Over the walls of Paradise, The flameless gates of Paradise, The dumb shut doors of Paradise, God flung the flaming sword.
It burns the hand that holds it More than the skull it scores; ​It doubles like a snake and stings, Yet he in whose hand it swings He is the most masterful of things, A scorner of the stars.
# Poems (Chesterton, 1915)/The Crusader Returns from Captivity

THE CRUSADER RETURNS FROM CAPTIVITY
I HAVE come forth alive from the land of purple and poison and glamour, Where the charm is strong as the torture, being chosen to change the mind; Torture of wordless dance and wineless feast without clamour, Palace hidden in palace, garden with garden behind;
Women veiled in the sun, or bare as brass in the shadows, And the endless eyeless patterns where each thing seems an eye. . . . And my stride is on Caesar's sand where it slides to the English meadows, To the last low woods of Sussex and the road that goes to Rye.
In the cool and careless woods the eyes of the eunuchs burned not, But the wild hawk went before me, being free to return or roam, The hills had broad unconscious backs; and the tree-tops turned not, And the huts were heedless of me: and I knew I was at home.
​And I saw my lady afar and her holy freedom upon her, A head, without veil, averted, and not to be turned with charms, And I heard above bannerets blown the intolerant trumpets of honour, That usher with iron laughter the coming of Christian arms.
My shield hangs stainless still; but I shall not go where they praise it, A sword is still at my side, but I shall not ride with the King. Only to walk and to walk and to stun my soul and amaze it, A day with the stone and the sparrow and every marvellous thing.
I have trod the curves of the Crescent, in the maze of them that adore it, Curved around doorless chambers and unbeholden abodes, But I walk in the maze no more; on the sign of the cross I swore it, The wild white cross of freedom, the sign of the white cross-roads.
And the land shall leave me or take, and the Woman take me or leave me, There shall be no more Night, or nightmares seen in a glass; ​But Life shall hold me alive, and Death shall never deceive me
As long as I walk in England in the lanes that let me pass.
# Poems (Chesterton, 1915)/The Dead Hero

THE DEAD HERO
WE never saw you, like our sires, For whom your face was Freedom's face, Nor know what office-tapes and wires With such strong cords may interlace; We know not if the statesmen then Were fashioned as the sort we see, We know that not under your ken Did England laugh at Liberty.
Yea, this one thing is known of you, We know that not till you were dumb, Not till your course was thundered through, Did Mammon see his kingdom come. The songs of theft, the swords of hire, The clerks that raved, the troops that ran The empire of the world's desire, The dance of all the dirt began.
The happy jewelled alien men Worked then but as a little leaven; From some more modest palace then The Soul of Dives stank to Heaven. But when they planned with lisp and leer Their careful war upon the weak, They smote your body on its bier, For surety that you could not speak.
​A hero in the desert died; ied that saints should bury him, And round the grave should guard and ride, A chivalry of Cherubim. God said: "There is a better place, A nobler trophy and more tall; The beasts that fled before his face Shall come to make his funeral.
"The mighty vermin of the void That hid them from his bended bow, Shall crawl from caverns overjoyed, Jackal and snake and carrion crow. And perched above the vulture's eggs, Reversed upon its hideous head, A blue-faced ape shall wave its legs To tell the world that he is dead."
# Poems (Chesterton, 1915)/Lost

LOST
SO you have gained the golden crowns, so you have piled together The laurels and the jewels, the pearls out of the blue, But l will beat the bounding drum and I will fly the feather For all the glory I have lost, the good I never knew.
I saw the light of morning pale on princely human faces, In tales irrevocably gone, in final night enfurled, I saw the tail of flying fights, a glimpse of burning blisses, And laughed to think what I had lost—the wealth of all the world.
Yea, ruined in a royal game I was before my cradle; Was ever gambler hurling gold who lost such things as I? The purple moth that died an hour ere I was born of woman, That great green sunset God shall make three days after I die.
​When all the lights are lost and done, when all the skies are broken, Above the ruin of the stars my soul shall sit in state, With a brain made rich, with the irrevocable sunsets, And a closed heart happy in the fullness of a fate.
So you have gained the golden crowns and grasped the golden weather, The kingdoms and the hemispheres that all men buy and sell, But I will lash the leaping drum and swing the flaring feather, For the light of seven heavens that are lost to me like hell.
# Poems (Chesterton, 1915)/Love's Trappist

