OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 13/From Elizabeth Germain to Jonathan Swift - 20

FROM LADY BETTY GERMAIN.
MAY 27, 1735.
IT is true enough, my love to business is not great, without my capacity was better; but, however, you should have had a quicker answer to your letter, but that I find Mr. Fitzmaurice has already made application by several other hands, and so have many members of parliament. The answer, given to them all, has been, that it will not yet be disposed of; and my opinion is, that probably, when lord George Sackville comes over, he will humbly desire his father, or whoever is chief governor, that he may, without any political view, have the disposal of it himself, as it is his own private concern. I did not know lady Kerry had the honour of being your mistress and favourite: however, I ​approve of your taste. For, many years, or rather an age ago, she and I were very well acquainted, and I thought her a mighty sensible agreeable woman; so, upon that account, as well as yours, I should be very glad to be serviceable to her in any thing in my power.
Now I have given you what answer I can on this subject, I must recommend to you an affair, which has given me some small palpitations of the heart, which is, that you should not wrap up old shoes, or neglected sermons, in my letters; but that what of them have been spared from going toward making gin for the ladies, may henceforth be committed instantly to the flames: for, you being stigmatised with the name of a wit, Mr. Curll will rake to the dunghill for your correspondence. And as to my part, I am satisfied with having been honoured in print, by our amorous, satirical, and gallant letters.
The summer has done your old friend Mrs. Floyd a great deal of service. As for my saucy niece, I would advise you both to be better acquainted before you fall foul of one another. The duchess of Dorset is still at Bath, and the waters have done her good. The duke is now confined by a fit of the gout, which I believe is very well for him, because I doubt he had a little of it in his stomach.
Adieu, &c.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 13/From Elizabeth Germain to Jonathan Swift - 19

FROM LADY BETTY GERMAIN.
APRIL 5, 1735.
PART the first, you order me to give up my secretaryship; and part the second, called postscript, you employ me about Dr. Sheridan's exchange, when the letters for it must have been at Dublin long before yours came away. I was just thinking, that you was a little upon the dear joy; but to be sure, you were in the right, for what signified my secretaryship when I had no business?
The countess of Suffolk did not give up the first employment at court, for she had no other than mistress of the robes, being 400l. a year, which the duchess of Dorset had quitted to her, there being no lady of the bedchamber's place vacant, and it not being quite proper for a countess to continue bedchamber woman. As to her part about Gay, that I cleared to you long ago: for, to my certain knowledge, no woman was ever a better friend than she by many ways proved herself to him. As to what you hint about yourself, as I am wholly ignorant what it is you mean, I can say nothing upon it. And as to the question, Whether you should congratulate or condole? I believe, you may do either, or both, and not be in the wrong: for I truly think she was heartily sorry, to be obliged, by ill usage, to quit a master and mistress that she had served so justly, and loved so well. However, she has now ​much more ease and liberty, and accordingly her health better.
Mrs. Floyd has a cough every winter, and generally so bad, that she often frightens me for the consequences. My saucy niece presents her service to parson Swift. The duchess of Dorset is gone to Bath with lady Lambert, for her health; she has not been long enough there yet to find the good effects of the waters: but as they always did agree with her, I have great hopes they will now quite cure her colick.
In all likelihood, you are weary by this time of reading, and I am of writing such a long letter; so adieu, my dear dean.
* ↑ An Irish expression.
* ↑ Mary, eldest daughter, and one of the coheirs of Thomas Chambers of Hanworth, in Middlesex, esq., by lady Mary Berkeley, sister to earl Berkeley and to lady Betty Germain. She married, April 1736, lord Vere Beauclere, afterward lord Vere.
# The Wilson World/Obituary: Francis S. J. Swehla

