Chapter I: Front Matter (1)

[Transcriber's Note: The Pronunciation Guide and Word List are at the end of the book.]

_POEMS OF RURAL LIFE IN THE DORSET DIALECT._

BY WILLIAM BARNES.

LONDON: KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRÜBNER & Co., LTD. 1903

_TO THE READER._

KIND READER,

Two of the three Collections of these Dorset Poems have been, for some time, out of print, and the whole of the three sets are now brought out in one volume.

I have little more to say for them, than that the writing of them as glimpses of life and landscape in Dorset, which often open to my memory and mindsight, has given me very much pleasure; and my happiness would be enhanced if I could believe that you would feel my sketches to be so truthful and pleasing as to give you even a small share of pleasure, such as that of the memories from which I have written them.

This edition has a list of such Dorset words as are found in the Poems, with some hints on Dorset word shapes, and I hope that they will be found a fully good key to the meanings of the verse.

Yours kindly,

W. BARNES

_June 1879._

CONTENTS.

FIRST COLLECTION.

SPRING.

The Spring 3 The Woodlands 4 Leädy-Day, an' Riddèn House 5 Easter Zunday 8 Easter Monday 9 Dock-Leaves 9 The Blackbird 10 Woodcom' Feäst 12 The Milk-Maïd o' the Farm 13 The Girt Woak Tree that's in the Dell 15 Vellèn o' the Tree 16 Bringèn Woone Gwaïn o' Zundays 17 Evenèn Twilight 18 Evenèn in the Village 20 May 20 Bob the Fiddler 22 Hope in Spring 23 The White Road up athirt the Hill 24 The Woody Hollow 25 Jenny's Ribbons 26 Eclogue:--The 'Lotments 28 Eclogue:--A Bit o' Sly Coortèn 30

SUMMER.

Evenèn, an' Maïdens out at Door 34 The Shepherd o' the Farm 35 Vields in the Light 36 Whitsuntide an' Club Walkèn 37 Woodley 39 The Brook that Ran by Gramfer's 41 Sleep did come wi' the Dew 42 Sweet Music in the Wind 43 Uncle an' Aunt 44 Havèn Woones Fortune a-twold 46 Jeäne's Weddèn Day in Mornèn 47 Rivers don't gi'e out 49 Meäken up a Miff 50 Haÿ-Meäken 51 Haÿ-Carrèn 52 Eclogue:--The Best Man in the Vield 54 Where we did keep our Flagon 57 Week's End in Zummer, in the Wold Vo'k's Time 58 The Meäd a-mow'd 60 The Sky a-cleärèn 61 The Evenèn Star o' Zummer 62 The Clote 63 I got two Vields 65 Polly be-èn upzides wi' Tom 66 Be'mi'ster 67 Thatchèn o' the Rick 68 Bees a-Zwarmèn 69 Readèn ov a Head-stwone 70 Zummer Evenèn Dance 71 Eclogue:--The Veäiries 72

FALL.

Corn a-turnèn Yollow 76 A-Haulèn o' the Corn 77 Harvest Hwome:--The vu'st Peärt 78 Harvest Hwome:--Second Peärt 79 A Zong ov Harvest Hwome 80 Poll's Jack-Daw 82 The Ivy 83 The Welshnut Tree 84 Jenny out vrom Hwome 86 Grenley Water 86 The Veäiry Veet that I do meet 87 Mornèn 88 Out a-Nuttèn 90 Teäkèn in Apples 91 Meäple Leaves be Yollow 92 Night a-zettèn in 93 The Weather-beäten Tree 94 Shrodon Feäir:--The vu'st Peärt 95 Shrodon Feäir:--The rest o't 96 Martin's Tide 97 Guy Faux's Night 99 Eclogue:--The Common a-took in 100 Eclogue:--Two Farms in Woone 102

WINTER.

The Vrost 105 A Bit o' Fun 106 Fanny's Be'th-day 107 What Dick an' I did 109 Grammer's Shoes 111 Zunsheen in the Winter 112 The Weepèn Leädy 113 The Happy Days when I wer Young 115 In the Stillness o' the Night 116 The Settle an' the Girt Wood Vire 117 The Carter 118 Chris'mas Invitation 120 Keepèn up o' Chris'mas 121 Zittèn out the Wold Year 122 Woak wer Good Enough Woonce 123 Lullaby 124 Meäry-Ann's Child 125 Eclogue:--Father Come Hwome 126 Eclogue:--A Ghost 129

SUNDRY PIECES.

A Zong 133 The Maïd vor my Bride 134 The Hwomestead 135 The Farmer's Woldest D[=a]'ter 136 Uncle out o' Debt an' out o' Danger 137 The Church an' Happy Zunday 140 The Wold Waggon 141 The Drèven o' the Common 142 The Common a-took in 143 A Wold Friend 145 The Rwose that Deck'd her Breast 145 Nanny's Cow 147 The Shep'erd Bwoy 148 Hope a-left Behind 149 A Good Father 150 The Beam in Grenley Church 151 The Vaïces that be Gone 152 Poll 153 Looks a-know'd Avore 154 The Music o' the Dead 155 The Pleäce a Teäle's a-twold o' 156 Aunt's Tantrums 158 The Stwonèn Pworch 159 Farmer's Sons 160 Jeäne 161 The Dree Woaks 162 The Hwomestead a-vell into Hand 164 The Guide Post 166 Gwain to Feäir 167 Jeäne o' Grenley Mill 168 The Bells ov Alderburnham 169 The Girt Wold House o' Mossy Stwone 170 A Witch 173 Eclogue:--The Times 175

* * * * *

SECOND COLLECTION.

