OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1715-1886/Waddilove, George Hope

From volume 4 of the work.
​Waddilove, George Hope, o.s. George Marmaduke, of Wall, Northumberland, arm. Pembroke Coll., matric. 27 Oct., 1883, aged 18.
# Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1715-1886/Waddington, Charles Willoughby

From volume 4 of the work.
​Waddington, Charles Willoughby, 1s. Thomas, of Poona, East Indies, arm. Oriel Coll., matric. 23 Oct., 1884, aged 18; scholar 1884.
# Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1715-1886/Waddell, Charles

From volume 4 of the work.
​Waddell, Charles, s. Robert, of Islanderry, co. 'Dromore,' arm. St. John's Coll., matric. 16 Oct., 1802, aged 17.
# Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1715-1886/Waddell, William Wardlaw

From volume 4 of the work.
​Waddell, William Wardlaw, 2s. Peter Hately, of Girvan, co. Ayr, cler. Balliol Coll., matric. 17 Oct., 1870, aged 22; exhibitioner 1870-5, B.A. 1874.
# Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1715-1886/Waddingham, John

From volume 4 of the work.
​Waddingham, John, 1s. John, of Leeds, co. Yorks, arm. Oriel Coll., matric. 19 March, 1858, aged 19; B.A. 1862, M.A. 1865, J.P. co. Gloucester, brother of the next named.
# Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1715-1886/Waddilove, Alfred

From volume 4 of the work.
​Waddilove, Alfred, 1s. John, of St. Marylebone, London, arm. Trinity Coll., matric. 11 Nov., 1824, aged 18; B.A. 1838, M.A. 1839, D.C.L. 1839, an advocate Doctors' Commons 1839, bar.-at-law, Inner Temple, 1841. See Foster's Men at the Bar.
# Alumni Oxonienses: the Members of the University of Oxford, 1715-1886/Waddington, Evelyn

From volume 4 of the work.
​Waddington, Evelyn, 6s. Alexander Joseph, of Llanllowell, co. Monmouth, arm. Oriel Coll., matric. 17 Oct., 1876, aged 19.
# Ambarvalia/Clough/When soft September brings again

When soft September brings again To yonder gorse its golden glow, And Snowdon sends its autumn rain To bid thy current livelier flow; Amid that ashen foliage light When scarlet beads are glistering bright, While alder boughs unchanged are seen In summer livery of green; When clouds before the cooler breeze Are flying, white and large; with these Returning, so may I return, And find thee changeless, Pont-y-wern.
# Ambarvalia/Clough/Sweet streamlet bason! at thy side

Sweet streamlet bason! at thy side Weary and faint within me cried My longing heart,—In such pure deep How sweet it were to sit and sleep; To feel each passage from without Close up,—above me and about, Those circling waters crystal clear, That calm impervious atmosphere! There on thy pearly pavement pure To lean, and feel myself secure, Or through the dim-lit inter-space, Afar at whiles upgazing trace The dimpling bubbles dance around Upon thy smooth exterior face; Or idly list the dreamy sound Of ripples lightly flung, above That home, of peace, if not of love.
# Ambarvalia/Clough/The Silver Wedding! on some pensive ear