* related portals: Kansas, Czech lands, Obituaries.
* related authors: Francis Joseph Swehla.
OBITUARY
Francis S. J. Swehla
Francis J. Swehla was born in Albrechtice, Bohemia, November 5, 1845, and died in Kansas City, Mo., at the home of his daughter Anna, August 10, 1921, aged 75 years, 9 months and 5 day.
He immigrated to America in 1854 to the state of Iowa where he resided until the Civil war. He enlisted in 1863, in the 6th Iowa Cavalry regiment and served most of his time in campaigning against the Indians in the Indian Territory. The Confederate government armed and equipped the Indians to kill and burn the homes of the Union men in Iowa, Missouri and Minnesota; and a number of western regiments of cavalry and infantry was kept to protect the frontier from 1861 to 1865.
After being discharged in 1868, he was united in marriage to Miss Anna Kuchta. To this union thirteen children came to gladden the home, three of them passed beyond many years ago. The surviving children are as follows: Clara, Victor, Frank, Romeo, Anna, Leon, Elizabeth, George, Charles and Benjamin. He also leaves many grandchildren, all of whom regret his loss
Francis J. Swehla with his family came to Wilson, Kansas, May 5, 1874, and settled on a homestead near Wilson, where he resided for many years. After his wife passed away in the year of 1912, he spent his remaining years among his children. Francis J. Swehla was one of the first settlers in Wilson, Kansas. Here he formed a colony which proved to grow in the most successful argicultural farming in the state of Kansas. The whole community regret the loss of Francis J. Swehla for if it had not been for him this surrounding country would not have succeeded as a farming settlement at that time forty-seven years ago. Francis J. Swehla was the most honest, loving, husband, father and neighbor and one of the most leading advisors among the czchs in the early days. He was a man of sterling character whose high moral purposes were respected by all who knew him and to the surviving children the deepest sympathy of the community is extended in the death of their beloved father.
This work was published before January 1, 1929 and is anonymous or pseudonymous due to unknown authorship. It is in the public domain in the United States as well as countries and areas where the copyright terms of anonymous or pseudonymous works are 95 years or less since publication.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Willows (Blackwood)

* I
* II
* III
* IV
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 1951, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 72 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 Wilson World

* related portals: Newspapers.
* sister projects: Commons category, Wikidata item.
American weekly, originally called The Wilson Echo, in 1913 renamed for The Wilson World, published in Wilson, Kansas.
Volume 40 (1916)
Volume 45 (1921)
# The Willow Tree (Dibdin)

* "The Willow Tree" in The Lover's Songster (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Newcastle
* "The Willow Tree" in The Willow Tree (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Stirling
* "Beneath the Willow Tree" in Beneath the Willow Tree (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Stirling
* "Beneath the willow tree", in Ewe-boughts Marion (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Stirling
* "The Willow Tree", in Answer to the blue bonnet, &c (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Stirling
* "Beneath the Willow Tree", in The Melodist (1818), a chapbook printed in Falkirk
* "The Willow Tree", in The Lass of Ballochmyle (1819), a chapbook printed in Greenock
# The White Czar (Hawkes)

—Page 53
The White Czar A Story of a Polar Bear
By Clarence Hawkes Author of "Pep, the Story of a Brave Dog"
Illustrated by Charles Livingston Bull
1923 Milton Bradley Company Springfield, Massachusetts
Bradley Quality Books
Printed in United States of America
Dedicated to the memory of that dauntless American who first planted the stars and stripes at the north pole, Rear Admiral Peary.
The Lash of the Northland
Andrew F. Underhill. By permission of the Outing Magazine.
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 1954, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 69 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 White Czar

* Search for titles containing or beginning with: "The White Czar."
* 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.

