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# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/To an Oak at Newstead

TO AN OAK AT NEWSTEAD.
1.
Young Oak! when I planted thee deep in the ground, I hoped that thy days would be longer than mine; That thy dark-waving branches would flourish around, And ivy thy trunk with its mantle entwine.
2.
Such, such was my hope, when in Infancy's years, On the land of my Fathers I rear'd thee with pride; They are past, and I water thy stem with my tears,— Thy decay, not the weeds that surround thee can hide.
3.
I left thee, my Oak, and, since that fatal hour, A stranger has dwelt in the hall of my Sire; Till Manhood shall crown me, not mine is the power, But his, whose neglect may have bade thee expire.
4.
Oh! hardy thou wert—even now little care Might revive thy young head, and thy wounds gently heal: But thou wert not fated affection to share— For who could suppose that a Stranger would feel?
5.
Ah, droop not, my Oak! lift thy head for a while; Ere twice round yon Glory this planet shall run, The hand of thy Master will teach thee to smile, When Infancy's years of probation are done.
6.
Oh, live then, my Oak! tow'r aloft from the weeds, That clog thy young growth, and assist thy decay, For still in thy bosom are Life's early seeds, And still may thy branches their beauty display.
7.
Oh! yet, if Maturity's years may be thine, Though I shall lie low in the cavern of Death, On thy leaves yet the day-beam of ages may shine, Uninjured by Time, or the rude Winter's breath.
8.
For centuries still may thy boughs lightly wave O'er the corse of thy Lord in thy canopy laid; While the branches thus gratefully shelter his grave, The Chief who survives may recline in thy shade.
9.
And as he, with his boys, shall revisit this spot, He will tell them in whispers more softly to tread. Oh! surely, by these I shall ne'er be forgot; Remembrance still hallows the dust of the dead.
10.
And here, will they say, when in Life's glowing prime, Perhaps he has pour'd forth his young simple lay, And here must he sleep, till the moments of Time Are lost in the hours of Eternity's day.
1807. [First published 1832.] ["Copied for Mr. Moore, Jan. 24, 1828."—Note by Miss Pigot.]
* ↑ [There is no heading to the original MS., but on the blank leaf at the end of the poem is written, "To an oak in the garden of Newstead Abbey, planted by the author in the 9th year of [his] age; this tree at his last visit was in a state of decay, though perhaps not irrecoverable." On arriving at Newstead, in 1798, Byron, then in his eleventh year, planted an oak, and cherished the fancy, that as the tree flourished so should he. On revisiting the abbey, he found the oak choked up by weeds and almost destroyed;—hence these lines. Shortly after Colonel Wildman took possession, he said to a servant, "Here is a fine young oak; but it must be cut down, as it grows in an improper place."—"I hope not, sir," replied the man, "for it's the one that my lord was so fond of, because he set it himself."—Life, p. 50, note.]
* ↑ For ages may shine.—[MS. Newstead.]
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/To my Son

TO MY SON
1.
Those flaxen locks, those eyes of blue Bright as thy mother's in their hue; Those rosy lips, whose dimples play And smile to steal the heart away, Recall a scene of former joy, And touch thy father's heart, my Boy!
2.
And thou canst lisp a father's name— Ah, William, were thine own the same,— No self-reproach—but, let me cease— My care for thee shall purchase peace; Thy mother's shade shall smile in joy, And pardon all the past, my Boy!
3.
Her lowly grave the turf has prest, And thou hast known a stranger's breast; Derision sneers upon thy birth, And yields thee scarce a name on earth; Yet shall not these one hope destroy,— A Father's heart is thine, my Boy!
4.
Why, let the world unfeeling frown, Must I fond Nature's claims disown? Ah, no—though moralists reprove, I hail thee, dearest child of Love, Fair cherub, pledge of youth and joy— A Father guards thy birth, my Boy!
5.
Oh, 'twill be sweet in thee to trace, Ere Age has wrinkled o'er my face, Ere half my glass of life is run, At once a brother and a son; And all my wane of years employ In justice done to thee, my Boy!
6.
Although so young thy heedless sire, Youth will not damp parental fire; And, wert thou still less dear to me, While Helen's form revives in thee, The breast, which beat to former joy, Will ne'er desert its pledge, my Boy!
1807. [First published in Moore's Life and Letters, etc., 1830, i. 104.]
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/To a Vain Lady

