OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 7/To Mr. Murray (3)

TO MR. MURRAY.
1.
For Orford and for Waldegrave You give much more than me you gave; Which is not fairly to behave, My Murray!
2.
Because if a live dog, 't is said, Be worth a lion fairly sped, A live lord must be worth two dead, My Murray!
3.
And if, as the opinion goes, Verse hath a better sale than prose,— Certes, I should have more than those, My Murray!
4.
But now this sheet is nearly crammed, So, if you will, I shan't be shammed, And if you won't,—you may be damned, My Murray!
August 23, 1821. [First published, Letters and Journals, 1830, ii. 517.]
* ↑ [Horace Walpole's Memoirs of the Last Nine Years of the Reign of George II.]
* ↑ [Memoirs by James Earl Waldegrave, Governor of George III. when Prince of Wales.]
* ↑ ["Can't accept your courteous offer [i.e.£2000 for three cantos of Don Juan, Sardanapalus, and The Two Foscari]. These matters must be arranged with Mr. Douglas Kinnaird. He is my trustee, and a man of honour. To him you can state all your mercantile reasons, which you might not like to state to me personally, such as 'heavy season'—'flat public'—'don't go off'—'lordship writes too much'—'won't take advice'—'declining popularity'—'deductions for the trade'—'make very little'—'generally lose by him'—'pirated edition'—'foreign edition'—'severe criticisms,' etc., with other hints and howls for an oration, which I leave Douglas, who is an orator, to answer."—Letter to Murray, August 23, 1821, Letters, 1901, v. 348.]
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 7/To Mr. Murray (1)

TO MR. MURRAY.
To hook the Reader, you, John Murray, Have published "Anjou's Margaret," Which won't be sold off in a hurry (At least, it has not been as yet); And then, still further to bewilder him, Without remorse, you set up "Ilderim;" So mind you don't get into debt,— Because—as how—if you should fail, These books would be but baddish bail. And mind you do not let escape These rhymes to Morning Post or Perry, Which would be very treacherous—very, And get me into such a scrape! For, firstly, I should have to sally, All in my little boat, against a Galley; And, should I chance to slay the Assyrian wight, Have next to combat with the female Knight: And pricked to death expire upon her needle, A sort of end which I should take indeed ill!
March 25, 1817. [First published, Letters and Journals, 1830, ii. 91.]
* ↑ [Margaret of Anjou, by Margaret Holford, 1816.]
* ↑ [Ilderim, a Syrian Tale, by H. Gally Knight, 1816.]
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 7/To Mr. Murray (2)

TO MR. MURRAY.
1.
Strahan, Tonson, Lintot of the times, Patron and publisher of rhymes, For thee the bard up Pindus climbs, My Murray.
2.
To thee, with hope and terror dumb, The unfledged MS. authors come; Thou printest all—and sellest some— My Murray.
3.
Upon thy table's baize so green The last new Quarterly is seen,— But where is thy new Magazine, My Murray?
4.
Along thy sprucest bookshelves shine The works thou deemest most divine— The Art of Cookery, and mine, My Murray.
5.
Tours, Travels, Essays, too, I wist, And Sermons, to thy mill bring grist; And then thou hast the Navy List, My Murray.
6.
And Heaven forbid I should conclude, Without "the Board of Longitude," Although this narrow paper would, My Murray.
Venice, April 11, 1818. [First published, Letters and Journals, 1830, ii. 171.]
* ↑ [William Strahan (1715-1785) published Johnson's Dictionary, Gibbon's Decline and Fall, Cook's Voyages, etc. He was great-grandfather of the mathematician William Spottiswoode (1825-1883). Jacob Tonson (1656?-1736) published for Otway, Dryden, Addison, etc. He was secretary of the Kit-Cat Club, 1700. He was the publisher (1712, etc.) of the Spectator. Barnaby Bernard Lintot (1675-1736) was at one time (1718) in partnership with Tonson. He published Pope's Iliad in 1715, and the Odyssey, 1725-26.]
* ↑ [See note 2, p. 51.]
* ↑ [Mrs. Rundell's Domestic Cookery, published in 1806, was one of Murray's most successful books. In 1822 he purchased the copyright from Mrs. Rundell for £2000 (see Letters, 1898, ii. 375; and Memoir of John Murray, 1891, ii. 124).]
* ↑ [The sixth edition of Childe Harold's Pilgrimage (1813) was "printed by T. Davison, Whitefriars, for John Murray, Bookseller to the Admiralty, and the Board of Longitude." Medwin (Conversations, 1824, p. 259) attributes to Byron a statement that Murray had to choose between continuing to be his publisher and printing the "Navy Lists," and "that there was no hesitation which way he should decide: the Admiralty carried the day." In his "Notes" to the Conversations (November 2, 1824) Murray characterized "the passage about the Admiralty" as "unfounded in fact, and no otherwise deserving of notice than to mark its absurdity."]
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 7/To Lord Thurlow