The Silver Wedding! on some pensive ear From towers remote as sound the silvery bells, To-day from one far unforgotten year A silvery faint memorial music swells.
And silver-pale the dim memorial light Of musing age on youthful joys is shed, The golden joys of fancy's dawning bright, The golden bliss of, Woo'd, and won, and wed.
Ah, golden then, but silver now! In sooth, The years that pale the cheek, that dim the eyes, And silver o'er the golden hairs of youth, Less prized can make its only priceless prize.
Not so; the voice this silver name that gave To this, the ripe and unenfeebled date,
For steps together tottering to the grave, Hath bid the perfect golden title wait.
Rather, if silver this, if that be gold, From good to better changed an age's track, Must it as baser metal be enrolled, That day of days, a quarter-century back.
Yet ah, its hopes, its joys were golden too, But golden of the fairy gold of dreams: To feel is but to dream; until we do, There's nought that is, and all we see but seems.
What was or seemed it needed cares and tears, And deeds together done, and trials past, And all the subtlest alchemy of years To change to genuine substance here at last.
Your fairy gold is silver sure to day; Your ore by crosses many, many a loss, As in refiners' fires, hath purged away What erst it had of earthy human dross.
Come years as many yet, and as they go In human life's great crucible shall they Transmute, so potent are the spells they know, Into pure gold the silver of to-day.
Strange metallurge is human life! 'Tis true; And Use and Wont in many a gorgeous case Full specious fair for casual outward view Electrotype the sordid and the base.
Nor lack who praise, avowed, the spurious ware, Who bid young hearts the one true love forego, Conceit to feed, or fancy light as air, Or greed of pelf and precedence and show.
True, false, as one to casual eyes appear, To read men truly men may hardly learn; Yet doubt it not that wariest glance would here Faith, Hope and Love, the true Tower-stamp discern.
Come years again! as many yet! and purge Less precious earthier elements away, And gently changed at life's extremest verge, Bring bright in gold your perfect fiftieth day!
That sight may children see and parents show! If not—yet earthly chains of metal true, By love and duty wrought and fixed below, Elsewhere will shine, transformed, celestial-new;
Will shine of gold, whose essence, heavenly bright, No doubt-damps tarnish, worldly passions fray; Gold into gold there mirrored, light in light, Shall gleam in glories of a deathless day.
# Ambarvalia/Clough/The human spirits saw I on a day

The human spirits saw I on a day, Sitting and looking each a different way; And hardly tasking, subtly questioning, Another spirit went around the ring To each and each: and as he ceased his say, Each after each, I heard them singly sing, Some querulously high, some softly, sadly low, We know not,—what avails to know? We know not,—wherefore need we know? This answer gave they still unto his suing, We know not, let us do as we are doing.
Dost thou not know that these things only seem?— I know not, let me dream my dream. Are dust and ashes fit to make a treasure?— I know not, let me take my pleasure. What shall avail the knowledge thou hast sought?— I know not, let me think my thought.
What is the end of strife?— I know not, let me live my life. How many days or e'er thou mean'st to move?— I know not, let me love my love. Were not things old once new?— I know not, let me do as others do. And when the rest were over past, I know not, I will do my duty, said the last.
Thy duty do? rejoined the voice, Ah do it, do it, and rejoice; But shalt thou then, when all is done, Enjoy a love, embrace a beauty Like these, that may he seen and won In life, whose course will then he run; Or wilt thou be where there is none? I know not, I will do my duty.
And taking up the word around, above, below, Some querulously high, some softly, sadly low, We know not, sang they all, nor ever need we know! We know not, sang they, what avails to know? Whereat the questioning spirit, some short space, Though unabashed, stood quiet in his place. But as the echoing chorus died away And to their dreams the rest returned apace,
By the one spirit I saw him kneeling low, And in a silvery whisper heard him say: Truly, thou knowst not, and thou needst not know; Hope only, hope thou, and believe alway; I also know not, and I need not know, Only with questionings pass I to and fro, Perplexing these that sleep, and in their folly Imbreeding doubt and sceptic melancholy; Till that their dreams deserting, they with me, Come all to this true ignorance and thee.
# Ambarvalia/Clough/When panting sighs the bosom fill