Blackmwore Maïdens 185 My Orcha'd in Lindèn Lea 186 Bishop's Caundle 187 Hay Meäkèn--Nunchen Time 189 A Father out an' Mother Hwome 191 Riddles 192 Day's Work a-done 196 Light or Sheäde 197 The Waggon a-stooded 197 Gwaïn down the Steps 201 Ellen Brine ov Allenburn 202 The Motherless Child 203 The Leädy's Tower 204 Fatherhood 208 The Maïd o' Newton 211 Childhood 212 Meäry's Smile 213 Meäry Wedded 214 The Stwonèn Bwoy 215 The Young that died in Beauty 217 Fäir Emily of Yarrow Mill 218 The Scud 219 Mindèn House 221 The Lovely Maïd ov Elwell Meäd 222 Our Fathers' Works 224 The Wold vo'k Dead 225 Culver Dell and the Squire 227 Our Be'thplace 229 The Window freämed wi' Stwone 230 The Waterspring in the Leäne 231 The Poplars 232 The Linden on the Lawn 233 Our abode in Arby Wood 235 Slow to come, quick agone 236 The Vier-zide 236 Knowlwood 238 Hallowed Pleäces 240 The Wold Wall 242 Bleäke's House 243 John Bleäke at Hwome 245 Milkèn Time 247 When Birds be Still 248 Ridèn Hwome at Night 249 Zun-zet. 250 Spring 252 The Zummer Hedge 253 The Water Crowvoot 254 The Lilac 255 The Blackbird 256 The Slantèn light o' Fall 257 Thissledown 259 The May-tree 259 The Lydlinch Bells 260 The Stage Coach 261 Wayfeärèn 263 The Leäne 265 The Raïlroad 267 The Raïlroad 268 Seats 268 Sound o' Water 270 Trees be Company 270 A Pleäce in Zight 272 Gwaïn to Brookwell 273 Brookwell 275 The Shy Man 277 The Winter's Willow 279 I know Who 281 Jessie Lee 282 True Love 283 The Beän-vield 284 Wold Friends a-met 286 Fifehead 288 Ivy Hall 289 False Friends-like 290 The Bachelor 290 Married Peäir's Love-walk 292 A Wife a-praïs'd 293 The Wife a-lost 295 The Thorns in the Geäte 296 Angels by the Door 297 Vo'k a-comèn into Church 298 Woone Rule 299 Good Meäster Collins 300 Herrènston 302 Out at Plough 304 The Bwoat 306 The Pleäce our own agean 307 Eclogue:--John an' Thomas 308 Pentridge by the River 310 Wheat 311 The Meäd in June 313 Early risén 315 Zelling woone's Honey 316 Dobbin Dead 317 Happiness 319 Gruffmoody Grim 320 The Turn o' the Days 322 The Sparrow Club 323 Gammony Gaÿ 325 The Heäre 327 Nanny Gill 329 Moonlight on the Door 330 My Love's Guardian Angel 331 Leeburn Mill 332 Praise o' Do'set 333

THIRD COLLECTION.

Woone Smile Mwore 339 The Echo 340 Vull a Man 341 Naighbour Plaÿmeätes 343 The Lark 345 The Two Churches 345 Woak Hill 347 The Hedger 348 In the Spring 349 The Flood in Spring 350 Comen Hwome 351 Grammer a-crippled 352 The Castle Ruins 354 Eclogue:--John jealous 355 Early Plaÿmeäte 359 Pickèn o' Scroff 360 Good Night 361 Went Hwome 362 The Hollow Woak 363 Childern's Childern 364 The Rwose in the Dark 365 Come 366 Zummer Winds 367 The Neäme Letters 368 The New House a-gettèn Wold 370 Zunday 370 The Pillar'd Geäte 371 Zummer Stream 373 Zummer Stream 373 Linda Deäne 374 Eclogue:--Come an' zee us 376 Lindenore 377 Me'th below the Tree 378 Treat well your Wife 379 The Child an' the Mowers 381 The Love Child 382 Hawthorn Down 383 Oben Vields 385 What John wer a-tellèn 386 Sheädes 387 Times o' Year 387 Eclogue:--Racketèn Joe 388 Zummer an' Winter 391 To Me 392 Two an' Two 393 The Lew o' the Rick 394 The Wind in Woone's Feäce 395 Tokens 396 Tweil 396 Fancy 398 The Broken Heart 399 Evenèn Light 400 Vields by Watervalls 401 The Wheel Routs 402 Nanny's new Abode 403 Leaves a-vallèn 404 Lizzie 405 Blessens a-left 406 Fall Time 407 Fall 408 The Zilver-weed 409 The Widow's House 409 The Child's Greäve 410 Went vrom Hwome 412 The Fancy Feäir 412 Things do Come Round 414 Zummer Thoughts in Winter Time 415 I'm out o' Door 416 Grief an' Gladness 417 Slidèn 418 Lwonesomeness 420 A Snowy Night 421 The Year-clock 421 Not goo Hwome To-night 424 The Humstrum 426 Shaftesbury Feäir 427 The Beäten Path 429 Ruth a-ridèn 430 Beauty Undecked 432 My love is good 432 Heedless o' my love 434 The Do'set Militia 435 A Do'set Sale 437 Don't ceäre 437 Changes 439 Kindness 440 Withstanders 441 Daniel Dwithen 442 Turnèn things off 444 The Giants in Treädes 445 The Little Worold 447 Bad News 448 The Turnstile 449 The Better vor zeèn o' you 450 Pity 451 John Bloom in Lon'on 453 A Lot o' Maïdens 456

POEMS OF RURAL LIFE.

FIRST COLLECTION.

SPRING.

THE SPRING.

When wintry weather's all a-done,
An' brooks do sparkle in the zun,
An' nâisy-buildèn rooks do vlee
Wi' sticks toward their elem tree;
When birds do zing, an' we can zee
Upon the boughs the buds o' spring,--
Then I'm as happy as a king,
A-vield wi' health an' zunsheen.

Vor then the cowslip's hangèn flow'r
A-wetted in the zunny show'r,
Do grow wi' vi'lets, sweet o' smell,
Bezide the wood-screen'd grægle's bell;
Where drushes' aggs, wi' sky-blue shell,
Do lie in mossy nest among
The thorns, while they do zing their zong
At evenèn in the zunsheen.

An' God do meäke his win' to blow
An' raïn to vall vor high an' low,
An' bid his mornèn zun to rise
Vor all alike, an' groun' an' skies
Ha' colors vor the poor man's eyes:
An' in our trials He is near,
To hear our mwoan an' zee our tear,
An' turn our clouds to zunsheen.

An' many times when I do vind
Things all goo wrong, an' vo'k unkind,
To zee the happy veedèn herds,
An' hear the zingèn o' the birds,
Do soothe my sorrow mwore than words;
Vor I do zee that 'tis our sin
Do meäke woone's soul so dark 'ithin,
When God would gi'e woone zunsheen.

THE WOODLANDS.

O spread ageän your leaves an' flow'rs,
Lwonesome woodlands! zunny woodlands!
Here underneath the dewy show'rs
O' warm-aïr'd spring-time, zunny woodlands!
As when, in drong or open ground,
Wi' happy bwoyish heart I vound
The twitt'rèn birds a-buildèn round
Your high-bough'd hedges, zunny woodlands.

You gie'd me life, you gie'd me jaÿ,
Lwonesome woodlands! zunny woodlands
You gie'd me health, as in my plaÿ
I rambled through ye, zunny woodlands!
You gie'd me freedom, vor to rove
In aïry meäd or sheädy grove;
You gie'd me smilèn Fannèy's love,
The best ov all o't, zunny woodlands!

My vu'st shrill skylark whiver'd high,
Lwonesome woodlands! zunny woodlands!
To zing below your deep-blue sky
An' white spring-clouds, O zunny woodlands!
An' boughs o' trees that woonce stood here,
Wer glossy green the happy year
That gie'd me woone I lov'd so dear,
An' now ha' lost, O zunny woodlands!

