OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Prometheus Bound, and other poems/Sonnets from the Portuguese/Sonnet 18

XVIII.
I never gave a lock of hair away To a man, Dearest, except this to thee, Which now upon my fingers thoughtfully I ring out to the full brown length and say "Take it." My day of youth went yesterday; My hair no longer bounds to my foot's glee, Nor plant I it from rose or myrtle-tree, As girls do, any more. It only may Now shade on two pale cheeks, the mark of tears, Taught drooping from the head that hangs aside Through sorrow's trick. I thought the funeral-shears Would take this first; but Love is justified: Take it thou, . . finding pure, from all those years, The kiss my mother left here when she died.
# Prometheus Bound, and other poems/Sonnets from the Portuguese/Sonnet 21

XXI.
Say over again and yet once over again That thou dost love me. Though the word repeated Should seem "a cuckoo-song," as thou dost treat it, Remember never to the hill or plain, Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain, Comes the fresh Spring in all her green completed! Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt's pain Cry . . speak once more . . thou lovest! Who can fear Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll— Too many flowers, though each shall crown the year? Say thou dost love me, love me, love me—toll The silver iterance!—only minding, Dear, To love me also in silence, with thy soul.
# Prometheus Bound, and other poems/Sonnets from the Portuguese/Sonnet 19

XIX.
The soul's Rialto hath its merchandise; I barter curl for curl upon that mart; And from my poet's forehead to my heart, Receive this lock which outweighs argosies,— As purply black, as erst to Pindar's eyes The dim purpureal tresses gloomed athwart The nine white Muse-brows. For this counterpart, . . The bay-crown's shade, Beloved, I surmise, Still lingers on thy curl, it is so black! Thus, with a fillet of smooth-kissing breath, I tie the shadow safe from gliding back, And lay the gift where nothing hindereth, Here on my heart as on thy brow, to lack No natural heat till mine grows cold in death.
# Prometheus Bound, and other poems/Sonnets from the Portuguese/Sonnet 20

XX.
Beloved, my Beloved, when I think That thou wast in the world a year ago, What time I sate alone here in the snow And saw no footprint, heard the silence sink No moment at thy voice, . . but link by link Went counting all my chains as if that so They never could fall off at any blow Struck by thy possible hand . . . . why, thus I drink Of life's great cup of wonder. Wonderful, Never to feel thee thrill the day or night With personal act or speech,—nor ever cull Some prescience of thee with the blossoms white Thou sawest growing! Atheists are as dull, Who cannot guess God's presence out of sight.
# Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3809/A Patriot Under Fire

A PATRIOT UNDER FIRE.
(Observed during the recent heat wave.)
Philip, I note with unaffected awe How, with the glass at 90 in the cool, You still obey inflexibly the law That governs manners of the British school; How, in a climate where the sweltering air Seems to be wafted from a kitchen copper, You still refuse to lay aside your wear Of sable (proper).
The Civil Service which you so adorn Would lose its prestige, visibly grown slack, And all its lofty pledges be forsworn Were you to deviate from your boots of black; Were you to shed that coat of sombre dye, That ebon brain-box (imitation beaver) Whose torrid aspect strikes the passer-by With tertian fever.
As something far beyond me I respect The virtue, equal to the stiffest crux, Which thus forbids your costume to deflect Into the primrose path of straw and ducks; I praise that fine regard for red-hot tape Which calmly and without an eyelid's flutter Suffers the maddening noon to melt your nape As it were butter.
"His clothes are not the man," I freely own, Yet often they express the stuff they hide, As yours, I like to fancy, take their tone From stern, ascetic qualities inside; Just as the soldier's heavy marching-gear Conceals a heart of high determination, Too big, in any temperature, to fear Nervous prostration.
I cite the warrior's case who goes through fire; For you, no less a patriot, face your risk When in your country's service you perspire In blacks that snort at Phoebus' flaming disc; So, till a medal (justly made of jet) Records your grit and pluck for all to know 'em, I on your chest with safety-pins will set This inky poem.
O. S.
# Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3808/The Walkers

THE WALKERS.
# Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3809/A Seasonable Beverage

A SEASONABLE BEVERAGE.
Great charm hath tea—some fragrant blend
Sipped with a fair and festive friend;
And even milk hath flavour, too,
When sun-kissed milkmaids hand it you.
Beer, in a large resounding can
Befits a coarser type of man,
While some rejoice in spirit pure,
And others in a faked liqueur.
But none of these, nor any wine,
Hath present claim to praise of mine,
Hath e'er produced the gasp and thrill
Of that incomparable swill
When first, from care and toil set free,
I plunge into the summer sea
And bring a mouthful back with me.
# Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3808/The Silent Charmer