TO A VAIN LADY.
1.
Ah, heedless girl! why thus disclose What ne'er was meant for other ears; Why thus destroy thine own repose, And dig the source of future tears?
2.
Oh, thou wilt weep, imprudent maid, While lurking envious foes will smile, For all the follies thou hast said Of those who spoke but to beguile.
3.
Vain girl! thy ling'ring woes are nigh, If thou believ'st what striplings say: Oh, from the deep temptation fly, Nor fall the specious spoiler's prey.
4.
Dost thou repeat, in childish boast, The words man utters to deceive? Thy peace, thy hope, thy all is lost, If thou canst venture to believe.
5.
While now amongst thy female peers Thou tell'st again the soothing tale, Canst thou not mark the rising sneers Duplicity in vain would veil?
6.
These tales in secret silence hush, Nor make thyself the public gaze: What modest maid without a blush Recounts a flattering coxcomb's praise?
7.
Will not the laughing boy despise Her who relates each fond conceit— Who, thinking Heaven is in her eyes, Yet cannot see the slight deceit?
8.
For she who takes a soft delight These amorous nothings in revealing, Must credit all we say or write, While vanity prevents concealing.
9.
Cease, if you prize your Beauty's reign! No jealousy bids me reprove: One, who is thus from nature vain, I pity, but I cannot love.
January 15, 1807. [First published, 1832.]
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/To the Author of a Sonnet

TO THE AUTHOR OF A SONNET
BEGINNING "'SAD IS MY VERSE,' YOU SAY, 'AND YET NO TEAR.'"
1.
Thy verse is "sad" enough, no doubt: A devilish deal more sad than witty! Why we should weep I can't find out, Unless for thee we weep in pity.
2.
Yet there is one I pity more; And much, alas! I think he needs it: For he, I'm sure, will suffer sore, Who, to his own misfortune, reads it.
3.
Thy rhymes, without the aid of magic, May once be read—but never after: Yet their effect's by no means tragic, Although by far too dull for laughter.
4.
But would you make our bosoms bleed, And of no common pang complain— If you would make us weep indeed, Tell us, you'll read them o'er again.
March 8, 1807. [First published, 1832.]
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/To ——

TO ——
1.
Oh! well I know your subtle Sex, Frail daughters of the wanton Eve,— ​While jealous pangs our Souls perplex, No passion prompts you to relieve.
2.
From Love, or Pity ne'er you fall, By you, no mutual Flame is felt, 'Tis Vanity, which rules you all, Desire alone which makes you melt.
3.
I will not say no souls are yours, Aye, ye have Souls, and dark ones too, Souls to contrive those smiling lures, To snare our simple hearts for you.
4.
Yet shall you never bind me fast, Long to adore such brittle toys, I'll rove along, from first to last, And change whene'er my fancy cloys.
5.
Oh! I should be a baby fool, To sigh the dupe of female art— Woman! perhaps thou hast a Soul, But where have Demons hid thy Heart?
January, 1807.
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 1/To the Sighing Strephon