O let me rove ageän unspied,
Lwonesome woodlands! zunny woodlands!
Along your green-bough'd hedges' zide,
As then I rambled, zunny woodlands!
An' where the missèn trees woonce stood,
Or tongues woonce rung among the wood,
My memory shall meäke em good,
Though you've a-lost em, zunny woodlands!

LEADY-DAY, AN' RIDDEN HOUSE.

Aye, back at Leädy-Day, you know,
I come vrom Gullybrook to Stowe;
At Leädy-Day I took my pack
O' rottletraps, an' turn'd my back
Upon the weather-beäten door,
That had a-screen'd, so long avore,
The mwost that theäse zide o' the greäve,
I'd live to have, or die to seäve!
My childern, an' my vier-pleäce,
Where Molly wi' her cheerful feäce,
When I'd a-trod my wat'ry road
Vrom night-bedarken'd vields abrode,
Wi' nimble hands, at evenèn, blest
Wi' vire an' vood my hard-won rest;
The while the little woones did clim',
So sleek-skinn'd, up from lim' to lim',
Till, strugglèn hard an' clingèn tight,
They reach'd at last my feäce's height.
All tryèn which could soonest hold
My mind wi' little teäles they twold.
An' riddèn house is such a caddle,
I shan't be over keen vor mwore [=o]'t,
Not yet a while, you mid be sure [=o]'t,--
I'd rather keep to woone wold staddle.

Well, zoo, avore the east begun
To redden wi' the comèn zun,
We left the beds our mossy thatch
Wer never mwore to overstratch,
An' borrow'd uncle's wold hoss _Dragon_,
To bring the slowly lumbrèn waggon,
An' when he come, we vell a-packèn
The bedsteads, wi' their rwopes an' zackèn;
An' then put up the wold eärm-chair,
An' cwoffer vull ov e'then-ware,
An' vier-dogs, an' copper kittle,
Wi' crocks an' saucepans, big an' little;
An' fryèn-pan, vor aggs to slide
In butter round his hissèn zide,
An' gridire's even bars, to bear
The drippèn steäke above the gleäre
O' brightly-glowèn coals. An' then,
All up o' top o' them ageän
The woaken bwoard, where we did eat
Our croust o' bread or bit o' meat,--
An' when the bwoard wer up, we tied
Upon the reäves, along the zide,
The woäken stools, his glossy meätes,
Bwoth when he's beäre, or when the pleätes
Do clatter loud wi' knives, below
Our merry feäces in a row.
An' put between his lags, turn'd up'ard,
The zalt-box an' the corner cupb'ard.
An' then we laid the wold clock-ceäse,
All dumb, athirt upon his feäce,
Vor we'd a-left, I needen tell ye,
Noo works 'ithin his head or belly.
An' then we put upon the pack
The settle, flat upon his back;
An' after that, a-tied in pairs
In woone another, all the chairs,
An' bits o' lumber wo'th a ride,
An' at the very top a-tied,
The childern's little stools did lie,
Wi' lags a-turn'd towárd the sky:
Zoo there we lwoaded up our scroff,
An' tied it vast, an' started off.
An',--as the waggon cooden car all
We had to teäke,--the butter-barrel
An' cheese-wring, wi' his twinèn screw,
An' all the païls an' veäts, an' blue
Wold milk leads, and a vew things mwore,
Wer all a-carr'd the day avore,
And when the mwost ov our wold stuff
Wer brought outside o' thik brown ruf,
I rambled roun' wi' narrow looks,
In fusty holes an' darksome nooks,
To gather all I still mid vind,
O' rags or sticks a-left behind.
An' there the unlatch'd doors did creak,
A-swung by winds, a-streamèn weak
Drough empty rooms, an' meäkèn sad
My heart, where me'th woonce meäde me glad.
Vor when a man do leäve the he'th
An' ruf where vu'st he drew his breath,
Or where he had his bwoyhood's fun,
An' things wer woonce a-zaid an' done
That took his mind, do touch his heart
A little bit, I'll answer vor't.
Zoo riddèn house is such a caddle,
That I would rather keep my staddle.

EASTER ZUNDAY.

Last Easter Jim put on his blue
Frock cwoat, the vu'st time--vier new;
Wi' yollow buttons all o' brass,
That glitter'd in the zun lik' glass;
An' pok'd 'ithin the button-hole
A tutty he'd a-begg'd or stole.
A span-new wes'co't, too, he wore,
Wi' yollow stripes all down avore;
An' tied his breeches' lags below
The knee, wi' ribbon in a bow;
An' drow'd his kitty-boots azide,
An' put his laggèns on, an' tied
His shoes wi' strings two vingers wide,
Because 'twer Easter Zunday.

An' after mornèn church wer out
He come back hwome, an' stroll'd about
All down the vields, an' drough the leäne,
Wi' sister Kit an' cousin Jeäne,
A-turnèn proudly to their view
His yollow breast an' back o' blue.
The lambs did plaÿ, the grounds wer green,
The trees did bud, the zun did sheen;
The lark did zing below the sky,
An' roads wer all a-blown so dry,
As if the zummer wer begun;
An' he had sich a bit o' fun!
He meäde the maïdens squeäl an' run,
Because 'twer Easter Zunday.

EASTER MONDAY.

An' zoo o' Monday we got drough
Our work betimes, an ax'd a vew
Young vo'k vrom Stowe an' Coom, an' zome
Vrom uncle's down at Grange, to come.
An' they so spry, wi' merry smiles,
Did beät the path an' leäp the stiles,
Wi' two or dree young chaps bezide,
To meet an' keep up Easter tide:
Vor we'd a-zaid avore, we'd git
Zome friends to come, an' have a bit
O' fun wi' me, an' Jeäne, an' Kit,
Because 'twer Easter Monday.

An' there we plaÿ'd away at quaïts,
An' weigh'd ourzelves wi' sceäles an' waïghts;
An' jump'd to zee who jump'd the spryest,
An' sprung the vurdest an' the highest;
An' rung the bells vor vull an hour.
An' plaÿ'd at vives ageän the tower.
An' then we went an' had a taït,
An' cousin Sammy, wi' his waïght,
Broke off the bar, he wer so fat!
An' toppled off, an' vell down flat
Upon his head, an' squot his hat,
Because 'twer Easter Monday.

DOCK-LEAVES.

The dock-leaves that do spread so wide
Up yonder zunny bank's green zide,
Do bring to mind what we did do
At plaÿ wi' dock-leaves years agoo:
How we,--when nettles had a-stung
Our little hands, when we wer young,--
Did rub em wi' a dock, an' zing
"_Out nettl', in dock. In dock, out sting._"
An' when your feäce, in zummer's het,
Did sheen wi' tricklèn draps o' zweat,
How you, a-zot bezide the bank,
Didst toss your little head, an' pank,
An' teäke a dock-leaf in your han',
An' whisk en lik' a leädy's fan;
While I did hunt, 'ithin your zight,
Vor streaky cockle-shells to fight.