TO LORD THURLOW.
1.
"I lay my branch of laurel down."
"Thou lay thy branch of laurel down!" Why, what thou'st stole is not enow; And, were it lawfully thine own, Does Rogers want it most, or thou? Keep to thyself thy withered bough, Or send it back to Doctor Donne: ​Were justice done to both, I trow, He'd have but little, and thou—none.
2.
"Then, thus, to form Apollo's crown."
A crown! why, twist it how you will, Thy chaplet must be foolscap still. When next you visit Delphi's town, Enquire amongst your fellow-lodgers, They'll tell you Phœbus gave his crown, Some years before your birth, to Rogers.
3.
"Let every other bring his own."
When coals to Newcastle are carried, And owls sent to Athens, as wonders, From his spouse when the Regent's unmarried, Or Liverpool weeps o'er his blunders; When Tories and Whigs cease to quarrel, When Castlereagh's wife has an heir, Then Rogers shall ask us for laurel, And thou shalt have plenty to spare.
[First published, Letters and Journals, 1830, i. 397.]
* ↑ ["On the same day I received from him the following additional scraps ['To Lord Thurlow']. The lines in Italics are from the eulogy that provoked his waggish comments."—Life, p. 181. The last stanza of Thurlow's poem supplied the text— "Then, thus, to form Apollo's crown, (Let ev'ry other bring his own,) I lay my branch of laurel down."]
* ↑ [Lord Thurlow affected an archaic style in his Sonnets and other verses. In the Preface to the second edition of Poems, etc., he writes, "I think that our Poetry has been continually declining since the days of Milton and Cowley ... and that the golden age of our language is in the reign of Queen Elizabeth."]
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 3/On Parting

ON PARTING.
1.
The kiss, dear maid! thy lip has left Shall never part from mine, Till happier hours restore the gift Untainted back to thine.
2.
Thy parting glance, which fondly beams, An equal love may see: The tear that from thine eyelid streams Can weep no change in me.
3.
I ask no pledge to make me blest In gazing when alone; ​Nor one memorial for a breast, Whose thoughts are all thine own.
4.
Nor need I write—to tell the tale My pen were doubly weak: Oh! what can idle words avail, Unless the heart could speak?
5.
By day or night, in weal or woe, That heart, no longer free, Must bear the love it cannot show, And silent ache for thee.
March, 1811. [First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]
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Variants
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# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 3/On a Cornelian Heart which was broken

ON A CORNELIAN HEART WHICH WAS BROKEN.
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Notes
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# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 3/On the Quotation

ON THE QUOTATION,
# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 3/Maid of Athens, ere we part

MAID OF ATHENS, ERE WE PART.
Ζωή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.
1.
Maid of Athens, ere we part, Give, oh give me back my heart! ​ Or, since that has left my breast, Keep it now, and take the rest! Hear my vow before I go, Ζωή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.
2.
By those tresses unconfined, Wooed by each Ægean wind; ​By those lids whose jetty fringe Kiss thy soft cheeks' blooming tinge By those wild eyes like the roe, Ζωή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.
3.
By that lip I long to taste; By that zone-encircled waist; By all the token-flowers that tell What words can never speak so well; By love's alternate joy and woe, Ζωή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.
4.
Maid of Athens! I am gone: Think of me, sweet! when alone. Though I fly to Istambol, Athens holds my heart and soul: Can I cease to love thee? No! Ζωή μου, σᾶς ἀγαπῶ.
Athens, 1810. [First published, Childe Harold, 1812 (4to).]
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Variants
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Notes
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# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 3/Newstead Abbey

NEWSTEAD ABBEY.
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Variants
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# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 3/On being asked what was the "Origin of Love"