When panting sighs the bosom fill, And hands by chance united thrill At once with one delicious pain The pulses and the nerves of twain; When eyes that erst could meet with ease, Do seek, yet, seeking, shyly shun Extatic conscious unison,— The sure beginnings, say, be these,
Prelusive to the strain of love Which angels sing in heaven above?
Or is it but the vulgar tune, Which all that breathe beneath the moon So accurately learn—so soon? With variations duly blent; Yet that same song to all intent, Set for the finer instrument; It is; and it would sound the same In beasts, were not the bestial frame, Less subtly organised, to blame; And but that soul and spirit add To pleasures, even base and bad, A zest the soulless never had.
It may be—well indeed I deem; But what if sympathy, it seem, And admiration and esteem, Commingling therewithal, do make The passion prized for Reason's sake? Yet, when my heart would fain rejoice, A small expostulating voice Falls in: Of this thou wilt not take Thy one irrevocable choice? In accent tremulous and thin
I hear high Prudence deep within, Pleading the bitter, bitter sting, Should slow- maturing seasons bring, Too late, the veritable thing. For if (the Poet's tale of bliss) A love, wherewith commeasured this Is weak, and beggarly, and none, Exist a treasure to be won, And if the vision, though it stay, Be yet for an appointed day,— This choice, if made, this deed, if done, The memory of this present past, With vague foreboding might o'ercast The heart, or madden it at last.
Let Reason first her office ply; Esteem, and admiration high, And mental, moral sympathy, Exist they first, nor be they brought By self-deceiving afterthought,— What if an halo interfuse With these again its opal hues, That all o'erspreading and o'erlying, Transmuting, mingling, glorifying, About the beauteous various whole, With beaming smile do dance and quiver;
Yet, is that halo of the soul?— Or is it, as may sure be said, Phosphoric exhalation bred Of vapour, steaming from the bed Of Fancy's brook, or Passion's river? So when, as will be by-and-bye, The stream is waterless and dry, This halo and its hues will die; And though the soul contented rest With those substantial blessings blest, Will not a longing, half-confest, Betray that this is not the love, The gift for which all gifts above Him praise we, Who is Love, the giver?
I cannot say—the things are good: Bread is it, if not angels' food; But Love? Alas! I cannot say; A glory on the vision lay; A light of more than mortal day About it played, upon it rested; It did not, faltering and weak, Beg Reason on its side to speak: Itself was Reason, or, if not, Such substitute as is, I wot, Of seraph-kind the loftier lot;—
Itself was of itself attested;— To processes that, hard and dry, Elaborate truth from fallacy, With modes intuitive succeeding, Including those and superseding; Reason sublimed and Love most high It was, a life that cannot die, A dream of glory most exceeding.
# Ambarvalia/Clough/Why should I say I see the things I see not

I.
Why be and be not? Show love for that I love not, and fear for what I fear not? And dance about to music that I hear not? Who standeth still i' the street Shall be hustled and justled about; And he that stops i' the dance shall be spurned by the dancers' feet,— Shall be shoved and be twisted by all he shall meet, And shall raise up an outcry and rout; And the partner, too,— What's the partner to do? While all the while 'tis but, perchance, an humming in mine ear, That yet anon shall hear, And I anon, the music in my soul, In a moment read the whole; The music in my heart, Joyously take my part,
And hand in hand, and heart with heart, with these retreat, advance; And borne on wings of wavy sound, Whirl with these around, around, Who here are living in the living dance! Why forfeit that fair chance? Till that arrive, till thou awake, Of these, my soul, thy music make, And keep amid the throng, And turn as they shall turn, and bound as they are bounding,— Alas! alas! alas! and what if all along The music is not sounding?
II.
One loud and bold and coarse, And overpowering still perforce All tone and tune beside; Yet in despite its pride Only of fumes of foolish fancy bred, And sounding solely in the sounding head: The other, soft and low, Stealing whence we not know, Painfully heard, and easily forgot, With pauses oft and many a silence strange,
(And silent oft it seems, when silent it is not) Revivals too of unexpected change: Haply thou think'st 'twill never he begun, Or that 't has come, and been, and past away; Yet turn to other none,— Turn not, oh, turn not thou! But listen, listen, listen,—if haply he heard it may; Listen, listen, listen,—is it not sounding now?
III.
By death or distance parted will descend, Severing, in crowded rooms ablaze with light, As by a magic screen, the seër from the sight, (Palsying the nerves that intervene The eye and central sense between;) So may the ear, Hearing, not hear, Though drums do roll, and pipes and cymbals ring; So the bare conscience of the better thing Unfelt, unseen, unimaged, all unknown, May fix the entrancèd soul mid multitudes alone.
# Ambarvalia/Clough/Thought may well be ever ranging

Thought may well be ever ranging, And opinion ever changing, Task-work be, though ill begun, Dealt with by experience better; By the law and by the letter Duty done is duty done: Do it, Time is on the wing!
Hearts, 'tis quite another thing, Must or once for all be given, Or must not at all be given; Hearts, 'tis quite another thing!
To bestow the soul away In an idle duty-play!— Why, to trust a life-long bliss To caprices of a day, Scarce were more depraved than this!
Men and maidens, see you mind it; Show of love, where'er you find it, Look if duty lurk behind it! Duty-fancies, urging on Whither love had never gone!
Loving—if the answering breast Seem not to be thus possessed,
Still in hoping have a care; If it do, beware, beware! But if in yourself you find it, Above all things—mind it, mind it!
# Ambarvalia/Clough/With graceful seat and skilful hand