TO THE SIGHING STREPHON.
1.
Your pardon, my friend, If my rhymes did offend, Your pardon, a thousand times o'er; From friendship I strove, Your pangs to remove, But, I swear, I will do so no more.
2.
Since your beautiful maid, Your flame has repaid, No more I your folly regret; She's now most divine, And I bow at the shrine, Of this quickly reforméd coquette.
3.
Yet still, I must own, I should never have known, From your verses, what else she deserv'd; ​Your pain seem'd so great, I pitied your fate, As your fair was so dev'lish reserv'd.
4.
Since the balm-breathing kiss Of this magical Miss, Can such wonderful transports produce; Since the "world you forget, When your lips once have met, My counsel will get but abuse.
5.
You say, "When I rove," "I know nothing of love;" 'Tis true, I am given to range; If I rightly remember, I've lov'd a good number; Yet there's pleasure, at least, in a change.
6.
I will not advance, By the rules of romance, To humour a whimsical fair; ​Though a smile may delight, Yet a frown will affright Or drive me to dreadful despair.
7.
While my blood is thus warm, I ne'er shall reform, To mix in the Platonists' school; Of this I am sure, Was my Passion so pure, Thy Mistress would think me a fool.
8.
And if I should shun, Every woman for one, Whose image must fill my whole breast; Whom I must prefer, And sigh but for her, What an insult 'twould be to the rest!
9.
Now Strephon, good-bye; I cannot deny, Your passion appears most absurd; ​Such love as you plead, Is pure love, indeed, For it only consists in the word.
* ↑ [The letters "J. M. B. P." are added, in a lady's hand, in the annotated copy of P. on V. Occasions, p. 17 (British Museum).]
* ↑ But still.—[4to]
* ↑ But since the chaste kiss.—[4to]
* ↑ Such wonderful.—[4to]
* ↑ I've kissed a good number.—[4to] But——
* ↑ I ne'er will advance.—[4to]
* ↑ Yet a frown won't affright.—[4to. P on V. Occasions.]
* ↑ My mistress must think me.—[4to. P. on V. Occasions.]
* ↑ Though the kisses are sweet, Which voluptuously meet, Of kissing I ne'er was so fond, As to make me forget. Though our lips oft have met, That still there was something beyond.—[4to]
# The Unpopular History of the United States by Uncle Sam Himself/Chapter 18

XVIII
A LONESOME GENERAL
During 1838 and 1839 we had another serious complication with Great Britain along the Niagara frontier which seemed to foreshadow a third great war. There were armed invasions of British territory by Americans; an expedition crossed from Canada to our side, killed several persons, set the steamer Caroline on fire, and drifted her over the falls. 200,000 Americans banded themselves ​together under the name of "Canadian Patriots" with the avowed object of invading and annexing Canada. At this critical juncture General Scott was dispatched to the frontier, with full authority to call on the governors of all the border States, including Virginia and Kentucky, for such force of militia as he might deem expedient. Here we were again, blindly trying the same militia experiment.
In addressing excited crowds along the border, General Scott was obliged to inform the people: "I stand before you without troops, and without arms, save the sword at my side." Which would make a wonderful historical painting, a dramatic and spectacular opera bouffe, but is no businesslike method of conducting a modern campaign.
We patched up our squabble with Great Britain to renew it next year in a dispute over the boundaries of the State of Maine. There is no guessing when the most peaceable chap is going to mix up in a scrap with neighbors. All this time the Florida War was likewise dragging along. We never brought ​it to a close until 1842, and, after seven years of fruitless fighting, had to give the Indians their own way to get peace. Didn't know that, did you? That's torn out of the popular histories.
Here is what we should have learned from these Indian wars:
First. That the expense was tripled, if not quadrupled, by that feature of the law of 1821 which gave the Government, in times of emergency, no discretion to increase the number of enlisted men in the army.
Second. That, after successfully employing militia and volunteers for short periods of service, and exhausting their enthusiasm, Congress found it more humane and economical to continue operations with regular troops enlisted for the period of five years.
Third. That for want of a well-defined peace organization, a nation of seventeen millions of people contended for seven years with 1,200 warriors, and finally closed the struggle without accomplishing the forcible ​emigration of the Indians — which was the original and sole cause of the war.
These were the lessons which Congress and our people failed to learn.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 10/Thoughts concerning the Repeal of the Test