In all our plaÿ-geämes we did bruise
The dock-leaves wi' our nimble shoes;
Bwoth where we merry chaps did fling
You maïdens in the orcha'd swing,
An' by the zaw-pit's dousty bank,
Where we did taït upon a plank.
--(D'ye mind how woonce, you cou'den zit
The bwoard, an' vell off into pit?)
An' when we hunted you about
The grassy barken, in an' out
Among the ricks, your vlèe-èn frocks
An' nimble veet did strik' the docks.
An' zoo they docks, a-spread so wide
Up yonder zunny bank's green zide,
Do bring to mind what we did do,
Among the dock-leaves years agoo.

THE BLACKBIRD.

Ov all the birds upon the wing
Between the zunny show'rs o' spring,--
Vor all the lark, a-swingèn high,
Mid zing below a cloudless sky.
An' sparrows, clust'rèn roun' the bough,
Mid chatter to the men at plough,--
The blackbird, whisslèn in among
The boughs, do zing the gaÿest zong.

Vor we do hear the blackbird zing
His sweetest ditties in the spring,
When nippèn win's noo mwore do blow
Vrom northern skies, wi' sleet or snow,
But dr[=e]ve light doust along between
The leäne-zide hedges, thick an' green;
An' zoo the blackbird in among
The boughs do zing the gaÿest zong.

'Tis blithe, wi' newly-open'd eyes,
To zee the mornèn's ruddy skies;
Or, out a-haulèn frith or lops
Vrom new-pl[=e]sh'd hedge or new-vell'd copse,
To rest at noon in primrwose beds
Below the white-bark'd woak-trees' heads;
But there's noo time, the whole däy long,
Lik' evenèn wi' the blackbird's zong.

Vor when my work is all a-done
Avore the zettèn o' the zun,
Then blushèn Jeäne do walk along
The hedge to meet me in the drong,
An' staÿ till all is dim an' dark
Bezides the ashen tree's white bark;
An' all bezides the blackbird's shrill
An' runnèn evenèn-whissle's still.

An' there in bwoyhood I did rove
Wi' pryèn eyes along the drove
To vind the nest the blackbird meäde
O' grass-stalks in the high bough's sheäde:
Or clim' aloft, wi' clingèn knees,
Vor crows' aggs up in swaÿèn trees,
While frighten'd blackbirds down below
Did chatter o' their little foe.
An' zoo there's noo pleäce lik' the drong,
Where I do hear the blackbird's zong.

WOODCOM' FEAST.

Come, Fanny, come! put on thy white,
'Tis Woodcom' feäst, good now! to-night.
Come! think noo mwore, you silly maïd,
O' chickèn drown'd, or ducks a-straÿ'd;
Nor mwope to vind thy new frock's taïl
A-tore by hitchèn in a naïl;
Nor grieve an' hang thy head azide,
A-thinkèn o' thy lam' that died.
The flag's a-vleèn wide an' high,
An' ringèn bells do sheäke the sky;
The fifes do play, the horns do roar,
An' boughs be up at ev'ry door:
They 'll be a-dancèn soon,--the drum
'S a-rumblèn now. Come, Fanny, come!
Why father's gone, an' mother too.
They went up leäne an hour agoo;
An' at the green the young and wold
Do stan' so thick as sheep in vwold:
The men do laugh, the bwoys do shout,--
Come out you mwopèn wench, come out,
An' go wi' me, an' show at leäst
Bright eyes an' smiles at Woodcom' feäst.

Come, let's goo out, an' fling our heels
About in jigs an' vow'r-han' reels;
While äll the stiff-lagg'd wolder vo'k,
A-zittèn roun', do talk an' joke
An' smile to zee their own wold rigs.
A-show'd by our wild geämes an' jigs.
Vor ever since the vwold church speer
Vu'st prick'd the clouds, vrom year to year,
When grass in meäd did reach woone's knees,
An' blooth did kern in apple-trees,
Zome merry day 'v' a-broke to sheen
Above the dance at Woodcom' green,
An' all o' they that now do lie
So low all roun' the speer so high,
Woonce, vrom the biggest to the leäst,
Had merry hearts at Woodcom' feäst.

Zoo keep it up, an' gi'e it on
To other vo'k when we be gone.
Come otit; vor when the zettèn zun
Do leäve in sheäde our harmless fun,
The moon a-risèn in the east
Do gi'e us light at Woodcom' feäst.
Come, Fanny, come! put on thy white,
'Tis merry Woodcom' feäst to night:
There's nothèn vor to mwope about,--
Come out, you leäzy jeäde, come out!
An' thou wult be, to woone at leäst,
The prettiest maïd at Woodcom' feäst.

THE MILK-MAID O' THE FARM.

O Poll's the milk-maïd o' the farm!
An' Poll's so happy out in groun',
Wi' her white païl below her eärm
As if she wore a goolden crown.

An' Poll don't zit up half the night,
Nor lie vor half the day a-bed;
An' zoo her eyes be sparklèn bright,
An' zoo her cheäks be bloomèn red.

In zummer mornèns, when the lark
Do rouse the litty lad an' lass
To work, then she's the vu'st to mark
Her steps along the dewy grass.

An' in the evenèn, when the zun
Do sheen ageän the western brows
O' hills, where bubblèn brooks do run,
There she do zing bezide her cows.

An' ev'ry cow of hers do stand,
An' never overzet her païl;
Nor try to kick her nimble hand,
Nor switch her wi' her heavy taïl.

Noo leädy, wi' her muff an' vaïl,
Do walk wi' sich a steätely tread
As she do, wi' her milkèn païl
A-balanc'd on her comely head.

An' she, at mornèn an' at night,
Do skim the yollow cream, an' mwold
An' wring her cheeses red an' white,
An' zee the butter vetch'd an' roll'd.

An' in the barken or the ground,
The chaps do always do their best
To milk the vu'st their own cows round,
An' then help her to milk the rest.

Zoo Poll's the milk-maïd o' the farm!
An' Poll's so happy out in groun',
Wi' her white païl below her eärm,
As if she wore a goolden crown.

THE GIRT WOAK TREE THAT'S IN THE DELL.

The girt woak tree that's in the dell!
There's noo tree I do love so well;
Vor times an' times when I wer young,
I there've a-climb'd, an' there've a-zwung,
An' pick'd the eäcorns green, a-shed
In wrestlèn storms vrom his broad head.
An' down below's the cloty brook
Where I did vish with line an' hook,
An' beät, in plaÿsome dips and zwims,
The foamy stream, wi' white-skinn'd lim's.
An' there my mother nimbly shot
Her knittèn-needles, as she zot
At evenèn down below the wide
Woak's head, wi' father at her zide.
An' I've a-plaÿed wi' many a bwoy,
That's now a man an' gone awoy;
Zoo I do like noo tree so well
'S the girt woak tree that's in the dell.