ON BEING ASKED WHAT WAS THE "ORIGIN OF LOVE."
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Variants
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# The Works of Lord Byron (ed. Coleridge, Prothero)/Poetry/Volume 3/On the Death of the Duke of Dorset

ON THE DEATH OF THE DUKE OF DORSET.
1.
I heard thy fate without a tear, Thy loss with scarce a sigh; And yet thou wast surpassing dear, Too loved of all to die. I know not what hath seared my eye— Its tears refuse to start; But every drop, it bids me dry, Falls dreary on my heart.
2.
Yes, dull and heavy, one by one, They sink and turn to care, ​As caverned waters wear the stone, Yet dropping harden there; They cannot petrify more fast, Than feelings sunk remain, Which coldly fixed regard the past, But never melt again.
[First published, Works, Paris, 1826, p. 716.]
* ↑ [From an autograph MS. in the possession of Mr. Murray. The MS. is headed, in pencil, "Lines written on the Death of the Duke of Dorset, a College Friend of Lord Byron's, who was killed by a fall from his horse while hunting." It is endorsed, "Bought of Markham Thorpe, August 29, 1844." (For Duke of Dorset, see Poetical Works, 1898, i. 194, n. 2; and Letters, 1899, iii. 181, n. 1.)]
* ↑ —— it bids deny.—[MS. M.]
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 11/From Jonathan Swift to William King - 22

TO ARCHBISHOP KING.
WHEN I had the honour of your grace's letter of March 27, I was lying ill of a cruel disorder, which still pursues me, although not with so much violence; and I hope your grace will pardon me, if you find my letter to be that of one who writes in pain. You see, my lord, how things are altered. The talk of a new governor for Ireland is dropped. The secret is, that the duke of Ormond had a promise of a pension in case he lost his government; but my lord treasurer is so excessively thrifty, that to save charges, he lets the duke keep it; and besides, there are some other circumstances, not proper for a letter, which have great weight in this matter. I count upon it, that whatever governor goes over under this ministry, a new parliament will be called. Yet I was told that ​the duke of Shrewsbury was pitched on, as a sort of medium between, &c. He is a person of admirable qualities; and if he were somewhat more active, and less timorous in business, no man would be thought comparable to him.
The moderate of the other party seem now content to have a peace, and all our talk and expectations are full of it: but I protest to your grace I know not what to write upon this subject, neither could I tell what to say if I had the honour to be with you. Upon lord Strafford's coming over, the stocks are fallen, although I expected, and I thought with reason, that they would rise. There is a trade between some here and some in Holland, of secrets and lies; and there are some among us whose posts let them into an imperfect knowledge of things, which they cannot conceal. This mixture makes up the towntalk, governs the price of stocks, and has often a great deal of truth in it: besides, publick affairs have often so many sudden turns and incidents, that even those behind the curtain can hardly pronounce for a week. I am sensible that I have often deceived your grace with my wise inuendoes. Yet, I verily think that my intelligence was very right at the moment I sent it. If I had writ to your grace six days ago, I would have ventured to have given you hopes that a peace would soon appear, and upon conditions wholly surprising and unexpected. I say this to you wholly in confidence; and I know nothing yet to change my opinion, except the desponding talk of the town, for I see nothing yet in the countenances of the ministers. It seems generally ​agreed that the present dauphin cannot live, and upon that depend many measures to be taken. This afternoon the bill for appointing commissioners to inquire into the grants, &c. was thrown out of the house of lords, the voices being equal, which is a great disappointment to the court, and matter of triumph to the other party. But it may possibly be of the worst consequence to the grants next session, when it is probable the ministry will be better settled, and able to procure a majority. I am, with great respect, my lord,
Your grace's most dutiful
and most humble servant,
J. SWIFT.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 11/From Jonathan Swift to William King - 2