THE SILENT CHARMER.
[Speaking of flowers a contemporary recently remarked:—" These careless-looking creatures filling the air with delight, robbing tired brains of tiredness, are a delicate texture of coloured effort that has prevailed out of a thousand chances, aided in all that effort by man. Without man they would be but weeds—a profusion of Nature's quantity."]
# Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3809/A Masterpiece in the Making

A MASTERPIECE IN THE MAKING.
Lord Lansdowne (Art Dealer, to Mr. Asquith). "YES, I QUITE SEE YOUR IDEA—A FIGURE OF PEACE; BUT, SINCE YOU INVITE SUGGESTIONS FROM ME, I SHOULD SAY THAT ADDITION OF A FEW RECOGNISABLE SYMBOLS, SUCH AS A PAIR OF WINGS, OR A DOVE, OR AN OLIVE-BRANCH, MIGHT HELP TO MAKE IT CORRESPOND MORE CLEARLY WITH MY PUBLIC'S NOTION OF THE GODDESS IN QUESTION."
# Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3809/Beaten on Points

BEATEN ON POINTS.
L. C. C. Tram. "HARD LINES ON ME!"
Motor-'Bus. "YES, IT'S ALWAYS HARD LINES WITH YOU, MY BOY. THAT'S WHAT'S THE MATTER; YOU CAN'T SIDE-STEP."
# Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3808/When the Ships come Home

WHEN THE SHIPS COME HOME.
Greece. "ISN'T IT TIME WE STARTED FIGHTING AGAIN?"
Turkey. "YES, I DARESAY. HOW SOON COULD YOU BEGIN?"
Greece. "OH, IN A FEW WEEKS."
Turkey. "NO GOOD FOR ME. SHAN'T BE READY TILL THE AUTUMN."
# Protestant Exiles from France/Volume 2 - Book Third - Chapter 27 - Rye

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Rye.
A communion flagon of the parish church of Rye has this inscription —
“This flagon, used at the celebration of the Lord’s Supper by the minister of the Protestant Refugees, who found an asylum at Rye after the Revocation of the Edict of Nantes, 22nd October 1685, was presented for the use of the Church to the Vicar and Church Wardens of Rye by William Holloway, and Sarah, his wife, formerly Sarah Meryon, a descendant of one of the refugees, 5th May 1860.”
The original refugee surname was probably Merignan. (See Naturalisations, List iv.)
# Protestant Exiles from France/Volume 2 - Book Third - Chapter 27 - Surnames

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Surnames.
The Huguenot surnames have to a considerable extent remained unchanged as to spelling, though anglicized as to pronunciation, such as Papillon, De la Cherois, Tahourdin, &c. But many have been translated, such as Lemaitre, now Masters; Le Roy, King; Dubois, Wood; Tonnelier, Cooper; Le Tellier, Taylor; Vert, Green; Le Noir, Black; Le Blanc, White; Loisseau, Bird. In Portarlington the names of La Touche and Champ survived. In that town in old times a Monsieur Le Blanc added “gentilhomme” to his signature, in order to distinguish himself from Le Blanc, his butcher. The patrician stock failed, but the butcher’s shop has been always kept open. Anglicised spelling hands down the French pronunciation, and reveals the Huguenot pedigree of Mr. Blong, the butcher of Portarlington.
# Protestant Exiles from France/Volume 2 - Book Third - Chapter 27 - Turquand

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Turquand.
Turquand is a refugee surname, as to which I am furnished with only one incident. Having concerted their escape with the master of a French smuggling vessel, a considerable band of Huguenots had been waiting for several days, alternately assembling on the shore and returning to hiding-places. At length the vessel stood into the bay. The embarkation of men, women, and children was proceeding, when a king’s ship was signalled as having appeared in the horizon. Great confusion arose; the sailors preparing to weigh anchor, and the fugitives hurrying to embark. When the smuggler sailed, the king’s ship being in pursuit, the Huguenots had been separated, some were on board, some were left behind, some (it was feared) had fallen into the water and been drowned. Monsieur Turquand and his children were left; Madame Turquand was taken safely to England, but her family had no proof of this, and no one on French ground had observed her getting on board. Subsequently Monsieur Turquand escaped, and found himself in London; but there was no clue to the fate of the missing lady, or to her abode, on the supposition that she had been conveyed to England. Nearly a year had passed; Mr. Turquand was introduced to the acquaintance of an English neighbour. The gentleman remarked upon his name, recollected that he had met a lady of the same name at Southampton, and asked, for conversation’s sake, Is she a relation of yours? Monsieur Turquand lost no time in setting out for Southampton, and not without difficulty he had the happiness of discovering Madame Turquand, and of giving thanks for their providential restoration to each other. It should be mentioned that Southampton was not the port agreed upon between the smugglers and the refugees; their vessel, being hotly pursued by the ship-of-war, was unable to land at the first port of the English coast as had been promised, and was obliged to run down the Channel. His family prospered in London; and several members of it have signalized their Huguenot descent by joining the Directorate of the French Protestant Hospital — Leonard Turquand in 1770, Jacques Louis in 1777, the late William in 1825, and another William in 1849. The Annual Register announced the death in King William Street, City, on 28th November 1849, of William Turquand, Esq., of Norwood, Surrey, for upwards of seventeen years one of the Official Assignees of the Court of Bankruptcy.
# Protestant Exiles from France/Volume 2 - Book Third - Chapter 27 - Normandy

