Chapter I: Know Who (3)

Ah! then the grassy-meäded Maÿ
Did warm the passèn year, an' gleam
Upon the yellow-grounded stream,
That still by beech-tree sheädes do straÿ.
The light o' weäves, a-runnèn there,
Did plaÿ on leaves up over head,
An' vishes sceäly zides did gleäre,
A-dartèn on the shallow bed,
An' like the stream a-slidèn on,
My zun out-measur'd time's agone.

There by the path, in grass knee-high,
Wer buttervlees in giddy flight,
All white above the deäisies white,
Or blue below the deep blue sky.
Then glowèn warm wer ev'ry brow,
O' maïd, or man, in zummer het,
An' warm did glow the cheäks I met
That time, noo mwore to meet em now.
As brooks, a-slidèn on their bed,
My season-measur'd time's a-vled.

Vrom yonder window, in the thatch,
Did sound the maïdens' merry words,
As I did stand, by zingèn birds,
Bezide the elem-sheäded hatch.
'Tis good to come back to the pleäce,
Back to the time, to goo noo mwore;
'Tis good to meet the younger feäce
A-mentèn others here avore.
As streams do glide by green mead-grass,
My zummer-brighten'd years do pass.

LINDA DEÄNE.

The bright-tunn'd house, a-risèn proud,
Stood high avore a zummer cloud,
An' windy sheädes o' tow'rs did vall
Upon the many-window'd wall;
An' on the grassy terrace, bright
Wi' white-bloom'd zummer's deaïsy beds,
An' snow-white lilies noddèn heads,
Sweet Linda Deäne did walk in white;
But ah! avore too high a door,
Wer Linda Deäne ov Ellendon.

When sparklèn brooks an' grassy ground,
By keen-aïr'd Winter's vrost wer bound,
An' star-bright snow did streak the forms
O' beäre-lim'd trees in darksome storms,
Sweet Linda Deäne did lightly glide,
Wi' snow-white robe an' rwosy feäce,
Upon the smooth-vloor'd hall, to treäce
The merry dance o' Chris'mas tide;
But oh! not mine be balls so fine
As Linda Deäne's at Ellendon.

Sweet Linda Deäne do match the skies
Wi' sheenèn blue o' glisnèn eyes,
An' feaïrest blossoms do but show
Her forehead's white, an' feäce's glow;
But there's a winsome jaÿ above,
The brightest hues ov e'th an' skies.
The dearest zight o' many eyes,
Would be the smile o' Linda's love;
But high above my lowly love
Is Linda Deäne ov Ellendon.

[Gothic: Eclogue.]

COME AND ZEE US IN THE ZUMMER.

_John; William; William's Bwoy; and William's Maïd at Feäir._

JOHN.

Zoo here be your childern, a-sheärèn
Your feäir-day, an' each wi' a feäirèn.

WILLIAM.

Aye, well, there's noo peace 'ithout comèn
To stannèn an' show, in the zummer.

JOHN.

An' how is your Jeäne? still as merry
As ever, wi' cheäks lik' a cherry?

WILLIAM.

Still merry, but beauty's as feädesome
'S the raïn's glowèn bow in the zummer.

JOHN.

Well now, I do hope we shall vind ye
Come soon, wi' your childern behind ye,
To Stowe, while o' bwoth zides o' hedges,
The zunsheen do glow in the zummer.

WILLIAM.

Well, aye, when the mowèn is over,
An' ee-grass do whiten wi' clover.
A man's a-tired out, vor much walken,
The while he do mow in the zummer.

WILLIAM'S BWOY.

I'll goo, an' we'll zet up a wicket,
An' have a good innèns at cricket;
An' teäke a good plounce in the water.
Where clote-leaves do grow in the zummer.

WILLIAM'S MAID.

I'll goo, an' we'll play "Thread the needle"
Or "Huntèn the slipper," or wheedle
Young Jemmy to fiddle, an' reely
So brisk to an' fro in the zummer.

JOHN.

An' Jeäne. Mind you don't come 'ithout her,
My wife is a-thinkèn about her;
At our house she'll find she's as welcome
'S the rwose that do blow in the zummer.

LINDENORE.

At Lindenore upon the steep,
Bezide the trees a-reachèn high,
The while their lower limbs do zweep
The river-stream a-flowèn by;
By grægle bells in beds o' blue,
Below the tree-stems in the lew,
Calm aïr do vind the rwose-bound door,
Ov Ellen Dare o' Lindenore.

An' there noo foam do hiss avore
Swift bwoats, wi' water-plowèn keels,
An' there noo broad high-road's a-wore
By vur-brought trav'lers' cracklèn wheels;
Noo crowd's a-passèn to and fro,
Upon the bridge's high-sprung bow:
An' vew but I do seek the door
Ov Ellen Dare o' Lindenore.

Vor there the town, wi' zun-bright walls,
Do sheen vur off, by hills o' grey,
An' town-vo'k ha' but seldom calls
O' business there, from day to day:
But Ellen didden leäve her ruf
To be admir'd, an' that's enough--
Vor I've a-vound 'ithin her door,
Feäir Ellen Dare o' Lindenore.

ME'TH BELOW THE TREE.

O when theäse elems' crooked boughs,
A'most too thin to sheäde the cows,
Did slowly swing above the grass
As winds o' Spring did softly pass,
An' zunlight show'd the shiftèn sheäde,
While youthful me'th wi' laughter loud,
Did twist his lim's among the crowd
Down there below; up there above
Wer bright-ey'd me'th below the tree.