LOVE'S TRAPPIST
THERE is a place where lute and lyre are broken, Where scrolls are torn and on a wild wind go, Where tablets stand wiped naked for a token, Where laurels wither and the daisies grow.
Lo: I too join the brotherhood of silence, I am Love's Trappist and you ask in vain, For man through Love's gate, even as through Ðeath's gate, Goeth alone and comes not back again.
Yet here I pause, look back across the threshold, Cry to my brethren, though the world be old, Prophets and sages, questioners and doubters, O world, old world, the best hath ne'er been told!
# Poems (Chesterton, 1915)/Music

MUSIC
SOUNDING brass and tinkling cymbal, He that made me sealed my ears, And the pomp of gorgeous noises, Waves of triumph, waves of tears,
Thundered empty round and past me, Shattered, lost for ever more, Ancient gold of pride and passion, Wrecked like treasure on a shore.
But I saw her cheek and forehead Change, as at a spoken word, And I saw her head uplifted Like a lily to the Lord.
Nought is lost, but all transmuted, Ears are sealed, yet eyes have seen; Saw her smiles (O soul be worthy!), Saw ber tears (O heart be clean!).
# Poems (Chesterton, 1915)/The Deluge

THE DELUGE
THOUGH giant rains put out the sun, Here stand I for a sign. Though earth be filled with waters dark, My cup is filled with wine. Tell to the trembling priests that here Under the deluge rod, One nameless, tattered, broken man Stood up, and drank to God.
Sun has been where the rain is now, Bees in the heat to hum, Haply a humming maiden came, Now let the Deluge come: Brown of aureole, green of garb, Straight as a golden rod, Drink to the throne of thunder now! Drink to the wrath of God.
High in the wreck I held the cup, I clutched my rusty sword, I cocked my tattered feather To the glory of the Lord. Not undone were the heaven and earth, This hollow world thrown up, Before one man had stood up straight, And drained it like a cup.
# Plain Tales from the Hills

Plain Tales from the Hills (published 1888) is the first collection of short stories by Rudyard Kipling. Out of its 40 stories, 29 were initially published in the Civil and Military Gazette in Lahore, British India, (now in Pakistan) between November 1887 and June 1888. (Kipling had worked as a journalist for the CMG—his first job—since 1882, when he was not quite 17.) Some of the characters in these stories reappear in the novel Kim.
The title refers, by way of a pun on "Plain" as the reverse of "Hills", to the deceptively simple narrative style; and to the fact that many of the stories are set in the Hill Station of Simla—the "summer capital of the British Raj" during the hot weather. Warning: template has been deprecated.
The transcription is from the 2nd edition, published in 1889. For each story which had previously appeared in a periodical, information about its first publication is provided in the Notes section, based on Bibliography of the Works of Rudyard Kipling (1927), by Flora V. Livingston.
one or more chapters are available in a spoken word format.
PLAIN TALES FROM THE HILLS.
page
Plain Tales
FROM
THE HILLS.
BY
RUDYARD KIPLING, AUTHOR OF "DEPARTMENTAL DITTIES AND OTHER VERSES.'
SECOND EDITION.
CALCUTTA: THACKER, SPINK AND CO. London:—W. THACKER AND CO.
1889.
page
CALCUTTA: PRINTED BY THACKER, SPINK AND CO.
page
TO
THE WITTIEST WOMAN IN INDIA
I DEDICATE THIS BOOK.
page
PREFACE.
Eight and twenty of these tales appeared originally in the Civil and Military Gazette. I am indebted to the kindness of the Proprietors of that paper for permission to reprint them. The remaining tales are, more or less, new.
Rudyard Kipling.
page
CONTENTS.
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 1936, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 87 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
# Persian Letters/Letter 126
#### Letter 126