An' there, in leäter years, I roved
Wi' thik poor maïd I fondly lov'd,--
The maïd too feäir to die so soon,--
When evenèn twilight, or the moon,
Cast light enough 'ithin the pleäce
To show the smiles upon her feäce,
Wi' eyes so clear's the glassy pool,
An' lips an' cheäks so soft as wool.
There han' in han', wi' bosoms warm,
Wi' love that burn'd but thought noo harm,
Below the wide-bough'd tree we past
The happy hours that went too vast;
An' though she'll never be my wife,
She's still my leäden star o' life.
She's gone: an' she've a-left to me
Her mem'ry in the girt woak tree;
Zoo I do love noo tree so well
'S the girt woak tree that's in the dell

An' oh! mid never ax nor hook
Be brought to spweil his steätely look;
Nor ever roun' his ribby zides
Mid cattle rub ther heäiry hides;
Nor pigs rout up his turf, but keep
His lwonesome sheäde vor harmless sheep;
An' let en grow, an' let en spread,
An' let en live when I be dead.
But oh! if men should come an' vell
The girt woak tree that's in the dell,
An' build his planks 'ithin the zide
O' zome girt ship to plough the tide,
Then, life or death! I'd goo to sea,
A saïlèn wi' the girt woak tree:
An' I upon his planks would stand,
An' die a-fightèn vor the land,--
The land so dear,--the land so free,--
The land that bore the girt woak tree;
Vor I do love noo tree so well
'S the girt woak tree that's in the dell.

VELLEN O' THE TREE.

Aye, the girt elem tree out in little hwome groun'
Wer a-stannèn this mornèn, an' now's a-cut down.
Aye, the girt elem tree, so big roun' an' so high,
Where the mowers did goo to their drink, an' did lie
In the sheäde ov his head, when the zun at his heighth
Had a-drove em vrom mowèn, wi' het an' wi' drîth,
Where the haÿ-meäkers put all their picks an' their reäkes,
An' did squot down to snabble their cheese an' their ceäkes,
An' did vill vrom their flaggons their cups wi' their eäle,
An' did meäke theirzelves merry wi' joke an' wi' teäle.

Ees, we took up a rwope an' we tied en all round
At the top o'n, wi' woone end a-hangèn to ground,
An' we cut, near the ground, his girt stem a'most drough,
An' we bent the wold head o'n wi' woone tug or two;
An' he sway'd all his limbs, an' he nodded his head,
Till he vell away down like a pillar o' lead:
An' as we did run vrom en, there; clwose at our backs,
Oh! his boughs come to groun' wi' sich whizzes an' cracks;
An' his top wer so lofty that, now he is down,
The stem o'n do reach a-most over the groun'.
Zoo the girt elem tree out in little hwome groun'
Wer a-stannèn this mornèn, an' now's a-cut down.

BRINGEN WOONE GWAÏN[A] O' ZUNDAYS.

Ah! John! how I do love to look
At theäse green hollor, an' the brook
Among the withies that do hide
The stream, a-growèn at the zide;
An' at the road athirt the wide
An' shallow vword, where we young bwoys
Did peärt, when we did goo half-woys,
To bring ye gwaïn o' Zundays.

Vor after church, when we got hwome,
In evenèn you did always come
To spend a happy hour or two
Wi' us, or we did goo to you;
An' never let the comers goo
Back hwome alwone, but always took
A stroll down wi' em to the brook
To bring em gwaïn o' Zundays.

How we did scote all down the groun',
A-pushèn woone another down!
Or challengèn o' zides in jumps
Down over bars, an' vuzz, an' humps;
An' peärt at last wi' slaps an' thumps,
An' run back up the hill to zee
Who'd get hwome soonest, you or we.
That brought ye gwaïn o' Zundays.

O' leäter years, John, you've a-stood
My friend, an' I've a-done you good;
But tidden, John, vor all that you
Be now, that I do like ye zoo,
But what you wer vor years agoo:
Zoo if you'd stir my heart-blood now.
Tell how we used to play, an' how
You brought us gwaïn o' Zundays.

[Footnote A: "To bring woone gwaïn,"--to bring one going; to bring one on his way.]

EVENÈN TWILIGHT.

Ah! they vew zummers brought us round
The happiest days that we've a-vound,
When in the orcha'd, that did stratch
To westward out avore the patch
Ov high-bough'd wood, an' shelve to catch
The western zun-light, we did meet
Wi' merry tongues an' skippèn veet
At evenèn in the twilight.

The evenèn aïr did fan, in turn,
The cheäks the midday zun did burn.
An' zet the russlèn leaves at plaÿ,
An' meäke the red-stemm'd brembles sway
In bows below the snow-white maÿ;
An' whirlèn roun' the trees, did sheäke
Jeäne's raven curls about her neck,
They evenèns in the twilight.

An' there the yollow light did rest
Upon the bank towárd the west,
An' twitt'rèn birds did hop in drough
The hedge, an' many a skippèn shoe
Did beät the flowers, wet wi' dew,
As underneäth the tree's wide limb
Our merry sheäpes did jumpy, dim,
They evenèns in the twilight.

How sweet's the evenèn dusk to rove
Along wi' woone that we do love!
When light enough is in the sky
To sheäde the smile an' light the eye
'Tis all but heaven to be by;
An' bid, in whispers soft an' light
'S the ruslèn ov a leaf, "Good night,"
At evenèn in the twilight.

An' happy be the young an' strong,
That can but work the whole day long
So merry as the birds in spring;
An' have noo ho vor any thing
Another day mid teäke or bring;
But meet, when all their work's a-done,
In orcha'd vor their bit o' fun
At evenèn in the twilight.

EVENÈN IN THE VILLAGE.

Now the light o' the west is a-turn'd to gloom,
An' the men be at hwome vrom ground;
An' the bells be a-zendèn all down the Coombe
From tower, their mwoansome sound.
An' the wind is still,
An' the house-dogs do bark,
An' the rooks be a-vled to the elems high an' dark,
An' the water do roar at mill.

An' the flickerèn light drough the window-peäne
Vrom the candle's dull fleäme do shoot,
An' young Jemmy the smith is a-gone down leäne,
A-plaÿèn his shrill-vaïced flute.
An' the miller's man
Do zit down at his ease
On the seat that is under the cluster o' trees.
Wi' his pipe an' his cider can.

MAY.

Come out o' door, 'tis Spring! 'tis Maÿ
The trees be green, the vields be gaÿ;
The weather's warm, the winter blast,
Wi' all his traïn o' clouds, is past;
The zun do rise while vo'k do sleep,
To teäke a higher daily zweep,
Wi' cloudless feäce a-flingèn down
His sparklèn light upon the groun'.