SOME FEW
THOUGHTS
CONCERNING
THE REPEAL OF THE TEST.
THOSE of either side who have written upon this subject of the test, in making or answering objections, seem to fail, by not pressing sufficiently the chief point, upon which the controversy turns. The arguments used by those who write for the church, are very good in their kind; but will have little force under the present corruptions of mankind, because the authors treat this subject tanquam in republicâ Platonis, et non in fæce Romuli.
It must be confessed, that considering how few employments of any consequence, fall to the share of those English who are born in this kingdom, and those few very dearly purchased, at the expense of conscience, liberty, and all regard for the publick good, they are not worth contending for: and if nothing but profit were in the case, it would hardly cost me one sigh, when I should see those few scraps thrown among every species of fanaticks, to scuffle for among themselves.
And this will infallibly be the case, after repealing the test. For every subdivision of sect will, with ​equal justice, pretend to have a share; and, as it is usual with sharers, will never think they have enough, while any pretender is left unprovided. I shall not except the quakers; because, when the passage is once let open for sects to partake in publick emoluments, it is very probable the lawfulness of taking oaths, and wearing carnal weapons, may be revealed to the brotherhood: which thought, I confess, was first put into my head by one of the shrewdest quakers in this kingdom.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 11/From Abigail Masham to Jonathan Swift - 1

FROM LADY MASHAM.
I OWN it looks unkind in me not to thank you, in all this time, for your sincere kind letter; but I was resolved to stay till I could tell you the queen had got so far the better of the dragon, as to take her power out of his hands. He has been the most ungrateful man to her, and to all his best friends, that ever was born. I cannot have so much time now to write all my mind, because my dear mistress is not well, and I think I may lay her illness to the charge of the treasurer, who, for three weeks together, was teasing and vexing her without intermission; and she could not get rid of him till Tuesday last, July 27th. I must put you in mind of one passage in your letter to me, which is, "I pray God send you wise and faithful friends to advise you at this time, when there are so great difficulties to struggle with." That is very plain and true; therefore will you, who have gone through so much, and taken more pains than any body, and given wise advice (if that wretched man had had sense enough and honesty to have taken it) I say, will you leave us and go into Ireland? No, it is impossible; your goodness is still the same, your charity and compassion for this poor lady, who has been barbarously used, would not let you do it. I know you take ​delight to help the distressed; and there cannot be a greater object than this good lady, who deserves pity. Pray, dear friend, stay here; and do not believe us all alike, to throw away good advice, and despise every body's understanding but their own. I could say a great deal upon the subject, but I must go to her, for she is not well. This comes to you by a safe hand, so that neither of us need be in any pain about it.
My lord and brother are in the country. My sister and girls are your humble servants.
# The Writings of Prosper Mérimée/Volume 2

THE WRITINGS OF PROSPER MÉRIMÉE COMPRISING HIS
NOVELS, TALES, AND LETTERS TO AN UNKNOWN
WITH
An Essay on the Genius and Achievement of the Author
By GEORGE SAINTSBURY, M.A.
COMPLETE IN EIGHT VOLUMES
"Here is your father's shirt, Orso!" From a drawing by Gaston Vuillier.
OF PROSPER MERIMEE Edited by Prof. George Saintsbury, MA. COMPLETK IN EIGHT VOLUMES COLOMBA Translated by THE LADY MARY LOYD With Illustrations by OASTON TUILLIER NEW YORK PHILADELPHIA FRANK S. HOLBY MCMVI
Copyright, 1905 By frank s. holby
All rights reserved
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
VOLUME II.
Here is your father's shirt, Orso!" (p. 107) Frontispiece From a drawing by Caston Vuillier PAGE "Would mademoiselle understand, for instance, these lines from one of our Corsican songs?"|13 From a drawing by Caston Vuillier
Orlanduccio's only response was to draw his dagger and fly like a madman at Orso|156 "From a drawing by Caston Vuillier"
# The Writings of Prosper Mérimée/Volume 3