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Normandy.
The following refugees from Normandy are named in Waddington’s “Protestantisme en Normandie”:— M. de Monceau, of the parish of Méhoudin, in the election of Falaise.
M. François Bunel de Boiscarré, of the election of Pont-Audemer.
Suzanne Beloncle, wife of a Protestant condemned to the galleys, named Daniel Caron, of Bolbec, became a member of the City of London French Church, 5th March 1687. At the same time, Jacques Bourdon, Jean Renaud, Jaques Salingue, Suzanne Bourdon, of Bolbec, were admitted.
Daniel Caron himself was admitted on 2nd May 1693, when he declared that, having unhappily signed an abjuration, he had attempted to escape from France, and for that attempt he had been sentenced; but that in course of time he was set at liberty through the influence of his friends.
There were refugees from Havre, having the names of Lunel, Reauté, Godin, and Mouchel. M. Waddington says (p. 17):— “A Mutual Aid Society, called La Societé Normande, was founded in London in 1703, and still subsists (in 1855). We observe in its last report the names of Gosselin, Ferry, Levasseur, Mousset, de Boos, Le Brument, Frigont, Geaussent, Durand, Levesque, Rondeau, Hautot, Lesage.”
# Protestant Exiles from France/Volume 2 - Book Third - Chapter 27 - Pain

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Pain.
Aaron Pain of Dieppe, with his third son, Gabriel, escaped to Rye in Sussex. His wife, Rachel, followed, disguised in sailor’s clothes. They had previously, without suspicion, sent their daughter, Rachel, to Rye to learn English. Their infant, David, only a year old, was brought to the fort of the town gate of Dieppe. The river flowed below it. On the other side a sailor was waiting, by appointment. There was a space below the gate, and the child was passed through to him, and was safely carried over to Rye. The family removed to London, where their name was spelt Paine. In Crosse’s “Historical Tales” (also in “Household Words”) there is a similar anecdote. The scene is the gate of a town at nightfall. A Huguenot husband and wife, who are known to the guard, have the gate opened for them, and are allowed to pass out — any suspicion of their intention to leave France being neutralised by the fact that the mother is not carrying her child. But before knocking at the door of the guard-house they had brought the child, who was sleeping under the influence of an opiate, and laid him in the centre of the well-worn causeway. They had packed him up in a bundle tied with a string, and the long end of the string had been dropped at the hollow space right below the gate. Having been let out themselves, and being locked out, they drew their precious bundle through the opening; and both parents and child had a safe journey to England.
# Protestant Exiles from France/Volume 2 - Book Third - Chapter 27 - Savary

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Savary.
The refugee family of Savary bear a surname which was a territorial title or designation. The lands of Savary were in Perigord, in the south of France. Their patronymic was Tanzia, according to Mr. Smiles, to whom one of the English representatives writes, “There are many interesting anecdotes and legends in the family — of a buried Bible, afterwards recovered, and patched on every leaf — of a beautiful cloak made by a refugee, and given to my great-great-grandfather as a token of gratitude for help given by him in time of need,” &c.
# Protestant Exiles from France/Volume 2 - Book Third - Chapter 27 - Turpin