Down there the merry vo'k did vill
The stwonèn doorway, now so still;
An' zome did joke, wi' ceäsement wide,
Wi' other vo'k a-stood outside,
Wi' words that head by head did heed.
Below blue sky an' blue-smok'd tun,
'Twer jaÿ to zee an' hear their fun,
But sweeter jaÿ up here above
Wi' bright-ey'd me'th below the tree.

Now unknown veet do beät the vloor,
An' unknown han's do shut the door,
An' unknown men do ride abrode,
An' hwome ageän on thik wold road,
Drough geätes all now a-hung anew.
Noo mind but mine ageän can call
Wold feäces back around the wall,
Down there below, or here above,
Wi' bright-ey'd me'th below the tree.

Aye, pride mid seek the crowded pleäce
To show his head an' frownèn feäce,
An' pleasure vlee, wi' goold in hand,
Vor zights to zee vrom land to land,
Where winds do blow on seas o' blue:--
Noo wealth wer mine to travel wide
Vor jaÿ, wi' Pleasure or wi' Pride:
My happiness wer here above
The feäst, wi' me'th below the tree.

The wild rwose now do hang in zight,
To mornèn zun an' evenèn light,
The bird do whissle in the gloom,
Avore the thissle out in bloom,
But here alwone the tree do leän.
The twig that woonce did whiver there
Is now a limb a-wither'd beäre:
Zoo I do miss the sheäde above
My head, an' me'th below the tree.

TREAT WELL YOUR WIFE.

No, no, good Meäster Collins cried,
Why you've a good wife at your zide;
Zoo do believe the heart is true
That gi'ed up all bezide vor you,
An' still beheäve as you begun
To seek the love that you've a-won
When woonce in dewy June,
In hours o' hope soft eyes did flash,
Each bright below his sheädy lash,
A-glisnèn to the moon.

Think how her girlhood met noo ceäre
To peäle the bloom her feäce did weär,
An' how her glossy temple prest
Her pillow down, in still-feäced rest,
While sheädes o' window bars did vall
In moonlight on the gloomy wall,
In cool-aïr'd nights o' June;
The while her lids, wi' bendèn streäks
O' lashes, met above her cheäks,
A-bloomèn to the moon.

Think how she left her childhood's pleäce,
An' only sister's long-known feäce,
An' brother's jokes so much a-miss'd,
An' mother's cheäk, the last a-kiss'd;
An' how she lighted down avore
Her new abode, a husband's door,
Your weddèn night in June;
Wi' heart that beät wi' hope an' fear,
While on each eye-lash hung a tear,
A-glisnèn to the moon.

Think how her father zot all dum',
A-thinkèn on her, back at hwome,
The while grey axan gather'd thick,
On dyèn embers, on the brick;
An' how her mother look'd abrode,
Drough window, down the moon-bright road,
Thik cloudless night o' June,
Wi' tears upon her lashes big
As raïn-drops on a slender twig,
A-glisnèn to the moon.

Zoo don't zit thoughtless at your cup
An' keep your wife a-wäitèn up,
The while the clock's a-tickèn slow
The chilly hours o' vrost an' snow,
Until the zinkèn candle's light
Is out avore her drowsy sight,
A-dimm'd wi' grief too soon;
A-leävèn there alwone to murn
The feädèn cheäk that woonce did burn,
A-bloomèn to the moon.

THE CHILD AN' THE MOWERS.

O, aye! they had woone child bezide,
An' a finer your eyes never met,
'Twer a dear little fellow that died
In the zummer that come wi' such het;
By the mowers, too thoughtless in fun,
He wer then a-zent off vrom our eyes,
Vrom the light ov the dew-dryèn zun,--
Aye! vrom days under blue-hollow'd skies.

He went out to the mowers in meäd,
When the zun wer a-rose to his height,
An' the men wer a-swingèn the sneäd,
Wi' their eärms in white sleeves, left an' right;
An' out there, as they rested at noon,
O! they drench'd en vrom eäle-horns too deep,
Till his thoughts wer a-drown'd in a swoon;
Aye! his life wer a-smother'd in sleep.

Then they laid en there-right on the ground,
On a grass-heap, a-zweltrèn wi' het,
Wi' his heäir all a-wetted around
His young feäce, wi' the big drops o' zweat;
In his little left palm he'd a-zet,
Wi' his right hand, his vore-vinger's tip,
As for zome'hat he woulden vorget,--
Aye! zome thought that he woulden let slip.

Then they took en in hwome to his bed,
An' he rose vrom his pillow noo mwore,
Vor the curls on his sleek little head
To be blown by the wind out o' door.
Vor he died while the häy russled grey
On the staddle so leätely begun:
Lik' the mown-grass a-dried by the day,--
Aye! the zwath-flow'r's a-killed by the zun.

THE LOVE CHILD.

Where the bridge out at Woodley did stride,
Wi' his wide arches' cool sheäded bow,
Up above the clear brook that did slide
By the popples, befoam'd white as snow:
As the gilcups did quiver among
The white deäisies, a-spread in a sheet.
There a quick-trippèn maïd come along,--
Aye, a girl wi' her light-steppèn veet.