## Novels

* The White Czar (1923), a novel by Clarence Hawkes

## Poems

* "The White Czar" (1847, "Dost thou see on the rampart's height"), a poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
* "The White Czar" (1878, "Gehazi by the hue that chills thy cheek"), a poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
# The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 1/Christ's Passion, taken out of a Greek Ode, written by Mr. Masters of New-college in Oxford

VERSES
WRITTEN
ON SEVERAL OCCASIONS.
CHRIST'S PASSION,
TAKEN OUT OF A GREEK ODE, WRITTEN BY MR. MASTERS, OF NEW-COLLEGE, IN OXFORD.
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# The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 1/An Answer to a Copy of Verses sent me to Jersey

AN ANSWER TO
A COPY OF VERSES
SENT ME TO JERSEY.
# The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 1/Friendship in Absence

FRIENDSHIP IN ABSENCE.
# The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 1/Another

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# The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 1/Beauty

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# The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 1/Elegia dedicatoria, ad illustrissmam Academiam Cantabrigiensem

ELEGIA DEDICATORIA,
AD
ILLUSTRISSIMAM ACADEMIAM
CANTABRIGIENSEM.
Layout 2
# The Works of Abraham Cowley/Volume 1/Elegy upon Anacreon, who was choaked by a grape-stone

ELEGY UPON ANACREON,
WHO WAS CHOAKED BY A GRAPE-STONE.
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 6/The Sorrows of Young Werther

For related works, see Portal:The Sorrows of Young Werther.
Preface
I have carefully collected whatever I have been able to learn of the story of poor Werther, and here present it to you, knowing that you will thank me for it. To his spirit and character you cannot refuse your admiration and love: to his fate you will not deny your tears.
And thou, good soul, who sufferest the same distress as he endured once, draw comfort from his sorrows; and let this little book be thy friend, if, owing to fortune or through thine own fault, thou canst not find a dearer companion.
The Sorrows of Young Werther
* Book 1
* Book 2
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/A Night Thought

A NIGHT THOUGHT.
I do not envy you, ye joyless stars, Though fair ye be, and glorious to the sight— The seaman's hope amidst the 'whelming storm, When help from God or man there cometh none. No! for ye love not, nor have ever loved! Through the broad fields of heaven, the eternal hours Lead on your circling spheres unceasingly. How vast a journey have ye travelled o'er, Since I, upon the bosom of my love, Forgot all memory of night or you!
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/A Parable

A PARABLE.
I picked a rustic nosegay lately, And bore it homewards, musing greatly; When, heated by my hand, I found The heads all drooping toward the ground. I placed them in a well-cooled glass, And what a wonder came to pass! The heads soon raised themselves once more, The stalks were blooming as before, ​And all were in as good a case As when they left their native place.
So felt I, when I wondering heard My song to foreign tongues transferred.
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/A Plan the Muses Entertained

A PLAN THE MUSES ENTERTAINED.
A plan the Muses entertained Methodically to impart To Psyche the poetic art; Prosaic-pure her soul remained, No wondrous sounds escaped her lyre E'en in the fairest summer night; But Amor came with glance of fire,— The lesson soon was learned aright.
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/A Symbol

A SYMBOL.
[This fine poem is given by Goethe amongst a small collection of what he calls Loge (Lodge) meaning thereby Masonic pieces.]
The mason's trade Resembles life, With all its strife,— Is like the stir made By man on earth's face.
Though weal and woe The future may hide, Unterrified We onward go In ne'er-changing race.
A veil of dread Hangs heavier still. Deep slumbers fill The stars overhead, And the foot-trodden grave.
Observe them well, And watch them revealing How solemn feeling And wonderment swell The hearts of the brave.
The voice of the blest, And of spirits on high Seems loudly to cry: "To do what is best, Unceasing endeavour!
​"In silence eterne Here chaplets are twined, That each noble mind Its guerdon may earn,— Then hope ye for ever!"
# The Yellow Book/Volume 13/The Blessed