With graceful seat and skilful hand, Upon the fiery steed, Prompt at a moment to command, As fittest, or concede,
Lady! happy he whose will Shall manliest homage pay To that which yielding ever, still Shall in its yielding sway:
Yea, happy he, whose willing soul In perfect love combined With thine shall form one perfect whole, One happy heart and mind!
Fair, fair on fleeting steed to see, Boon Nature's child, nor less, In gorgeous rooms, serene and free, 'Midst etiquette and dress!
Thrice happy who, amidst the form And folly that must be, Existence fresh, and true, and warm, Shall, Lady, own in thee!
Such dreams, in gay saloon, of days That shall be, 'midst the dance And music, while I hear and gaze, My silent soul entrance.
As here the harp thy fingers wake To sounds melodious, he To thy soul's touch shall music make, And his enstrengthen thee.
The notes, diverse in time and tone, The hearts shall image true, That still, in some sweet ways unknown, Their harmonies renew.
The mazy dance, an emblem meet, Shall changeful life pourtray, Whose changes all love's music sweet Expressively obey.
Then shall to waltz, though unexiled, And polka sometimes heard, To songs capricious, wayward, wild, Be other strains preferred.
The heart that 'midst the petty strife, Whose ferment, day by day, To strange realities of life Converts its trifling play,—
The heart, that here pursued the right, Shall then, in freer air, Expand its wings, and drink the light Of life and reason there:
And quickening truth and living law, And large affections clear Shall it to heights on heights updraw, To holiest hope and fear.
—Ah, moralizing premature! And yet words half-supprest May find some secret thoughts ensure Acceptance half-confest.
Full oft concealed high meanings work; And, scorning observation, In gay unthinking guise will lurk A saintly aspiration;
No sickly thing to sit and sun Its puny worth, to pause And list, ere half the deed be done, Its echo—self-applause:
No idler, who its kindly cares To every gossip mentions, And at its breast a posy wears Of laudable intentions.
As of itself, of others so Unrecognised to seek Its aim content, and in the flow Of life and spirits meek.
# Ambarvalia/Clough/Χρυσέα κλῂς ἐπὶ γλώσσᾳ

Χρυσέα κλῂς ἐπὶ γλώσσᾳ.
If, when in cheerless wanderings, dull and cold, A sense of human kindliness hath found us, We seem to have around us An atmosphere all gold, 'Mid darkest shades a halo rich of shine, An element, that while the bleak wind bloweth,
On the rich heart bestoweth Imbreathed draughts of wine; Heaven guide, the cup be not, as chance may be, To some vain mate given up as soon as tasted! No, nor on thee be wasted, Thou trifler, Poesy! Heaven grant the manlier heart, that timely, ere Youth fly, with life's real tempest would be coping; The fruit of dreamy hoping Is, waking, blank despair.
# An Etymological Dictionary of the German Language/Annotated/Korb

| This annotated version expands the abbreviations in the original entry Korb. | Random word Special:RandomInCategory/Annotated entries in Kluge's Etymological Dictionary of the German Language |
​ Korb, masculine, ‘basket,’ from the equivalent Middle High German korp (b), Old High German chorp, korb (genitive korbes), masculine; compare Dutch korf, masculine, ‘dosser.’ The usual derivation from Latin corbis is opposed by phonetic considerations, and also by the fact that nouns equivalent in meaning but with differently graded forms also occur; according to Modern High German Brett and its gradation Bord (which see), Middle High German krëbe, masculine, ‘basket,’ and hence further Modern High German Krippe may also be connected with Korb (compare too Modern Icelandic karfa, feminine, and körf, feminine, ‘basket’?). It is not impossible that, in addition to an inherited Old Teutonic word, the Latin term was borrowed at a later period; Old High German churib, plural churbî, points perhaps to Latin corbis (English corb); further Modern High German Reff (1) seems to be an old cognate of Latin corbis.
# An Etymological Dictionary of the German Language/Annotated/Korn