An' she cried "I do praÿ, is the road
Out to Lincham on here, by the meäd?"
An' "oh! ees," I meäde answer, an' show'd
Her the way it would turn an' would leäd:
"Goo along by the beech in the nook,
Where the childern do play in the cool,
To the steppèn stwones over the brook,--
Aye, the grey blocks o' rock at the pool."

"Then you don't seem a-born an' a-bred,"
I spoke up, "at a place here about;"
An' she answer'd wi' cheäks up so red
As a pi'ny but leäte a-come out,
"No, I liv'd wi' my uncle that died
Back in Eäpril, an' now I'm a-come
Here to Ham, to my mother, to bide,--
Aye, to her house to vind a new hwome."

I'm asheämed that I wanted to know
Any mwore of her childhood or life,
But then, why should so feäir a child grow
Where noo father did bide wi' his wife;
Then wi' blushes of zunrisèn morn,
She replied "that it midden be known,
"Oh! they zent me away to be born,--[C]
Aye, they hid me when zome would be shown."

Oh! it meäde me a'most teary-ey'd,
An' I vound I a'most could ha' groan'd--
What! so winnèn, an' still cast a-zide--
What! so lovely, an' not to be own'd;
Oh! a God-gift a-treated wi' scorn,
Oh! a child that a squier should own;
An' to zend her away to be born!--
Aye, to hide her where others be shown!

[Footnote C: Words once spoken to the writer.]

HAWTHORN DOWN.

All up the down's cool brow
I work'd in noontide's gleäre,
On where the slow-wheel'd plow
'D a-wore the grass half bare.
An' gil'cups quiver'd quick,
As aïr did pass,
An' deäisies huddled thick
Among the grass.

The while my eärms did swing
Wi' work I had on hand,
The quick-wing'd lark did zing
Above the green-tree'd land,
An' bwoys below me chafed
The dog vor fun,
An' he, vor all they laef'd,
Did meäke em run.

The south zide o' the hill,
My own tun-smoke rose blue,--
In North Coomb, near the mill,
My mother's wer in view--
Where woonce her vier vor all
Ov us did burn,
As I have childern small
Round mine in turn.

An' zoo I still wull cheer
Her life wi' my small store,
As she do drop a tear
Bezide her lwonesome door.
The love that I do owe
Her ruf, I'll paÿ,
An' then zit down below
My own wi' jaÿ.

OBEN VIELDS.

Well, you mid keep the town an' street,
Wi' grassless stwones to beät your veet,
An' zunless windows where your brows
Be never cooled by swaÿèn boughs;
An' let me end, as I begun,
My days in oben aïr an' zun,
Where zummer win's a-blowèn sweet,
Wi' blooth o' trees as white's a sheet;
Or swaÿèn boughs, a-bendèn low
Wi' rip'nèn apples in a row,
An' we a-risèn rathe do meet
The bright'nèn dawn wi' dewy veet,
An' leäve, at night, the vootless groves,
To rest 'ithin our thatchen oves.
An' here our childern still do bruise
The deäisy buds wi' tiny shoes,
As we did meet avore em, free
Vrom ceäre, in play below the tree.
An' there in me'th their lively eyes
Do glissen to the zunny skies,
As aïr do blow, wi' leäzy peäce
To cool, in sheäde, their burnèn feäce.
Where leaves o' spreadèn docks do hide
The zawpit's timber-lwoaded zide,
An' trees do lie, wi' scraggy limbs,
Among the deäisy's crimson rims.
An' they, so proud, wi' eärms a-spread
To keep their balance good, do tread
Wi' ceäreful steps o' tiny zoles
The narrow zides o' trees an' poles.
An' zoo I'll leäve vor your light veet
The peävement o' the zunless street,
While I do end, as I begun,
My days in oben aïr an' zun.

WHAT JOHN WER A-TELLÈN HIS MIS'ESS OUT IN THE CORN GROUND.

Ah! mam! you woonce come here the while
The zun, long years agoo, did shed
His het upon the wheat in hile,
Wi' yollow hau'm an' ears o' red,
Wi' little shoes too thin vor walks
Upon the scratchèn stubble-stalks;
You hardly reach'd wi' glossy head,
The vore wheel's top o' dousty red.
How time's a-vled! How years do vlee!

An' there you went an' zot inzide
A hile, in aïr a-streamèn cool,
As if 'ithin a room, vull wide
An' high, you zot to guide an' rule.
You leäz'd about the stubbly land,
An' soon vill'd up your small left hand
Wi' ruddy ears your right hand vound,
An' traïl'd the stalks along the ground.
How time's a-gone! How years do goo!

Then in the waggon you did teäke
A ride, an' as the wheels vell down
Vrom ridge to vurrow, they did sheäke
On your small head your poppy crown,
An' now your little maïd, a dear,
Your childhood's very daps, is here,
Zoo let her staÿ, that her young feäce
Mid put a former year in pleäce.
How time do run! How years do roll!

SHEÄDES.

Come here an' zit a while below
Theäse tower, grey and ivy-bound,
In sheäde, the while the zun do glow
So hot upon the flow'ry ground;
An' winds in flight,
Do briskly smite
The blossoms bright, upon the gleäde,
But never stir the sleepèn sheäde.

As when you stood upon the brink
O' yonder brook, wi' back-zunn'd head,
Your zunny-grounded sheäde did zink
Upon the water's grav'lly bed,
Where weäves could zweep
Away, or keep,
The gravel heap that they'd a-meäde,
But never wash away the sheäde.