Rica to * * *
It is a puzzling thing in all religions to give any idea of the pleasures ordained for those who live well. It is easy to terrify the wicked with a long list of the torments which await them; but who knows what to promise the virtuous. Joys seem by nature to be of short duration, the imagination can hardly picture them otherwise.
I have seen descriptions of Paradise sufficient to make all sensible people give up their hopes of it: some make the happy shades play incessantly on the flute; others condemn them to the torture of an everlasting promenade; while others, who represent them as dreaming on high of their mistresses below, are of opinion that a period of a hundred millions years is not sufficient to overcome a taste for the pains of love.
I remember, in this connection, a story which I heard told by a man who had been in the country of the Mogul; it shows that the Indian priests are as fertile as others in their ideas of the pleasure of Paradise.
A woman who had just lost her husband, went in due form to the governor of the city demanding permission to burn herself; but since, in the countries subject to the Mohammedans, they have abolished to the best of their ability that cruel custom, he refused her absolutely.
When she saw that her prayers were in vain, she flew into a transport of rage. “Look you,” said she, “how you torment me! A poor woman is not even allowed to burn herself when she has a mind to! Did one ever see the like! My mother, my aunt, my sisters, were all decently burned! And, when I come to ask permission of this confounded governor, he gets angry, and begins raging like a madman.”
A young bonze happened to be present. “Infidel,” said the governor to him, “is it you who have set on this woman to commit this folly?” “No,” said he, “I never spoke to her; but if she believes as I do, she will complete her sacrifice; she will perform an action pleasing to the god Brahma: she will also be well rewarded, for she will find her husband in the other world, and begin with him a second marriage.” “What do you say?” cried the woman, astonished. “I shall find my husband again? Ah! I will not burn myself then. He was jealous, peevish, and, besides, so old, that if the god Brahma has not brought about some improvement in him, assuredly he has no need of me. Burn myself for him! . . . not even the end of my finger to take him from the bottom of hell. Two old bonzes who misled me, and who knew what kind of life I led with him, took care to tell me nothing of this; if the god Brahma has no other present to make me, I renounce this felicity. Mr. Governor, I will be a Mohammedan. And for you,” turning to the bonze, “you can, if you like, go and tell my husband that I am very well.”
Paris, the 2nd of the moon of Chalval, 1718.
# Persian Letters/Letter 123
#### Letter 123

Usbek to the Same
The propagation of the species is wonderfully aided by a mild government. All republics are a standing proof of this; especially Switzerland and Holland, which, with regard to the nature of the land, are the two worst countries in Europe, and which are yet the most populous.
Nothing attracts strangers more than liberty, and its accompaniment, wealth: the latter is sought after for itself, and our necessity leads us into those countries in which we find the former.
Mankind multiplies in a country which affords abundance for the children, without diminishing in the least the parents’ provision.
That very equality of the citizens which generally produces equality in their fortunes, brings plenty and vigour into all the parts of the body politic, and spreads these blessings throughout the whole state.
It is not so in countries subject to arbitrary power: the prince, the courtiers, and a few private persons, possess all the wealth, while all the rest groan in extreme poverty.
If a man is not well off, and feels that his children would be poorer than he, he will not marry; or if he does, he will be afraid of having too great a number of children, who would complete the ruin of his fortune and sink even lower than their father.
I admit that the boor or peasant, once married, will increase the race without any regard to his poverty or wealth; that consideration does not affect him: he has always a safe inheritance to leave his children, and that is his plough; so nothing withholds him from following blindly the instincts of nature.
But of what use to a state are those crowds of children which waste away in misery? They perish almost as rapidly as they are born: they never thrive: feeble and impotent, they die retail in a thousand ways, or are carried off wholesale by those frequent epidemics which poverty and bad diet always produce: those who escape attain the age of manhood without possessing its vigour, and waste away during the rest of their lives.
Men are like plants which never flourish if they are not well cultivated: among poor people, the race declines and sometimes even degenerates.
France supplies a great proof of all this. During the late wars, the dread which all the youths had of being enrolled in the militia forced them to marry, and that at too tender an age and in the bosom of poverty. A great many children were born of these numerous marriages who are not now to be found in France, because poverty, famine, and disease carried them off.
Now if, of a kingdom so well governed as France, and with such a good climate, remarks like these may be made, what shall be said of other states?
Paris, the 23rd of the moon of Rhamazan, 1718.
# Persian Letters/Letter 124
#### Letter 124