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Turpin.
The surname of Turpin suggests to the English mind the notorious Dick Turpin. Haydn’s “Index of Biography” has the entry:—
Turpin, Richard, highwayman, born about 1711, executed 7th April 1739.
But the same serviceable book of reference gives two instances of the name in France, both eminently respectable, viz., Francois Henri Turpin, historian, born 1709, died 1799, and Pierre Jean Francois Turpin, botanist, born 1775, died 1840. The name occurs among our Huguenot refugees. There is the marriage, on 22nd May 1692, registered in the French Church called Le Temple in London, of Theodore Turpin, glover, native of Vendosme, son of Pierre Turpin and Jeanne Cailland. The Rev. Peter Turpin was ordained a Deacon in the Church of Ireland on 29th April 1766. In Edinburgh, Lewis Turpine, residenter, married Jean Gifford, and ​had a daughter, Louisa, born in Edinburgh, who was married to Matthew Baillie, stabler in Edinburgh, and was confirmed as the only executrix of the deceased Lewis Turpine, her father, on 4th August 1756. (John Turpin, a butcher, was buried in the west churchyard of St. Peter’s, Cornhill, London, on 19th April 1694.)
On reading over the surnames of refugees, one is surprised to meet such familiar names as Pascal, Quesnel, Racine, and Rousseau. Perhaps Fontenelle is represented, for in the register of Inveresk parish there is entered, on 28th June 1741, the baptism of Samuel (born 20th), son of John Fountainell, teacher of French to Mr. Hotham’s children, and Margaret Douglass, his spouse.
# Protestant Exiles from France/Volume 2 - Book Third - Chapter 27 - Sabatier

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Sabatier.
Sabatier was one of the martyrs in the galleys whose stedfastness and generosity occasioned the conversion to Protestantism of the Romish chaplain, Jean Francois Bion, author of a book entitled “Relation des tourmens que Ton fait souffrir aux Protestans qui sont sur les galères de France” (London, 1708). Margaret Sabatier had a pension in Ireland of £36, 10s. John Sabatier was a Director of the French Hospital, 4th July 1759. A refugee family of this name held property at Lea, near Portarlington; and its last representative, a respected county magistrate, died about twenty years ago.
# Protestant Exiles from France/Volume 2 - Book Third - Chapter 27 - Pratviel

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Pratviel.
I meet with this surname among the burials at St. Michael’s, Cornhill, London. David Pratviel, described as a lodger, was laid in “the new vault” in that church on 12th February 1747 (n.s.). The name occurs in connection with James Auriol, merchant, who removed from London to Lisbon to join the mercantile house of Pratviel. In reprinting the following note, I leave the date of 1755 as I find it, as it may allude to another David:— The Pratviels were French Protestant exiles, said to have taken refuge on an island in the Mediterranean, but residing in Lisbon in 1727, the first year of the publication of the Factory Register. David Pratviel in his Will, dated at Lisbon in 1742, and proved in London in 1759, names as his executor, “my cousin and partner Mr. Peter Auriol, merchant, at present in London.” Sarah Pratviel (daughter of David, who visited London in 1755) was married to Sir Charles Asgill, Bart., and was the mother of General Sir Charles Asgill, Bart., at whose death, in 1823, that baronetcy expired. Her daughter, Amelia, was the wife of Robert Colvile, Esq. (died in 1796), whose eldest son, Sir Charles Henry Colville (died in 1833), who married Hariot Anne, daughter of Thomas Porter Bonnel, Esq., and was the father of Charles Robert Colvile, Esq. of Lullington, late M.P. for South Derbyshire.
# Protestant Exiles from France/Volume 2 - Book Third - Chapter 27 - Rouffignac

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Rouffignac.
Thomas de Rouffignac and Marie de la Motte, his wife, were Huguenots residing in Rochefoucauld, where their son Jacob was born in or about 1640. Jacob was called to the ministry in 1661, and was a refugee in England; he and his sons, ​Peter and Guy, were naturalised at Westminster in 1700 (see List xxiv.). At this date he appears to have been a widower, his wife’s maiden name having been Magdalen de Bonafons. He died in 1721. Peter, his son, became, on 11th February 1712 (n.s.), Rev. Peter Bouffignac, Rector of Stanford-le-Hope, Essex. (Wagner’s MSS.)
# Rosemary and Pansies/The Demagogue