An' zoo, when you can woonce vulvil
What's feäir, a-tried by heaven's light,
Why never fear that evil will
Can meäke a wrong o' your good right.
The right wull stand,
Vor all man's hand,
Till streams on zand, an' wind in gleädes,
Can zweep awaÿ the zuncast sheädes.

TIMES O' YEAR.

Here did swäy the eltrot flow'rs,
When the hours o' night wer vew,
An' the zun, wi' eärly beams
Brighten'd streams, an' dried the dew,
An' the goocoo there did greet
Passers by wi' dousty veet.

There the milkmaïd hung her brow
By the cow, a-sheenèn red;
An' the dog, wi' upward looks,
Watch'd the rooks above his head,
An' the brook, vrom bow to bow,
Here went swift, an' there wer slow.

Now the cwolder-blowèn blast,
Here do cast vrom elems' heads
Feäded leaves, a-whirlèn round,
Down to ground, in yollow beds,
Ruslèn under milkers' shoes,
When the day do dry the dews.

Soon shall grass, a-vrosted bright,
Glisten white instead o' green,
An' the wind shall smite the cows,
Where the boughs be now their screen.
Things do change as years do vlee;
What ha' years in store vor me?

[Gothic: Eclogue.]

RACKETÈN JOE.

_Racketèn Joe; his Sister; his Cousin Fanny; and the Dog._

RACKETÈN JOE.

Heigh! heigh! here. Who's about?

HIS SISTER.

Oh! lauk! Here's Joe, a rantèn lout,

A-meäkèn his wild randy-rout.

RACKETÈN JOE.

Heigh! Fanny! How d'ye do? (_slaps her._)

FANNY.

Oh! fie; why all the woo'se vor you
A-slappèn o' me, black an' blue,
My back!

HIS SISTER.

A whack! you loose-eärm'd chap,
To gi'e your cousin sich a slap!

FANNY.

I'll pull the heäir o'n, I do vow;

HIS SISTER.

I'll pull the ears o'n. There.

THE DOG.

Wowh! wow!

FANNY.

A-comèn up the drong,
How he did smack his leather thong,
A-zingèn, as he thought, a zong;

HIS SISTER.

An' there the pigs did scote
Azide, in fright, wi' squeakèn droat,
Wi' geese a pitchèn up a note.
Look there.

FANNY.

His chair!

HIS SISTER.

He thump'd en down,
As if he'd het en into ground.

RACKETÈN JOE.

Heigh! heigh! Look here! the vier is out.

HIS SISTER.

How he do knock the tongs about!

FANNY.

Now theäre's his whip-nob, plum
Upon the teäble vor a drum;

HIS SISTER.

An' there's a dent so big's your thumb.

RACKETÈN JOE.

My hat's awore so quaer.

HIS SISTER.

'Tis quaer enough, but not wi' wear;
But dabs an' dashes he do bear.

RACKETÈN JOE.

The zow!

HIS SISTER.

What now?

RACKETÈN JOE.

She's in the plot.
A-routèn up the flower knot.
Ho! Towzer! Here, rout out the zow,
Heigh! here, hie at her. Tiss!

THE DOG.

Wowh! wow!

HIS SISTER.

How he do rant and roar,
An' stump an' stamp about the vloor,
An' swing, an' slap, an' slam the door!
He don't put down a thing,
But he do dab, an' dash, an' ding
It down, till all the house do ring.

RACKETÈN JOE.

She's out.

FANNY.

Noo doubt.

HIS SISTER.

Athirt the bank,
Look! how the dog an' he do pank.

FANNY.

Staÿ out, an' heed her now an' then,
To zee she don't come in ageän.

ZUMMER AN' WINTER.

When I led by zummer streams
The pride o' Lea, as naïghbours thought her,
While the zun, wi' evenèn beams,
Did cast our sheädes athirt the water;
Winds a-blowèn,
Streams a-flowèn,
Skies a-glowèn,
Tokens ov my jaÿ zoo fleetèn,
Heighten'd it, that happy meetèn.

Then, when maïd an' man took pleäces,
Gaÿ in winter's Chris'mas dances,
Showèn in their merry feäces
Kindly smiles an' glisnèn glances;
Stars a-winkèn,
Day a-shrinkèn,
Sheädes a-zinkèn,
Brought anew the happy meetèn,
That did meake the night too fleetèn.

TO ME.

At night, as drough the meäd I took my waÿ,
In aïr a-sweeten'd by the new-meäde haÿ,
A stream a-vallèn down a rock did sound,
Though out o' zight wer foam an' stwone to me.

Behind the knap, above the gloomy copse,
The wind did russle in the trees' high tops,
Though evenèn darkness, an' the risèn hill,
Kept all the quiv'rèn leaves unshown to me,

Within the copse, below the zunless sky,
I heärd a nightèngeäle, a-warblèn high
Her lwoansome zong, a-hidden vrom my zight,
An' showèn nothèn but her mwoan to me.

An' by a house, where rwoses hung avore
The thatch-brow'd window, an' the oben door,
I heärd the merry words, an' hearty laugh
O' zome feäir maid, as eet unknown to me.

High over head the white-rimm'd clouds went on,
Wi' woone a-comèn up, vor woone a-gone;
An' feäir they floated in their sky-back'd flight,
But still they never meäde a sound to me.