TO ARCHBISHOP KING.
I HAVE been above a month expecting the representation your grace was pleased to promise to send me, which makes me apprehend your grace has been hindered by, what you complained of, the clergy's backwardness in a point so very necessary to their service; and it is time ill lost at this juncture, while my lord lieutenant is here, and in great credit at court, and would perhaps be more than ordinarily ready to serve the church in Ireland. If I ​have no directions from your grace by the end of this month, I shall think of my return to Ireland against the 25th of March, to endeavour to be chosen to the living of St. Nicholas, as I have been encouraged to hope; but would readily return, at a week's warning, to solicit that affair with my lord lieutenant while he stays here, or in any other manner your grace will please to direct.
Your grace knows long before this, that Dr. Mills is bishop of Waterford. The court and archbishop of Canterbury were strongly engaged for another person, not much suspected in Ireland, any more than the choice already made was, I believe, either here or there.
The two houses are still busy in lord Peterborough's affair, which seems to be little more than an amusement, which it is conceived might at this time be spared, considering how slow we are said to be in our preparations; which, I believe, is the only reason why it was talked the other day about the town, as if there would be soon a treaty of peace. There is a report of my lord Galway's death, but it is not credited. It is a perfect jest to see my lord Peterborough, reputed as great a whig as any in England, abhorred by his own party, and caressed by the tories.
The great question, whether the number of men in Spain and Portugal, at the time of the battle of Almanza, was but 8600, when there ought to have been 29600, was carried on Tuesday in the affirmative, against the court, without a division, which ​was occasioned by sir Thomas Hanmer's oratory. It seems to have been no party question, there being many of both glad and sorry for it. The court has not been fortunate in their questions this session; and I hear some of both parties expressing contrary passions upon it. I tell your grace bare matters of fact, being not inclined to make reflections; and, if I were, I could not tell what to make, so oddly people are subdivided.
I am, my lord,
your grace's most obedient
and most humble servant,
J. SWIFT.
* ↑ Thomas Herbert, earl of Pembroke.
* ↑ Dr. Thomas Mills was bishop of Waterford from 1707 to 1740.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 16/Resolutions for Old Age

RESOLUTIONS
WHEN
I COME TO BE OLD.
Written in mdcxcix.
NOT to marry a young woman.
Not to keep young company, unless they desire it.
Not to be peevish, or morose, or suspicious.
Not to scorn present ways, or wits, or fashions, or men, or war, &c.
Not to be fond of children.
Not to tell the same story over and over to the same people.
Not to be covetous.
Not to neglect decency or cleanliness, for fear of falling into nastiness.
Not to be over severe with young people, but give allowances for their youthful follies and weaknesses.
Not to be influenced by, or give ear to, knavish tattling servants, or others.
Not to be too free of advice, nor trouble any but those who desire it.
​To desire some good friends to inform me which of these resolutions I break or neglect, and wherein; and reform accordingly.
Not to talk much, nor of myself.
Not to boast of my former beauty, or strength, or favour with ladies, &c.
Not to hearken to flatteries, nor conceive I can be beloved by a young woman; et eos qui hæreditatem captant, odisse ac vitare.
Not to be positive or opinionative.
Not to set up for observing all these rules, for fear I should observe none.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 16/To Samuel Bindon

See the footnote on Page 366 for an explanation of the language.
To Samuel Bindon, Esq.
MOLLIS abuti, Has an acuti, No lasso finis, Molli divinis. Omi de armis tres, Imi na dis tres. Cantu disco ver Meas alo ver?
# The Witch-Maid, and Other Verses/My Country

Layout 2
MY COUNTRY
The love of field and coppice,  Of green and shaded lanes, Of ordered woods and gardens  Is running in your veins; Strong love of grey-blue distance,  Brown streams and soft, dim skies— I know but cannot share it,  My love is otherwise.
I love a sunburnt country,  A land of sweeping plains, Of ragged mountain ranges,  Of droughts and flooding rains; I love her far horizons,  I love her jewel-sea, Her beauty and her terror—  The wide brown land for me!
The tragic ring-barked forests  Stark white beneath the moon, The sapphire-misted mountains,  The hot gold hush of noon. Green tangle of the brushes  Where lithe lianas coil, And orchids deck the tree tops  And ferns the crimson soil.
Core of my heart, my country!  Her pitiless blue sky, When sick at heart, around us  We see the cattle die— But then the grey clouds gather  And we can bless again The drumming of an army,  The steady, soaking rain.
Core of my heart, my country!  Land of the Rainbow Gold,
For flood and fire and famine  She pays us back threefold Over the thirsty paddocks,  Watch, after many days, The filmy veil of greenness  That thickens as we gaze.
An opal-hearted country,  A wilful, lavish land— All you who have not loved her,  You will not understand— Though earth holds many splendours,  Wherever I may die, I know to what brown country  My homing thoughts will fly.
Australia
# The Witch-Maid, and Other Verses/Non Penso a Lei