THE WRITINGS OF PROSPER MÉRIMÉE COMPRISING HIS
NOVELS, TALES, AND LETTERS TO AN UNKNOWN
WITH
An Essay on the Genius and Achievement of the Author
By GEORGE SAINTSBURY, M.A.
COMPLETE IN EIGHT VOLUMES
Roger walked about the room with his head bent on his breast, his eyes half closed and filled with tears.
Etched by Em. Buland from a painting by P. Sinibaldi.
THE NOVELS, TALES AND LETTERS
OF
PROSPER MÉRIMÉE
Edited by Prof. George Saintsbury, M.A.
COMPLETE IN EIGHT VOLUMES
THE MOSAIC
Comprising
MATEO FALCONE and OTHER TALES
Translated by
EMILY MARY WALLER AND
MARY HELENA DEY
With Illustrations by J. LE BLAUT, f. SINIBALDI LUC OLIVIER MERSON, MYRBACH ED. DE BEAUMONT AND LALAUZE NEW YORK PHILADELPHIA FRANK S. HOLBY MCMVI ​copyright, 1905 By frank S. HOLBY
CONTENTS
THE MOSAIC: $^{PAGE}$
VOLUME III. Roger wallied about the room with his head bent on his breast, his eyes half closed and filled with tears. (p. lis) Frontispiece Etched by Em. Buland Jrom a painting by P. Siiiibald PAGE Giuseppa ran after Mateo, and seized him by the arm. He is your son," she said 23 Etched by Gery Bichard from a painting by Luc Olivier Merson Then she struggled from his embrace, and, snatching the Etruscan vase, broke it into a thousand pieces on the floor 168 Etched by Lalauzefrom a painting by Ed. de Beaumont
# The Writings of Prosper Mérimée/Volume 5/Lokis

LOKIS
FROM THE MS. OF PROFESSOR WITTEMBACH
I — II — III — IV — V — VI — VII — VII — VIII
# The Writings of Prosper Mérimée/Volume 5

THE WRITINGS OF PROSPER MÉRIMÉE COMPRISING HIS
NOVELS, TALES, AND LETTERS TO AN UNKNOWN
WITH
An Essay on the Genius and Achievement of the Author
By GEORGE SAINTSBURY, M.A.
COMPLETE IN EIGHT VOLUMES
Copyright 1905 by Frank S. Holby
"Holy Mother! It is not he! ... Oh, monsieur, are you Don Ottavio's friend?"
An etching from a drawing by A. Robaudi.
THE NOVELS, TALES AND LETTERS
OF
PROSPER MERIMÉE
Edited by Prof. George Saintsbury, M.A.
COMPLETE IN EIGHT VOLUMES
Last Stories
AND TRANSLATIONS
Translated by
EMILY MART WALLER AND
LOUISE PAUL
With Illustrations by
A. ROBAUDI
NEW YORK PHILADELPHIA
FRANK S. HOLBY
MCMVI
By FRAMK S. HOLBY
CONTENTS
$_{PAGE}$
VOLUME V. Holy Mother ! It is not he ! . . . Oh, monsieur, are you Don Ottavio's friend ? " (p. IIS) Frontispiece An etching from a painting by A. Robaudi PAGE The snake remained quiet a moment, then it curled itself round the shrivelled arm of the old woman and disappeared in the sleeve of her sheepskin cloak . 55 An etching from a drawing by A. Robaudi He heard the sound of shppered feet on the floor. The door opened and a woman in white came into the room 258 An etching from a drawing by G. Fraipont
# The Writings of Prosper Mérimée/Volume 4