An' there the miller, down the stream did float
Wi' all his childern, in his white-saïl'd bwoat,
Vur off, beyond the stragglèn cows in meäd,
But zent noo vaïce, athirt the ground, to me.

An' then a buttervlee, in zultry light,
A-wheelèn on about me, vier-bright,
Did show the gaÿest colors to my eye,
But still did bring noo vaïce around to me.

I met the merry laugher on the down,
Bezide her mother, on the path to town,
An' oh! her sheäpe wer comely to the zight,
But wordless then wer she a-vound to me.

Zoo, sweet ov unzeen things mid be sound,
An' feäir to zight mid soundless things be vound,
But I've the laugh to hear, an' feäce to zee,
Vor they be now my own, a-bound to me.

TWO AN' TWO.

The zun, O Jessie, while his feäce do rise
In vi'ry skies, a-sheddèn out his light
On yollow corn a-weävèn down below
His yollow glow, is gaÿ avore the zight.
By two an' two,
How goodly things do goo,
A-matchèn woone another to fulvill
The goodness ov their Meäkèr's will.

How bright the spreadèn water in the lew
Do catch the blue, a-sheenèn vrom the sky;
How true the grass do teäke the dewy bead
That it do need, while dousty roads be dry.
By peäir an' peäir
Each thing's a-meäde to sheäre
The good another can bestow,
In wisdom's work down here below.

The lowest lim's o' trees do seldom grow
A-spread too low to gi'e the cows a sheäde;
The aïr's to bear the bird, the bird's to rise;
Vor light the eyes, vor eyes the light's a-meäde.
'Tis gi'e an' teäke,
An' woone vor others' seäke;
In peäirs a-workèn out their ends,
Though men be foes that should be friends.

THE LEW O' THE RICK.

At eventide the wind wer loud
By trees an' tuns above woone's head,
An' all the sky wer woone dark cloud,
Vor all it had noo raïn to shed;
An' as the darkness gather'd thick,
I zot me down below a rick,
Where straws upon the win' did ride
Wi' giddy flights, along my zide,
Though unmolestèn me a-restèn,
Where I laÿ 'ithin the lew.

My wife's bright vier indoors did cast
Its fleäme upon the window peänes
That screen'd her teäble, while the blast
Vled on in music down the leänes;
An' as I zot in vaïceless thought
Ov other zummer-tides, that brought
The sheenèn grass below the lark,
Or left their ricks a-wearèn dark,
My childern voun' me, an' come roun' me,
Where I lay 'ithin the lew.

The rick that then did keep me lew
Would be a-gone another Fall,
An' I, in zome years, in a vew,
Mid leäve the childern, big or small;
But He that meäde the wind, an' meäde
The lewth, an' zent wi' het the sheäde,
Can keep my childern, all alwone
O' under me, an' though vull grown
Or little lispers, wi' their whispers,
There a-lyèn in the lew.

THE WIND IN WOONE'S FEÄCE.

There lovely Jenny past,
While the blast did blow
On over Ashknowle Hill
To the mill below;
A-blinkèn quick, wi' lashes long,
Above her cheäks o' red,
Ageän the wind, a-beätèn strong,
Upon her droopèn head.

Oh! let dry win' blow bleäk,
On her cheäk so heäle,
But let noo raïn-shot chill
Meäke her ill an' peäle;
Vor healthy is the breath the blast
Upon the hill do yield,
An' healthy is the light a cast
Vrom lofty sky to vield.

An' mid noo sorrow-pang
Ever hang a tear
Upon the dark lash-heäir
Ov my feäirest dear;
An' mid noo unkind deed o' mine
Spweil what my love mid gaïn,
Nor meäke my merry Jenny pine
At last wi' dim-ey'd païn.

TOKENS.

Green mwold on zummer bars do show
That they've a-dripp'd in Winter wet;
The hoof-worn ring o' groun' below
The tree, do tell o' storms or het;
The trees in rank along a ledge
Do show where woonce did bloom a hedge;
An' where the vurrow-marks do stripe
The down, the wheat woonce rustled ripe.
Each mark ov things a-gone vrom view--
To eyezight's woone, to soulzight two.

The grass ageän the mwoldrèn door
'S a tóken sad o' vo'k a-gone,
An' where the house, bwoth wall an' vloor,
'S a-lost, the well mid linger on.
What tokens, then, could Meäry gi'e
Thät she'd a-liv'd, an' liv'd vor me,
But things a-done vor thought an' view?
Good things that nwone ageän can do,
An' every work her love ha' wrought,
To eyezight's woone, but two to thought.

TWEIL.

The rick ov our last zummer's haulèn
Now vrom grey's a-feäded dark,
An' off the barken raïl's a-vallèn,
Day by day, the rottèn bark.--
But short's the time our works do stand,
So feäir's we put em out ov hand,
Vor time a-passèn, wet an' dry,
Do spweïl em wi' his changèn sky,
The while wi' strivèn hope, we men,
Though a-ruèn time's undoèn,
Still do tweil an' tweil ageän.

In wall-zide sheädes, by leafy bowers,
Underneath the swayèn tree,
O' leäte, as round the bloomèn flowers,
Lowly humm'd the giddy bee,
My childern's small left voot did smite
Their tiny speäde, the while the right
Did trample on a deäisy head,
Bezïde the flower's dousty bed,
An' though their work wer idle then,
They a-smilèn, an' a-tweilèn,
Still did work an' work ageän.