| This annotated version expands the abbreviations in the original entry Korn. | Random word Special:RandomInCategory/Annotated entries in Kluge's Etymological Dictionary of the German Language |
​ Korn, neuter, ‘grain, corn,’ from Middle High German korn, Old High German chorn (genitive chornes), neuter, ‘corn’ (in Middle High German also ‘grape-stone, corn-field, corn-stalk’). Gothic kaúrn, neuter, with the variant kaúrnô, neuter; Old Icelandic korn, Anglo-Saxon and English corn, Dutch koren; common Teutonic stem korna-, meaning ‘single grain,’ then also ‘stone' and ‘fruit.’ For the meaning ‘stone’ compare Old High German bęrikorn, Middle High German wîn-, trûben-korn, ‘stone of a berry'; Old High German korn- and kërnapful (Anglo-Saxon cornœppel), ‘malum punicum, calville,’ are interchangeable; for the derivative Anglo-Saxon cyrnel, English kernel, see under Kern. Thus it is probable that there exists a close connection between Kern and Korn, their phonetic relation being similar to that between Brett and Bord; for further examples of gradation in nouns, see under Korb. Another graded form of Korn, from pre-Teutonic gṛnó-m, is furnished by Latin grânum, ‘grain, core’; see Hürde, equivalent to Latin crates; voll, equivalent to Latin plênus, Old Irish lán. Gṛnó is exactly the same as Old Slovenian zrŭno, neuter, ‘grain.’
# An Etymological Dictionary of the German Language/Annotated/Koppe

| This annotated version expands the abbreviations in the original entry Koppe. | Random word Special:RandomInCategory/Annotated entries in Kluge's Etymological Dictionary of the German Language |
​ Koppe, see Kuppe.
# An Etymological Dictionary of the German Language/Annotated/Korinthe

| This annotated version expands the abbreviations in the original entry Korinthe. | Random word Special:RandomInCategory/Annotated entries in Kluge's Etymological Dictionary of the German Language |
​ Korinthe, feminine, ‘currant,’ early Modern High German only, from French corinthe.
# An Etymological Dictionary of the German Language/Annotated/Korde

| This annotated version expands the abbreviations in the original entry Korde. | Random word Special:RandomInCategory/Annotated entries in Kluge's Etymological Dictionary of the German Language |
​ Korde, Kordel, feminine, ‘cord, tow-line,’ Modern High German only, from French corde, cordelle; compare Dutch koord, feminine, and the equivalent English cord, from the same Romance source, ultimately derived from Latin and Greek chorda.
# An Etymological Dictionary of the German Language/Annotated/Koppel

| This annotated version expands the abbreviations in the original entry Koppel. | Random word Special:RandomInCategory/Annotated entries in Kluge's Etymological Dictionary of the German Language |
​ Koppel, feminine and neuter, ‘leash,’ from Middle High German koppel, kopel, kuppel, feminine (masculine and neuter), ‘tie, connection,’ especially ‘leash,’ then collective ‘pack of hounds,’ also ‘band’ generally; from Latin copula, Middle Latin also cupla (the latter also ‘couple of hounds in a leash’), whence also French couple, English couple, Dutch koppel, ‘couple, multitude, troop.’
# An Etymological Dictionary of the German Language/Annotated/Koralle

| This annotated version expands the abbreviations in the original entry Koralle. | Random word Special:RandomInCategory/Annotated entries in Kluge's Etymological Dictionary of the German Language |
​ Koralle, feminine, ‘coral,’ from Middle High German koralle, masculine, formed from Middle Latin corallus, Latin corallium.
# An Etymological Dictionary of the German Language/Annotated/Koriander

| This annotated version expands the abbreviations in the original entry Koriander. | Random word Special:RandomInCategory/Annotated entries in Kluge's Etymological Dictionary of the German Language |
​ Koriander, masculine, ‘coriander,’ Modern High German only, from Latin coriandrum; in Middle High German koliander, kullander, kollinder, from Middle Latin coliandrum. Compare Dutch koriander and English coriander.
# An Etymological Dictionary of the German Language/Annotated/Kork

| This annotated version expands the abbreviations in the original entry Kork. | Random word Special:RandomInCategory/Annotated entries in Kluge's Etymological Dictionary of the German Language |
​ Kork, masculine, ‘cork,’ early Modern High German only, through the medium of Dutch (kork, kurk, neuter, ‘corkwood, cork, stopper’) and Low German commerce, from Spanish corcho, ‘corkwood, stopper,’ whence also English cork at an early period. The ultimate source is Latin cortex, ‘bark.’