THE WRITINGS OF
PROSPER MÉRIMÉE
COMPRISING HIS
NOVELS, TALES, AND LETTERS TO AN UNKNOWN
WITH
An Essay on the Genius and Achievement of the Author
By GEORGE SAINTSBURY, M.A.
COMPLETE IN EIGHT VOLUMES
(Upload an image to replace this placeholder.)
"Señor Pedro de Ojeda," cried Don Juan, "kill me if you will, I shall not fight." Etched by Le Rat from a painting by J. J. Aranda.
​THE NOVELS, TALES AND LETTERS OP PROSPER MERIMEE Edited by Prof. George Saintsbury, M.A. COMPLETE IN EIGHT VOLUMES THE Double Mistake SOULS IN PURGATORY THE VENUS OF H^LE Translated by WILLIAM M. ARNOLD OLIVE EDWARDS PALMER AND EMILY MART WALLER With Illustrations by aUSTAVE FRAIPONT, A. BRAMTOT AND J. J. ARANDA NEW YORK PHILADELPHIA FRANK S. HOLBY
Copyright, 1905 By FRANK S. HOLBY
All rights reserved
CONTENTS
$_{PAGE}$
VOLUME IV. Senor Pedro de Ojeda," cried Don Juan, "kill me if you -will, I shall not fight." (p. 208) Frontispiece Etched hy he Rat from a painting by J. J. Ara?ida PAGE She had recognized Darcy. She was expecting him . 76 An etching from a drawing hy G. Fraipont With some difficulty he took off his diamond ring, and I went nearer to take it, but he forestalled me, ran to the Venus, sHpped the ring on its fourth finger 257 Etched by Toussiant from a painting hy Bramtoi
# The Yellow Book/Volume 6/Souvenir de Paris

Souvenir de Paris
By Charles Conder
page
# The Yellow Book/Volume 6/Padstow

Padstow
By Miss Gertrude Prideaux-Brune
# The Yellow Book/Volume 6/Star and Garter, Richmond

The Star and Garter, Richmond
By P. Wilson Steer
page
# The Yellow Book/Volume 6/Gossips

Gossips
By A. S. Hartrick
page
# The fables of Aesop by William Caxton (Jacobs)/Vol. II/Liber Quintus/Fable 1

* related portals: Aesop's Fables.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
Numbered 693 in the Perry Index. Translated from French by William Caxton and first published in 1484. Click here to create an annotated version of this text.
¶ The fyrste fable maketh mencion of the mulet / of the foxe / and of the wulf
En Calle many folke Asses / that ben wel subtyll / And suche wenen to knowe moche / and to be a grete clerke that is but an asse / As hit appiereth by thys fable / Of a mule whiche ete grasse in a medowe nyghe to a grate forest / to whome came a foxe whiche demaunded of hym / What arte thow / And the mule ansuerd I am a beest / And the foxe sayd to hym / I ne demaunde ne aske of the that / but I aske who was thy fader / ¶ And the mule ansuerd / my grete fader was a hors / And the foxe sayd ageyne I ne demaunde to the that / but only that thow tellest me / who thow arte named / And the mule sayd to the foxe / I ne wote / by cause I was lytyll whanne my fader deyde / Neuertheles to thende that my name shold not be forgoten / my fader made hit to be wreton vnder my lyfte foote behynde / wherfore yf thow wylt knowe my name / goo thow and loke vnder my foote / ¶ And whanne the foxe vnderstood the fallace or falshede / he ​wente ageyne into the forest / And met with the wulf / to whome he sayd / Ha myschaunt beest / what dost thow here / Come with me and in to thy hand I shall put a good proy Loke in to yonder medowe / there shalt thow fynde a fatte beest Of the whiche thow mayst be fylled / ¶ And thenne the wulf entryd in to the medowe / and fonde there the mule / Of whom he demaunnded / who arte thow / And the mule ansuerd to the wulf / I am a beest / And the wulf sayd to hym / This is not that that I aske to the / but telle how thow arte named / And the mule sayd I wote not / but neuertheless yf thow wylt knowe my name / thow shalt fynde it wreton at my lyfte foote behynde / Thenne sayd the wulf/ I praye the / vouche sauf to shewe it to me / And the mule lyft up his foote / ¶ And as the wulf beheld and studyed in the foote of the mule / the Mule gaf hym suche a stroke whith his foote before his forhede / that almost the brayne ranne oute of his hede / And the foxe whiche was within a busshe and sawe alle the maner beganne to lawhe and mocque the wulf / to whomme he sayd / Foole beeste thow wost wel / that thow canst not rede / wherfore yf euylle is therof come to the / thy self is cause of hit / For none ought not to entremete hym to doo that / that Impossyble is to hym /
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