Now their little limbs be stronger,
Deeper now their vaïce do sound;
An' their little veet be longer,
An' do tread on other ground;
An' rust is on the little bleädes
Ov all the broken-hafted speädes,
An' flow'rs that wer my hope an' pride
Ha' long agoo a-bloom'd an' died,
But still as I did leäbor then
Vor love ov all them childern small,
Zoo now I'll tweil an' tweil ageän.

When the smokeless tun's a-growèn
Cwold as dew below the stars,
An' when the vier noo mwore's a-glowèn
Red between the window bars,
We then do lay our weary heads
In peace upon their nightly beds,
An' gi'e woone sock, wi' heavèn breast,
An' then breathe soft the breath o' rest,
Till day do call the sons o' men
Vrom night-sleep's blackness, vull o' sprackness,
Out abroad to tweil ageän.

Where the vaïce o' the winds is mildest,
In the plaïn, their stroke is keen;
Where their dreatnèn vaïce is wildest,
In the grove, the grove's our screen.
An' where the worold in their strife
Do dreatèn mwost our tweilsome life,
Why there Almighty ceäre mid cast
A better screen ageän the blast.
Zoo I woon't live in fear o' men,
But, man-neglected, God-directed,
Still wull tweil an' tweil ageän.

FANCY.

In stillness we ha' words to hear,
An' sheäpes to zee in darkest night,
An' tongues a-lost can haïl us near,
An' souls a-gone can smile in zight;
When Fancy now do wander back
To years a-spent, an' bring to mind
Zome happy tide a-left behind
In' weästèn life's slow-beatèn track.

When feädèn leaves do drip wi' raïn,
Our thoughts can ramble in the dry;
When Winter win' do zweep the plaïn
We still can have a zunny sky.
Vor though our limbs be winter-wrung,
We still can zee, wi' Fancy's eyes,
The brightest looks ov e'th an' skies,
That we did know when we wer young.

In païn our thoughts can pass to eäse,
In work our souls can be at plaÿ,
An' leäve behind the chilly leäse
Vor warm-aïr'd meäds o' new mow'd haÿ.
When we do vlee in Fancy's flight
Vrom daily ills avore our feäce,
An' linger in zome happy pleäce
Ov mè'th an' smiles, an' warmth an' light.

THE BROKEN HEART.

News o' grief had overteäken
Dark-ey'd Fanny, now vorseäken;
There she zot, wi' breast a-heavèn,
While vrom zide to zide, wi' grievèn,
Vell her head, wi' tears a-creepèn
Down her cheäks, in bitter weepèn.
There wer still the ribbon-bow
She tied avore her hour ov woe,
An' there wer still the han's that tied it
Hangèn white,
Or wringèn tight,
In ceäre that drown'd all ceäre bezide it.

When a man, wi' heartless slightèn,
Mid become a maïden's blightèn,
He mid ceärlessly vorseäke her,
But must answer to her Meäker;
He mid slight, wi' selfish blindness,
All her deeds o' lovèn-kindness,
God wull waïgh em wi' the slightèn
That mid be her love's requitèn;
He do look on each deceiver,
He do know
What weight o' woe
Do breäk the heart ov ev'ry griever.

EVENÈN LIGHT.

The while I took my bit o' rest,
Below my house's eastern sheäde,
The things that stood in vield an' gleäde
Wer bright in zunsheen vrom the west.
There bright wer east-ward mound an' wall,
An' bright wer trees, arisèn tall,
An' bright did break 'ithin the brook,
Down rocks, the watervall.

There deep 'ithin my pworches bow
Did hang my heavy woaken door,
An' in beyond en, on the vloor,
The evenèn dusk did gather slow;
But bright did gleäre the twinklèn spwokes
O' runnèn carriage wheels, as vo'ks
Out east did ride along the road,
Bezide the low-bough'd woaks,

An' I'd a-lost the zun vrom view,
Until ageän his feäce mid rise,
A-sheenèn vrom the eastern skies
To brighten up the rwose-borne dew;
But still his lingrèn light did gi'e
My heart a touchèn jaÿ, to zee
His beams a-shed, wi' stratchèn sheäde,
On east-ward wall an' tree.

When jaÿ, a-zent me vrom above,
Vrom my sad heart is now agone,
An' others be a-walkèn on,
Amid the light ov Heavèn's love,
Oh! then vor lovèn-kindness seäke,
Mid I rejäice that zome do teäke
My hopes a-gone, until ageän
My happy dawn do breäk.

VIELDS BY WATERVALLS.

When our downcast looks be smileless,
Under others' wrongs an' slightèns,
When our daily deeds be guileless,
An' do meet unkind requitèns,
You can meäke us zome amends
Vor wrongs o' foes, an' slights o' friends;--
O flow'ry-gleäded, timber-sheäded
Vields by flowèn watervalls!

Here be softest aïrs a-blowèn
Drough the boughs, wi' zingèn drushes,
Up above the streams, a-flowèn
Under willows, on by rushes.
Here below the bright-zunn'd sky
The dew-bespangled flow'rs do dry,
In woody-zided, stream-divided
Vields by flowèn watervalls.