The air's a-streamèn soft,--come drow
The windor open; let it blow
In drough the house, where vire, an' door
A-shut, kept out the cwold avore.
Come, let the vew dull embers die,
An' come below the open sky;
An' wear your best, vor fear the groun'
In colours gaÿ mid sheäme your gown:
An' goo an' rig wi' me a mile
Or two up over geäte an' stile,
Drough zunny parrocks that do leäd,
Wi' crooked hedges, to the meäd,
Where elems high, in steätely ranks,
Do rise vrom yollow cowslip-banks,
An' birds do twitter vrom the spraÿ
O' bushes deck'd wi' snow-white maÿ;
An' gil'cups, wi' the deäisy bed,
Be under ev'ry step you tread.

We'll wind up roun' the hill, an' look
All down the thickly-timber'd nook,
Out where the squier's house do show
His grey-wall'd peaks up drough the row
O' sheädy elems, where the rook
Do build her nest; an' where the brook
Do creep along the meäds, an' lie
To catch the brightness o' the sky;
An' cows, in water to theïr knees,
Do stan' a-whiskèn off the vlees.

Mother o' blossoms, and ov all
That's feäir a-yield vrom Spring till Fall,
The gookoo over white-weäv'd seas
Do come to zing in thy green trees,
An' buttervlees, in giddy flight,
Do gleäm the mwost by thy gaÿ light
Oh! when, at last, my fleshly eyes
Shall shut upon the vields an' skies,
Mid zummer's zunny days be gone,
An' winter's clouds be comèn on:
Nor mid I draw upon the e'th,
O' thy sweet aïr my leätest breath;
Alassen I mid want to staÿ
Behine' for thee, O flow'ry May!

BOB THE FIDDLER.

Oh! Bob the fiddler is the pride
O' chaps an' maïdens vur an' wide;
They can't keep up a merry tide,
But Bob is in the middle.
If merry Bob do come avore ye,
He'll zing a zong, or tell a story;
But if you'd zee en in his glory,
Jist let en have a fiddle.

Aye, let en tuck a crowd below
His chin, an' gi'e his vist a bow,
He'll dreve his elbow to an' fro',
An' plaÿ what you do please.
At Maypolèn, or feäst, or feäir,
His eärm wull zet off twenty peäir,
An' meäke em dance the groun' dirt-beäre,
An' hop about lik' vlees.

Long life to Bob! the very soul
O' me'th at merry feäst an' pole;
Vor when the crowd do leäve his jowl,
They'll all be in the dumps.
Zoo at the dance another year,
At _Shillinston_ or _Hazelbur'_,
Mid Bob be there to meäke em stir,
In merry jigs, their stumps!

HOPE IN SPRING.

In happy times a while agoo,
My lively hope, that's now a-gone
Did stir my heart the whole year drough,
But mwost when green-bough'd spring come on;
When I did rove, wi' litty veet,
Drough deäisy-beds so white's a sheet,
But still avore I us'd to meet
The blushèn cheäks that bloom'd vor me!

An' afterward, in lightsome youth,
When zummer wer a-comèn on,
An' all the trees wer white wi' blooth,
An' dippèn zwallows skimm'd the pon';
Sweet hope did vill my heart wi' jaÿ,
An' tell me, though thik spring wer gaÿ,
There still would come a brighter Maÿ,
Wi' blushèn cheäks to bloom vor me!

An' when, at last, the time come roun',
An' brought a lofty zun to sheen
Upon my smilèn Fanny, down
Drough n[=e]sh young leaves o' yollow green;
How charmèn wer the het that glow'd,
How charmèn wer the sheäde a-drow'd,
How charmèn wer the win' that blow'd
Upon her cheäks that bloom'd vor me!

But hardly did they times begin,
Avore I vound em short to staÿ:
An' year by year do now come in,
To peärt me wider vrom my jaÿ,
Vor what's to meet, or what's to peärt,
Wi' maïdens kind, or maïdens smart,
When hope's noo longer in the heart,
An' cheäks noo mwore do bloom vor me!

But there's a worold still to bless
The good, where zickness never rose;
An' there's a year that's winterless,
Where glassy waters never vroze;
An' there, if true but e'thly love
Do seem noo sin to God above,
'S a smilèn still my harmless dove,
So feäir as when she bloom'd vor me!

THE WHITE ROAD UP ATHIRT THE HILL.

When hot-beam'd zuns do strik right down,
An' burn our zweaty feäzen brown;
An' zunny slopes, a-lyèn nigh,
Be back'd by hills so blue's the sky;
Then, while the bells do sweetly cheem
Upon the champèn high-neck'd team,
How lively, wi' a friend, do seem
The white road up athirt the hill.

The zwellèn downs, wi' chalky tracks
A-climmèn up their zunny backs,
Do hide green meäds an' zedgy brooks.
An' clumps o' trees wi' glossy rooks,
An' hearty vo'k to laugh an' zing,
An' parish-churches in a string,
Wi' tow'rs o' merry bells to ring,
An' white roads up athirt the hills.

At feäst, when uncle's vo'k do come
To spend the day wi' us at hwome,
An' we do lay upon the bwoard
The very best we can avvword,
The wolder woones do talk an' smoke,
An' younger woones do plaÿ an' joke,
An' in the evenèn all our vo'k
Do bring em gwaïn athirt the hill.

An' while the green do zwarm wi' wold
An' young, so thick as sheep in vwold,
The bellows in the blacksmith's shop,
An' miller's moss-green wheel do stop,
An' lwonesome in the wheelwright's shed
'S a-left the wheelless waggon-bed;
While zwarms o' comèn friends do tread
The white road down athirt the hill.

An' when the windèn road so white,
A-climmèn up the hills in zight,
Do leäd to pleäzen, east or west,
The vu'st a-known, an' lov'd the best,
How touchèn in the zunsheen's glow,
Or in the sheädes that clouds do drow
Upon the zunburnt downs below,
'S the white road up athirt the hill.

What peaceful hollows here the long
White roads do windy round among!
Wi' deäiry cows in woody nooks,
An' haymeäkers among their pooks,
An' housen that the trees do screen
From zun an' zight by boughs o' green!
Young blushèn beauty's hwomes between
The white roads up athirt the hills.

THE WOODY HOLLOW.

If mem'ry, when our hope's a-gone,
Could bring us dreams to cheat us on,
Ov happiness our hearts voun' true
In years we come too quickly drough;
What days should come to me, but you,
That burn'd my youthvul cheäks wi' zuns
O' zummer, in my plaÿsome runs
About the woody hollow.