THE DEMAGOGUE
# Rosemary and Pansies/The Pilgrim's Halt

THE PILGRIMS' HALT
# Rosemary and Pansies/The Fall of the Leaves

THE FALL OF THE LEAVES
(From the French of Millevoye)
Autumn had strewn on field and vale
The dead leaves from the forest reft:
Naked the mournful groves were left,
And silent was the nightingale.
Oppressed with melancholy thought
An invalid, in years but young,
But by long suffering unstrung,
The wood beloved in boyhood sought.
Dear wood, he said, adieu! adieu!
Like me you mourn your hapless fate;
Forlorn and all disconsolate,
In yours my own sad doom I view.
A messenger of final doom
Each leaf in falling seems to say,
Soon thou like us shalt pass away.
Thy fate like ours is steeped in gloom:
Around thee dose the shades of death;
Wanner than autumn's wannest leaf
Soon must thou yield thy latest breath,—
No respite hope, however brief.
Yes! I must die! my spring has fled
Long ere its time, and winter's frost
Withers me with its icy breath,
And warns me that all hope is lost
Laid low by unrelenting death,
Sweet flowers and herbs my corse shall deck,
But ah! my sad and frustrate life
Fruitage of deeds must ever lack.
Descend, ye leaves ephemeral,
And cover me as I am dying,
Let not my mother's vision fall
Where breathless, motionless, I'm lying:
But if my love comes hither, when
Fate can inflict no further sorrow,
To weep my hapless lot—oh! then
Some comfort shall my spirit borrow.
No more he said, but thence departed,
His wanderings there for ever o'er.
When from the tree the last leaf started
Destiny tortured him no more.
Beneath an oak his corse was laid;
But she whom he had loved so dearly
Came not the silence to invade
Which reigned about his grave austerely;
Save when the shepherd went his round
The solitude was void of sound.
1895
# Rosemary and Pansies/The Infant's Grave

THE INFANT'S GRAVE
Dark and gloomy is the night,
Not a star rays forth its light;
But no light I need to show
Where my little one's laid low:
Blindfold I can thread my way—
Tears may blind but do not stay:
Straight as arrow from a bow
To thy resting-place I go.
Little angel pure as light
From the farthest star of night!
Only treasure of my heart,
Sole joy in which I claimed a part!
Darling whose bright presence made
All my care and sorrow fade,
And in a web of gloom enwrought
Threads of bright and happy thought!
Of all other comforts reft
Thou alone to me wert left;
Joy was mine embracing thee,
Thou wert all in all to me!
He whom once I loved so well
Lured away by evil spell—
With naught else to fill my heart
I lived in thee—and dead thou art!
Tyrant death! amidst thou not spare
A flower so young, so sweet, so fair?
If thou needs must take one, why
For her sake might I not die?
Then some mercy hadst thou shewn,
Nor left me desolate, alone,
A childless mother, homeless wife,
To linger out a death-in-life.
Reft of all that gives delight
Day's as wearisome as night;
Earth's a barren desert drear,
With no Mount of Promise near;
Hope's by dull despair devoured,
All joy's slain, all sweetness soured;
Where'er I turn I see alone
A frowning sky, a face of stone.
Night so dark can have no dawn;
I'll follow thee where thou art gone;
1 cannot linger in this drear,
Homeless, hopeless, evil sphere:
Calls my darling, Come away!
Broken heart, your beating stay!
Merciless you struck before,
Death! in mercy strike once more!
1890
# Rosemary and Pansies/The Pageant of the Hours

THE PAGEANT OF THE HOURS
# Rosemary and Pansies/The Paradox-Monger

THE PARADOX-MONGER
With gay assurance he will undertake To prove all's right in heaven and on earth, That no such thing as evil e'er had birth. Or if it had 'twas born for goodness' sake: He'll bring a godless nation back to God, The devil too he'll rehabilitate, And either at your choice will vindicate With logic much like Gilbert's and as odd: Questions of fate, necessity, free-will. He settles easily as A B C; Of every mystery he holds the key; A nostrum he can find for every ill: But while he thus deals out his meal of chaff How welcome were a Rabelaisian laugh!
# Rosemary and Pansies/The Dead Soul

THE DEAD SOUL
[Thomas Cooper, in his Autobiography, gives an account of William Thom, whose fate was a very sad one. Coming to London, he fell into dissipated habits, and consequently into distress. "Again and again," says Cooper, "I carried invitations to him from Douglas Jerrold to contribute to the 'Shilling Magazine,' and from William Howitt to contribute to his periodical, but it was in vain. 'Nay, nay,' he used to say with an air of wretchedness, 'I can do nae such thing as they ask, although they promise me siller for it. I threw off my lilts o' the heart in auld times when I had a heart, but I think I've none left noo.'"
The following poem was suggested by the above story; but it is intended to have a general application rather than to be understood as relating to William Thom.]
# Rosemary and Pansies/The Great Northern Express

THE GREAT NORTHERN EXPRESS
# Rosemary and Pansies/The Lost Son

THE LOST SON
[I print the above, not because I am blind to its defects, but because it was the first poem I wrote, and the first piece of mine which was printed. It appeared in 1863 in a periodical called "The Key."]