Waters, wi' their giddy rollèns;
Breezes wi' their plaÿsome wooèns;
Here do heal, in soft consolèns,
Hearts a-wrung wi' man's wrong doèns.
Day do come to us as gaÿ
As to a king ov widest swaÿ,
In deäisy-whitèn'd, gil'cup-brightèn'd
Vields by flowèn watervalls.

Zome feäir buds mid outlive blightèns,
Zome sweet hopes mid outlive sorrow.
After days of wrongs an' slightèns
There mid break a happy morrow.
We mid have noo e'thly love;
But God's love-tokens vrom above
Here mid meet us, here mid greet us,
In the vields by watervalls.

THE WHEEL ROUTS.

'Tis true I brought noo fortune hwome
Wi' Jenny, vor her honey-moon,
But still a goodish hansel come
Behind her perty soon,
Vor stick, an' dish, an' spoon, all vell
To Jeäne, vrom Aunt o' Camwy dell.

Zoo all the lot o' stuff a-tied
Upon the plow, a tidy tod,
On gravel-crunchèn wheels did ride,
Wi' ho'ses, iron-shod,
That, as their heads did nod, my whip
Did guide along wi' lightsome flip.

An' there it rod 'ithin the rwope,
Astraïn'd athirt, an' straïn'd along,
Down Thornhay's evenèn-lighted slope
An' up the beech-tree drong;
Where wheels a-bound so strong, cut out
On either zide a deep-zunk rout.

An' when at Fall the trees wer brown,
Above the bennet-bearèn land,
When beech-leaves slowly whiver'd down.
By evenèn winds a-fann'd;
The routs wer each a band o' red,
A-vill'd by drifted beech-leaves dead.

An' when, in Winter's leafless light,
The keener eastern wind did blow.
An' scatter down, avore my zight,
A chilly cwoat o' snow;
The routs ageän did show vull bright,
In two long streaks o' glitt'rèn white.

But when, upon our weddèn night,
The cart's light wheels, a-rollèn round,
Brought Jenny hwome, they run too light
To mark the yieldèn ground;
Or welcome would be vound a peäir
O' green-vill'd routs a-runnèn there.

Zoo let me never bring 'ithin
My dwellèn what's a-won by wrong,
An' can't come in 'ithout a sin;
Vor only zee how long
The waggon marks in drong, did show
Wï' leaves, wi' grass, wi' groun' wi' snow.

NANNY'S NEW ABODE.

Now day by day, at lofty height,
O zummer noons, the burnèn zun
'Ve a-show'd avore our eastward zight,
The sky-blue zide ov Hameldon,
An' shone ageän, on new-mow'd ground,
Wi' haÿ a-piled up grey in pook,
An' down on leäzes, bennet-brown'd,
An' wheat a-vell avore the hook;
Till, under elems tall,
The leaves do lie on leänèn lands,
In leäter light o' Fall.

An' last year, we did zee the red
O' dawn vrom Ash-knap's thatchen oves,
An' walk on crumpled leaves a-laid
In grassy rook-trees' timber'd groves,
Now, here, the cooler days do shrink
To vewer hours o' zunny sky,
While zedge, a-weävèn by the brink
O' shallow brooks, do slowly die.
An' on the timber tall,
The boughs, half beäre, do bend above
The bulgèn banks in Fall.

There, we'd a spring o' water near,
Here, water's deep in wink-draïn'd wells,
The church 'tis true, is nigh out here,
Too nigh wi' vive loud-boomèn bells.
There, naïghbours wer vull wide a-spread,
But vo'k be here too clwose a-stow'd.
Vor childern now do stun woone's head,
Wi' naïsy plaÿ bezide the road,
Where big so well as small,
The little lad, an' lump'rèn lout,
Do leäp an' laugh theäse Fall.

LEAVES A-VALLÈN.

There the ash-tree leaves do vall
In the wind a-blowèn cwolder,
An' my childern, tall or small,
Since last Fall be woone year wolder.
Woone year wolder, woone year dearer,
Till when they do leave my he'th,
I shall be noo mwore a hearer
O' their vaïces or their me'th.

There dead ash leaves be a-toss'd
In the wind, a-blowèn stronger,
An' our life-time, since we lost
Souls we lov'd, is woone year longer.
Woone year longer, woone year wider,
Vrom the friends that death ha' took,
As the hours do teäke the rider
Vrom the hand that last he shook.

No. If he do ride at night
Vrom the zide the zun went under,
Woone hour vrom his western light
Needen meäke woone hour asunder;
Woone hour onward, woone hour nigher
To the hopeful eastern skies,
Where his mornèn rim o' vier
Soon ageän shall meet his eyes.

Leaves be now a-scatter'd round
In the wind, a-blowèn bleaker,
An' if we do walk the ground
Wi' our life-strangth woone year weaker.
Woone year weaker, woone year nigher
To the pleäce where we shall vind
Woone that's deathless vor the dier,
Voremost they that dropp'd behind.

LIZZIE.

O Lizzie is so mild o' mind,
Vor ever kind, an' ever true;
A-smilèn, while her lids do rise
To show her eyes as bright as dew.
An' comely do she look at night,
A-dancèn in her skirt o' white,
An' blushèn wi' a rwose o' red
Bezide her glossy head.

Feäir is the rwose o' blushèn hue,
Behung wi' dew, in mornèn's hour,
Feäir is the rwose, so sweet below
The noontide glow, bezide the bow'r.
Vull feäir, an' eet I'd rather zee
The rwose a-gather'd off the tree,
An' bloomèn still with blossom red,
By Lizzie's glossy head.