Usbek to the Mollah Mehemet Ali, Guardian of the Three Tombs, at Koum
To what end are the fasts of the imans, and the sackcloth of the mullahs? The hand of God has twice lain heavy upon the children of the law: the sun has obscured his beams and seems to shine only upon their overthrow: their armies assemble to be dispersed like dust.
The empire of the Osmanli is shaken by two defeats more disastrous than it ever experienced before. A Christian Mufti supports it with great difficulty: the grand vizier of Germany is the scourge of God, sent to chastise the followers of Omar: he carries everywhere the wrath of Heaven, enraged at their rebellion and their treachery.
Holy spirit of the imans, thou weepest night and day over the children of the Prophet, whom the detestable Omar misled: thy bowels are moved at the sight of their misfortunes: thou desirest their conversion, and not their perdition: thou wouldst have them united under the standard of Hali through the tears of the saints; and not scattered among the mountains and the deserts through terror of the infidels.
Paris, the 1st of the moon of Chalval, 1718.
# Persian Letters/Letter 127
#### Letter 127

Rica to Usbek, at * * *
I expect you here to-morrow: meantime I send you your letters from Ispahan. Mine bring word that the ambassador of the Great Mogul has received orders to quit the kingdom. They add that the prince, the uncle of the king, who has charge of his education, has been arrested, conducted to a castle, where he is closely guarded, and deprived of all his honours. The fate of this prince moves me, and I pity him.
I own, Usbek, that I have never beheld the tears fall from the eyes of any one without deep sympathy: my humanity feels for the unhappy, as if they only were human; and great people even, towards whom my heart is hardened when they are prosperous, gain my affection in adversity.
Indeed, in the time of their prosperity what need have they of useless affection? It comes too near equality. They prefer respect, which requires no return. As soon, however, as they have fallen from their greatness, there is nothing left to recall it to them but our lamentation.
I find an admirable simplicity, and an equally admirable greatness, in the words of a prince, who, being in great danger of falling into the hands of his enemies, said to his courtiers, who stood weeping round him, "I see by your tears that I am still your king."
Paris, the 3rd of the moon of Chalval, 1718.
# Persian Letters/Letter 13
#### Letter 13

Usbek to the Same
I cannot say half I wish to say about the virtue of the Troglodites. One of them once said, “Tomorrow it is my father’s turn to work in the fields; I shall rise two hours before him, and when he comes to his work he will find it all done.”
Another said to himself, “I think my sister has taken a fancy for a young cousin of mine. I must talk to my father about it, and get him to arrange a marriage.”
Another, being told that robbers had carried off his herd, replied, “I am very sorry, because it contained a white heifer which I meant to offer to the Gods.”
One was heard telling another that he was bound for the temple to return thanks to Heaven for the recovery from sickness of this brother, who was so dear to his father, and whom he himself loved so much.
This also was once said: “In a field adjoining my father’s, the workers are all day long exposed to the heat of the sun. I shall plant some trees there that these poor folks may sometimes rest in their shade.”
Their unexpected prosperity was not regarded without envy. A neighbouring nation gathered together and on some paltry context determined to carry off their cattle. As soon as they heard this, the Troglodites dispatched ambassadors, who addressed their enemies in the following terms, “What evil have the Troglodites done you? Have they carried off your wives, stolen your cattle, or ravaged your lands? No; we are just men, and fear the Gods. What, then, do your require of us? Would you have wool to make clothes? Do you wish the milk of our cows, or the products of our fields? Lay down your arms, then; come with us and we will give you all you demand. But we swear by all we hold most sacred, that if you enter our territories in enmity, we will regard you as dishonest men, and deal with you as we would with wild beasts.”
This speech was received with contempt; and, believing that the Troglodites had no means of defence except their innocence, the barbarians invaded their territory in warlike array.
But the Troglodites were well prepared to defend themselves. They had placed their wives and children in their midst. Astonished they certainly were at the injustice of their enemies, but were not dismayed by their number. Their hearts burned within them with an ardour before unknown. One longed to lay down his life for his father, another for his wife and children, this one for his brothers, that one for his friends, and all for each other. When one fell in fight, he who immediately took his place, besides fighting for the common cause, had the death of his comrade to avenge.
And so the battle raged between right and wrong. Those wretched creatures, whose sole aim was plunder, felt no shame when they were forced to fight. They were forced to yield to the prowess of that virtue, whose worth they were unable to appreciate.
Erzeroum, the 9th of the second moon of Gemmadi, 1711