was subsequently included in The Wind Among the Reeds. W.B. Yeats. London: Elkin Mathews, 1899
​The Blessed
By W. B. Yeats
CUMHAL the king, being angry and sad,
Came by the woody way
To the cave, where Dathi the Blessed had gone,
To hide from the troubled day.
Cumhal called out, bowing his head,
Till Dathi came and stood,
With blinking eyes, at the cave's edge,
Between the wind and the wood.
And Cumhal said, bending his knees,
"I come by the windy way
To gather the half of your blessedness
And learn the prayers that you say.
"I can bring you salmon out of the streams
And heron out of the skies."
But Dathi folded his hands and smiled
With the secrets of God in his eyes.
And Cumhal saw like a drifting smoke
All manner of blessedest souls,
Children and women and tonsured young men,
And old men with croziers and stoles.
"Praise God and God's Mother," Dathi said,
"For God and God's Mother have sent
The blessedest souls that walk in the world
To fill your heart with content."
"And who is the blessedest," Cumhal said,
"Where all are comely and good?
Is it those that with golden thuribles
Are singing about the wood?"
"My eyes are blinking," Dathi said,
"With the secrets of God half blind.
But I have found where the wind goes
And follow the way of the wind;
"And blessedness goes where the wind goes
And when it is gone we die;
And have seen the blessedest soul in the world,
By a spilled wine-cup lie.
"O blessedness comes in the night and the day,
And whither the wise heart knows;
And one has seen, in the redness of wine,
The Incorruptible Rose:
"The Rose that must drop, out of sweet leaves,
The heaviness of desire,
Until Time and the World have ebbed away
In twilights of dew and fire!"
# The Yellow Book/Volume 13/The Couch

​Four Pictures
By E. J. Sullivan
* Helen
* The Sorceress
* The Couch
* The Mirror
page
​ The Couch - E. J. Sullivan (1897)
# The Yellow Book/Volume 13/The Black Cockade

The Black Cockade
By Katharine Cameron
page
​ The Black Cockade - Katharine Cameron (1896)
# The Yellow Book/Volume 13/Sonnets from the Portuguese

​Sonnets
From the Portuguese of Anthero de Quental
By Richard Garnett, C.B., LL.D.
i
WITH thistle's azure flower my home I hung,
And did with redolence of musk perfume,
And, robed in purple raiment's glowing gloom,
Low prelude to my coming carol sung.
Spikenard, from Orient groves transported, clung
To brow and hand; if so my humble room
Might undishonoured harbour her, for whom
Soon should its welcoming door be widely flung.
What princess, fairy, angel from above,
Some radiant sphere relinquishing for me,
Bowed to my habitation poor and cold?
Princess nor sprite nor fay, but memory
Of thee it was that came to knock where Love
Expecting sat behind a gate of gold.
The spirit waning to its hour extreme,
That faith and joy and peace may never know,
Away with it to death without a dream!
The last faint notes that falter in the flow
Of dying strains, and dying hope s last gleam,
Last breath, last love — O let them, let them go!
vi
Where at the precipice's foot the wave
Ceaseless with sullen monotone doth roar,
And the wild wind flies plaining to the shore,
Be my dead heart committed to the grave.
There let the suns with fiery torrents lave
The parching dust, till summer shines no more,
And eddies of dry sand incessant soar
Around, when whirlblasts of the winter rave.
And with its own undoing be undone,
And with its viewless motes enforced to flit,
Rapt far away upon the hurricane,
All sighs and strifes that idly cumbered it,
And idlest Love, sunk to oblivion
In bosom of the barren bitter main.
vii
This sable steed, whose hoofs with clangour smite
My sense, while dreamful shade on earth is cast,
Onward in furious gallop thundering past
In the fantastic alleys of the night,
Whence cometh he? What realms of gloom or light
Behind him lie? Through what weird terrors last
Thus clothed in stormy grandeur sped so fast,
Dishevelling his mane with wild affright?
A youth with mien of martial prowess, blent
With majesty no shock disquieteth,
Vested in steely armour sheening clear,
Fearless bestrides the terrible portent.
"I," the tremendous steed declares, "am Death!"
"And I am Love!" responds the cavalier.
# The Yellow Book/Volume 13/The Fairy Prince