When evenèn's risèn moon did peep
Down drough the hollow dark an' deep,
Where gigglèn sweethearts meäde their vows
In whispers under waggèn boughs;
When whisslèn bwoys, an' rott'lèn ploughs
Wer still, an' mothers, wi' their thin
Shrill vaïces, call'd their daughters in,
From walkèn in the hollow;

What souls should come avore my zight,
But they that had your zummer light?
The litsome younger woones that smil'd
Wi' comely feäzen now a-spweil'd;
Or wolder vo'k, so wise an' mild,
That I do miss when I do goo
To zee the pleäce, an' walk down drough
The lwonesome woody hollow?

When wrongs an' overbearèn words
Do prick my bleedèn heart lik' swords,
Then I do try, vor Christes seäke,
To think o' you, sweet days! an' meäke
My soul as 'twer when you did weäke
My childhood's eyes, an' when, if spite
Or grief did come, did die at night
In sleep 'ithin the hollow.

JENNY'S RIBBONS.

Jean ax'd what ribbon she should wear
'Ithin her bonnet to the feäir?
She had woone white, a-gi'ed her when
She stood at Meäry's chrissenèn;
She had woone brown, she had woone red,
A keepseäke vrom her brother dead,
That she did like to wear, to goo
To zee his greäve below the yew.

She had woone green among her stock,
That I'd a-bought to match her frock;
She had woone blue to match her eyes,
The colour o' the zummer skies,
An' thik, though I do like the rest,
Is he that I do like the best,
Because she had en in her heäir
When vu'st I walk'd wi' her at feäir.

The brown, I zaid, would do to deck
Thy heäir; the white would match thy neck;
The red would meäke thy red cheäk wan
A-thinkèn o' the gi'er gone;
The green would show thee to be true;
But still I'd sooner zee the blue,
Because 'twer he that deck'd thy heäir
When vu'st I walk'd wi' thee at feäir.

Zoo, when she had en on, I took
Her han' 'ithin my elbow's crook,
An' off we went athirt the weir
An' up the meäd toward the feäir;
The while her mother, at the geäte,
Call'd out an' bid her not staÿ leäte,
An' she, a-smilèn wi' her bow
O' blue, look'd roun' and nodded, _No_.

[Gothic: Eclogue.]

THE 'LOTMENTS.

_John and Richard._

JOHN.

Zoo you be in your groun' then, I do zee,
A-workèn and a-zingèn lik' a bee.
How do it answer? what d'ye think about it?
D'ye think 'tis better wi' it than without it?
A-recknèn rent, an' time, an' zeed to stock it,
D'ye think that you be any thing in pocket?

RICHARD.

O', 'tis a goodish help to woone, I'm sure o't.
If I had not a-got it, my poor bwones
Would now ha' eäch'd a-crackèn stwones
Upon the road; I wish I had zome mwore o't.

JOHN.

I wish the girt woones had a-got the greäce
To let out land lik' this in ouer pleäce;
But I do fear there'll never be nwone vor us,
An' I can't tell whatever we shall do:
We be a-most starvèn, an' we'd goo
To 'merica, if we'd enough to car us.

RICHARD.

Why 'twer the squire, good now! a worthy man,
That vu'st brought into ouer pleäce the plan,
He zaid he'd let a vew odd eäcres
O' land to us poor leäb'rèn men;
An', faïth, he had enough o' teäkers
Vor that, an' twice so much ageän.
Zoo I took zome here, near my hovel,
To exercise my speäde an' shovel;
An' what wi' dungèn, diggèn up, an' zeedèn,
A-thinnèn, cleänèn, howèn up an' weedèn,
I, an' the biggest o' the childern too,
Do always vind some useful jobs to do.

JOHN.

Aye, wi' a bit o' ground, if woone got any,
Woone's bwoys can soon get out an' eärn a penny;
An' then, by workèn, they do learn the vaster
The way to do things when they have a meäster;
Vor woone must know a deäl about the land
Bevore woone's fit to lend a useful hand,
In geärden or a-vield upon a farm.

RICHARD.

An' then the work do keep em out o' harm;
Vor vo'ks that don't do nothèn wull be vound
Soon doèn woorse than nothèn, I'll be bound.
But as vor me, d'ye zee, with theäse here bit
O' land, why I have ev'ry thing a'mwost:
Vor I can fatten vowels for the spit,
Or zell a good fat goose or two to rwoast;
An' have my beäns or cabbage, greens or grass,
Or bit o' wheat, or, sich my happy feäte is,
That I can keep a little cow, or ass,
An' a vew pigs to eat the little teäties.

JOHN.

An' when your pig's a-fatted pretty well
Wi' teäties, or wi' barley an' some bran,
Why you've a-got zome vlitches vor to zell,
Or hang in chimney-corner, if you can.

RICHARD.

Aye, that's the thing; an' when the pig do die,
We got a lot ov offal for to fry,
An' netlèns for to bwoil; or put the blood in,
An' meäke a meal or two o' good black-pudden.

JOHN.

I'd keep myzelf from parish, I'd be bound,
If I could get a little patch o' ground.

[Gothic: Eclogue.]

A BIT O' SLY COORTEN.

_John and Fanny._

JOHN.

Now, Fanny, 'tis too bad, you teazèn maïd!
How leäte you be a' come! Where have ye staÿ'd?
How long you have a-meäde me waït about!
I thought you werden gwaïn to come ageän:
I had a mind to goo back hwome ageän.
This idden when you promis'd to come out.

FANNY.

Now 'tidden any good to meäke a row,
Upon my word, I cooden come till now.
Vor I've a-been kept in all day by mother,
At work about woone little job an' t'other.
If you do want to goo, though, don't ye staÿ
Vor me a minute longer, I do praÿ.

JOHN.

I thought you mid be out wi' Jemmy Bleäke,

FANNY.

An' why be out wi' him, vor goodness' seäke?

JOHN.

You walk'd o' Zunday evenèn wi'n, d'ye know,
You went vrom church a-hitch'd up in his eärm.

FANNY.

Well, if I did, that werden any harm.
Lauk! that _is_ zome'at to teäke notice o'_.

JOHN.

He took ye roun' the middle at the stile,
An' kiss'd ye twice 'ithin the ha'f a mile.

FANNY.

Ees, at the stile, because I shoulden vall,
He took me hold to help me down, that's all;
An' I can't zee what very mighty harm
He could ha' done a-lendèn me his eärm.
An' as vor kissèn o' me, if he did,
I didden ax en to, nor zay he mid:
An' if he kiss'd me dree times, or a dozen,
What harm wer it? Why idden he my cousin?
An' I can't zee, then, what there is amiss
In cousin Jem's jist gi'èn me a kiss.

JOHN.

Well, he shan't kiss ye, then; you shan't be kiss'd
By his girt ugly chops, a lanky houn'!
If I do zee'n, I'll jist wring up my vist
An' knock en down.
I'll squot his girt pug-nose, if I don't miss en;
I'll warn I'll spweil his pretty lips vor kissèn!

FANNY.