NON PENSO A LEI
(Canzone Ferrandini)
When I pass by below your window, singing,
Never by any chance I think of you;
And jealousy your hard heart may be wringing— I go that way because I've work to do.
And if you think, beneath the gay voice throbbing,
You hear the sound of one in sorrow sobbing— I sing thus since my mood is thus. Believe me,
Madame, no hopeless love of you shall grieve me.
If they have said that I look pale and worn,
Time is at fault, not any woman's scorn.
If they have said I daily seek Death's doors, What's that to you ? Am I a love of yours?
But if I see you smiling at Gigi that sweet way, Then I go to the galleys and you to churchyard clay.
# The Witch-Maid, and Other Verses/Montoro's Song

MONTORO'S SONG AGAINST COUNT ALVARO DE
LUNA, HIGH CONSTABLE OF CASTILE
(From the Spanish of E. Marquina)
"King, a flock is feeding
down the cliff unheeding
 and upon the hill,
with your crook to shepherd it. . . ."
—It is yours, O Favourite.
 Ask for what you will.
"In your crown a jewel
blazes fierce and cruel—
 kingship to fulfil.
Such a royal stone is it. . . ."
—It is yours, O Favourite.
 Ask for what you will.
"King, see, your rejected
sceptre lies neglected
 on the throne-steps still.
Long you have forgotten it. . . ."
—It is yours, O Favourite.
 Ask for what you will.
"King, in kingly measure
I have spent my treasure,
 haste my stores to fill!
Be my Envoy leal and fit—"
—I shall do so, Favourite.
 Ask for what you will.
"King, tell me I am dreaming;
I see the tapers gleaming;
 a scaffold boding ill
with the headsman swart by it— "
—It is yours, O Favourite,
 ask for what you will.
# The Witch-Maid, and Other Verses/Reminder

REMINDER
It's I was sad at parting, but the red heart from my breast I left you as a token that I would not feast or rest Without a thought of you to kiss my lips before the wine, Without a dream of you to stoop and make my sleep divine.
So lest you should forget one word of all the words we said, My heart, my only jewel, fired with living, pulsing red, A trinket at your girdle hangs, and as a sign to me The hungry, aching blank is, where my glad heart used to be.
# The Witch-Maid, and Other Verses/Night on the Plains

NIGHT ON THE PLAINS
Out on the plain-land at night
 There is no sound, not a sigh,
And nothing is moving now
 But scornful stars in the sky:
The night is too great for my heart,
 It flutters and halts and trips;
The terrible mirth of the stars
 Has slain my song on my lips.
Australia.
# The Witch-Maid, and Other Verses/Sea-Fog

SEA-FOG
Into the soft mist the fishing-boats go,
As silent as moonlight, as silent as snow;
Just where the pale sea melts into the sky,
Silver-grey birds of the autumn, they fly
Slowly and smoothly and statelily past
Till their wide pinions are hidden at last.
From the high rock whence I watch on the hill
Down to the sea, all is muffled and still.
Never a leaflet stirs soft overhead,
Everything living is frozen or fled,
Fled through the mist to more wonderful things. . . . Am I the only soul left without wings?   Penzance.
# The Witch-Maid, and Other Verses/Seagull

SEAGULL
O that these words of mine,
 Leaden and dull,
Shone as your feathers shine,
 Swift-racing gull;
Sped like your arrow-flight,
 Flashing between
All the wide heaven's light
 And the waves' green!
Is it the wind's caress
 Bears you along,
Your white wings motionless,
 Delicate, strong?
No, in a moment more
 Down the steep air
You shoot and whirl and soar,
 Effortless there.
Facing the wind you go,
 Splendid and free,
Dark on the sky you show,
 White on the sea.
Now to the waves you swoop,
 Snatch at your prey—
Smoothly you pause and stoop,
 And are away,
While the sea's rage is spent
 Leaping at you,
Who make high merriment
 Up in the blue.
Then to her calming breast
 That pulses still
You will come down to rest
 At your wild will.
O for the shining word
 Swift as the light,
Showing you, gladdest bird,
 Angel of flight!
THE TEMPLE PRESS, PRINTERS, LETCHWORTH