​Two Pictures
By Charles Conder
* A Fairy Prince
* A Masque
page
​ I. The Fairy Prince - Charles Conder (1897)
# The Yellow Book/Volume 13/The Mirror

​Four Pictures
By E. J. Sullivan
* Helen
* The Sorceress
* The Couch
* The Mirror
page
​ The Mirror - E. J. Sullivan (1897)
# The Yellow Book/Volume 13/The Question

​The Question
By Stephen Phillips
i
FATHER, beneath the moonless night,
This heavy stillness without light,
There comes a thought which I must speak
Why is my body then so weak?
Why do I falter in the race,
And flag behind this mighty pace?
Why is my strength so quickly flown?
And hark! My mother sobs alone!
ii
My son, when I was young and free,
When I was filled with sap and glee,
I squandered here and there my strength,
And to thy mother's arms at length
Weary I came, and over-tired;
With fever all my bones were fired.
Therefore so soon thy strength is flown,
Therefore thy mother sobs alone.
iii
Father, since in your weaker thought,
And in your languor I was wrought,
Put me away, as creatures are; I am infirm and full of care.
Feebly you brought me to the light;
Then softly hide me out of sight.
Now sooner will my strength be flown,
Nor will my mother sob alone.
iv
My son, stir up the fire, and pass,
Quickly the comfortable glass!
The infirm and evil fly in vain
Is toiling up the window pane.
Fill up! For life is so, nor sigh;
We cannot run from destiny.
Then fire thy strength that's quickly flown,
Hark! how thy mother sobs alone!
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 14/Letter: Swift to Pope - 25a

DR. SWIFT TO MR. POPE.
FEB. 7, 1735-6.
IT is some time since I dined at the bishop of Derry's, where Mr. secretary Cary told me with great concern, that you were taken very ill. I have heard nothing since, only I have continued in great pain of mind, yet for my own sake and the world's more than for yours; because I well know how little you value life, both as a philosopher, and a christian; particularly the latter, wherein hardly one in a million of us hereticks can equal you. If you are well recovered, you ought to be reproached for not putting me especially out of pain, who could not bear the loss of you; although we must be for ever distant as much as if I were in the grave, for which my years and continual indisposition are preparing me every season. I have staid too long from pressing you to give me some ease by an account of ​your health; pray do not use me so ill any more. I look upon you as an estate from which I receive my best annual rents, although I am never to see it. Mr. Tickel was at the same meeting under the same real concern; and so were a hundred others of this town who had never seen you.
I read to the bishop of Derry the paragraph in your letter which concerned him, and his lordship expressed his thankfulness in a manner that became him. He is esteemed here as a person of learning, and conversation, and humanity, but he is beloved by all people.
I have nobody now left but you: pray be so kind as to outlive me, and then die as soon as you please, but without pain, and let us meet in a better place, if my religion will permit, but rather my virtue, although much unequal to yours. Pray let my lord Bathurst know how much I love him; I still insist on his remembering me, although he is too much in the world to honour an absent friend with his letters. My state of health is not to boast of; my giddiness is more or less too constant; I sleep ill, and have a poor appetite. I can as easily write a poem in the Chinese language as my own: I am as fit for matrimony as invention; and yet I have daily schemes for innumerable essays in prose, and proceed sometimes to no less than half a dozen lines, which the next morning become waste paper. What vexes me most is, that my female friends, who could bear me very well a dozen years ago, have now forsaken me, although I am not so old in proportion to them, as I formerly was: which I can prove by arithmetick, for then I was double their age, which now I am not. Pray put me out of fear as soon as ​you can, about that ugly report of your illness; and let me know who this Cheselden is, that has so lately sprung up in your favour? Give me also some account of your neighbour who writ to me from Bath: I hear he resolves to be strenuous for taking off the test; which grieves me extremely, from all the unprejudiced reasons I ever was able to form, and against the maxims of all wise christian governments, which always had some established religion, leaving at best a toleration to others.
Farewell my dearest friend! ever, and upon every account that can create friendship and esteem.