Well, John, I'm sure I little thought to vind
That you had ever sich a jealous mind.
What then! I s'pose that I must be a dummy,
An' mussen goo about nor wag my tongue
To any soul, if he's a man, an' young;
Or else you'll work yourzelf up mad wi' passion,
An' talk away o' gi'èn vo'k a drashèn,
An' breakèn bwones, an' beäten heads to pummy!
If you've a-got sich jealous ways about ye,
I'm sure I should be better off 'ithout ye.

JOHN.

Well, if girt Jemmy have a-won your heart,
We'd better break the coortship off, an' peärt.

FANNY.

He won my heart! There, John, don't talk sich stuff;
Don't talk noo mwore, vor you've a-zaid enough.
If I'd a-lik'd another mwore than you,
I'm sure I shoulden come to meet ye zoo;
Vor I've a-twold to father many a storry,
An' took o' mother many a scwoldèn vor ye.
[_weeping._]
But 'twull be over now, vor you shan't zee me
Out wi' ye noo mwore, to pick a quarrel wi' me.

JOHN.

Well, Fanny, I woon't zay noo mwore, my dear.
Let's meäke it up. Come, wipe off thik there tear.
Let's goo an' zit o' top o' theäse here stile,
An' rest, an' look about a little while.

FANNY.

Now goo away, you crabbed jealous chap!
You shan't kiss me,--you shan't! I'll gi' ye a slap.

JOHN.

Then you look smilèn; don't you pout an' toss
Your head so much, an' look so very cross.

FANNY.

Now, John! don't squeeze me roun' the middle zoo.
I woon't stop here noo longer, if you do.
Why, John! be quiet, wull ye? Fie upon it!
Now zee how you've a-wrumpl'd up my bonnet!
Mother'ill zee it after I'm at hwome,
An' gi'e a guess directly how it come.

JOHN.

Then don't you zay that I be jealous, Fanny.

FANNY.

I wull: vor you _be_ jealous, Mister Jahnny.
There's zomebody a-comèn down the groun'
Towards the stile. Who is it? Come, get down
I must run hwome, upon my word then, now;
If I do staÿ, they'll kick up sich a row.
Good night. I can't staÿ now.

JOHN.

Then good night, Fanny!
Come out a-bit to-morrow evenèn, can ye?

SUMMER.

EVENÈN, AN' MAIDENS OUT AT DOOR.

Now the sheädes o' the elems do stratch mwore an' mwore,
Vrom the low-zinkèn zun in the west o' the sky;
An' the maïdens do stand out in clusters avore
The doors, vor to chatty an' zee vo'k goo by.

An' their cwombs be a-zet in their bunches o' heäir,
An' their currels do hang roun' their necks lily-white,
An' their cheäks they be rwosy, their shoulders be beäre,
Their looks they be merry, their limbs they be light.

An' the times have a-been--but they cant be noo mwore--
When I had my jaÿ under evenèn's dim sky,
When my Fanny did stan' out wi' others avore
Her door, vor to chatty an' zee vo'k goo by.

An' up there, in the green, is her own honey-zuck,
That her brother traïn'd up roun' her window; an' there
Is the rwose an' the jessamy, where she did pluck
A flow'r vor her bosom or bud vor her heäir.

An' zoo smile, happy maïdens! vor every feäce,
As the zummers do come, an' the years do roll by,
Will soon sadden, or goo vur away vrom the pleäce,
Or else, lik' my Fanny, will wither an' die.

But when you be a-lost vrom the parish, zome mwore
Will come on in your pleäzen to bloom an' to die;
An' the zummer will always have maïdens avore
Their doors, vor to chatty an' zee vo'k goo by.

Vor daughters ha' mornèn when mothers ha' night,
An' there's beauty alive when the feäirest is dead;
As when woone sparklèn weäve do zink down vrom the light,
Another do come up an' catch it instead.

Zoo smile on, happy maïdens! but I shall noo mwore
Zee the maïd I do miss under evenèn's dim sky;
An' my heart is a-touch'd to zee you out avore
The doors, vor to chatty an' zee vo'k goo by.

THE SHEPHERD O' THE FARM.

Oh! I be shepherd o' the farm,
Wi' tinklèn bells an' sheep-dog's bark,
An' wi' my crook a-thirt my eärm,
Here I do rove below the lark.

An' I do bide all day among
The bleäten sheep, an' pitch their vwold;
An' when the evenèn sheädes be long,
Do zee em all a-penn'd an' twold.

An' I do zee the friskèn lam's,
Wi' swingèn taïls an' woolly lags,
A-playèn roun' their veedèn dams
An' pullèn o' their milky bags.

An' I bezide a hawthorn tree,
Do' zit upon the zunny down,
While sheädes o' zummer clouds do vlee
Wi' silent flight along the groun'.

An' there, among the many cries
O' sheep an' lambs, my dog do pass
A zultry hour, wi' blinkèn eyes,
An' nose a-stratch'd upon the grass;

But, in a twinklèn, at my word,
He's all awake, an' up, an' gone
Out roun' the sheep lik' any bird,
To do what he's a-zent upon.

An' I do goo to washèn pool,
A-sousèn over head an' ears,
The shaggy sheep, to cleän their wool
An' meäke em ready vor the sheärs.

An' when the shearèn time do come,
Then we do work vrom dawn till dark;
Where zome do shear the sheep, and zome
Do mark their zides wi' meästers mark.

An' when the shearèn's all a-done,
Then we do eat, an' drink, an' zing,
In meäster's kitchen till the tun
Wi' merry sounds do sheäke an' ring.

Oh! I be shepherd o' the farm,
Wi' tinklèn bells an' sheep dog's bark,
An' wi' my crook a-thirt my eärm,
Here I do rove below the lark.

VIELDS IN THE LIGHT.

Woone's heart mid leäp wi' thoughts o' jaÿ
In comèn manhood light an' gaÿ
When we do teäke the worold on
Vrom our vore-elders dead an' gone;
But days so feäir in hope's bright eyes
Do often come wi' zunless skies:
Woone's fancy can but be out-done,
Where trees do swaÿ an' brooks do run,
By risèn moon or zettèn zun.

Vor when at evenèn I do look
All down theäse hangèn on the brook,
Wi' weäves a-leäpèn clear an' bright,
Where boughs do swaÿ in yollow light;
Noo hills nor hollows, woods nor streams,
A-voun' by daÿ or zeed in dreams,
Can ever seem so fit to be
Good angel's hwomes, though they do gi'e
But païn an' tweil to such as we.

An' when by moonlight darksome sheädes
Do lie in grass wi' dewy bleädes,
An' worold-hushèn night do keep
The proud an' angry vast asleep,
When I can think, as I do rove,
Ov only souls that I do love;
Then who can dream a dream to show,
Or who can think o' moons to drow,
A sweeter light to rove below?

WHITSUNTIDE AN' CLUB WALKEN.