Mid peace droughout her e'thly day,
Betide her way, to happy rest,
An' mid she, all her weanèn life,
Or maïd or wife, be loved and blest.
Though I mid never zing anew
To neäme the maïd so feäir an' true,
A-blushèn, wi' a rwose o' red,
Bezide her glossy head.

BLESSENS A-LEFT.

Lik' souls a-toss'd at sea I bore
Sad strokes o' trial, shock by shock,
An' now, lik' souls a-cast ashore
To rest upon the beäten rock,
I still do seem to hear the sound
O' weäves that drove me vrom my track,
An' zee my strugglèn hopes a-drown'd,
An' all my jaÿs a-floated back.
By storms a-toss'd, I'll gi'e God praïse,
Wi' much a-lost I still ha' jaÿs.
My peace is rest, my faïth is hope,
An' freedom's my unbounded scope.

Vor faïth mid blunt the sting o' fear,
An' peace the pangs ov ills a-vound,
An' freedom vlee vrom evils near,
Wi' wings to vwold on other ground,
Wi' much a-lost, my loss is small,
Vor though ov e'thly goods bereft,
A thousand times well worth em all
Be they good blessèns now a-left.
What e'th do own, to e'th mid vall,
But what's my own my own I'll call,
My faïth, an' peäce, the gifts o' greäce,
An' freedom still to shift my pleäce.

When I've a-had a tree to screen
My meal-rest vrom the high zunn'd-sky,
Or ivy-holdèn wall between
My head an' win's a-rustlèn by,
I had noo call vor han's to bring
Their seäv'ry daïnties at my nod,
But stoop'd a-drinkèn vrom the spring,
An' took my meal, wi' thanks to God,
Wi' faïth to keep me free o' dread,
An' peäce to sleep wi' steadvast head,
An' freedom's hands, an' veet unbound
To woone man's work, or woone seäme ground.

FALL TIME.

The gather'd clouds, a-hangèn low,
Do meäke the woody ridge look dim;
An' raïn-vill'd streams do brisker flow,
Arisèn higher to their brim.
In the tree, vrom lim' to lim',
Leaves do drop
Vrom the top, all slowly down,
Yollow, to the gloomy groun'.

The rick's a-tipp'd an' weather-brown'd,
An' thatch'd wi' zedge a-dried an' dead;
An' orcha'd apples, red half round,
Have all a-happer'd down, a-shed
Underneath the trees' wide head.
Ladders long,
Rong by rong, to clim' the tall
Trees, be hung upon the wall.

The crumpled leaves be now a-shed
In mornèn winds a-blowèn keen;
When they wer green the moss wer dead,
Now they be dead the moss is green.
Low the evenèn zun do sheen
By the boughs,
Where the cows do swing their taïls
Over the merry milkers' païls.

FALL.

Now the yollow zun, a-runnèn
Daily round a smaller bow,
Still wi' cloudless sky's a-zunnèn
All the sheenèn land below.
Vewer blossoms now do blow,
But the fruit's a-showèn
Reds an' blues, an' purple hues,
By the leaves a-glowèn.

Now the childern be a-pryèn
Roun' the berried bremble-bow,
Zome a-laughèn, woone a-cryèn
Vor the slent her frock do show.
Bwoys be out a-pullèn low
Slooe-boughs, or a-runnèn
Where, on zides of hazzle-wrides,
Nuts do hang a-zunnèn.

Where do reach roun' wheat-ricks yollow
Oves o' thatch, in long-drawn ring,
There, by stubbly hump an' hollow,
Russet-dappled dogs do spring.
Soon my apple-trees wull fling
Bloomèn balls below em,
That shall hide, on ev'ry zide
Ground where we do drow em.

THE ZILVER-WEED.

The zilver-weed upon the green,
Out where my sons an' daughters play'd,
Had never time to bloom between
The litty steps o' bwoy an' maïd.
But rwose-trees down along the wall,
That then wer all the maïden's ceäre,
An' all a-trimm'd an' traïn'd, did bear
Their bloomèn buds vrom Spring to Fall.

But now the zilver leaves do show
To zummer day their goolden crown,
Wi' noo swift shoe-zoles' litty blow,
In merry plaÿ to beät em down.
An' where vor years zome busy hand
Did traïn the rwoses wide an' high;
Now woone by woone the trees do die,
An' vew of all the row do stand.

THE WIDOW'S HOUSE.

I went hwome in the dead o' the night,
When the vields wer all empty o' vo'k,
An' the tuns at their cool-winded height
Wer all dark, an' all cwold 'ithout smoke;
An' the heads o' the trees that I pass'd
Wer a-swayèn wi' low-ruslèn sound,
An' the doust wer a-whirl'd wi' the blast,
Aye, a smeech wi' the wind on the ground.

Then I come by the young widow's hatch,
Down below the wold elem's tall head,
But noo vinger did lift up the latch,
Vor the vo'k wer so still as the dead;
But inside, to a tree a-meäde vast,
Wer the childern's light swing, a-hung low,
An' a-rock'd by the brisk-blowèn blast,
Aye, a-swung by the win' to an' fro.

Vor the childern, wi' pillow-borne head,
Had vorgotten their swing on the lawn,
An' their father, asleep wi' the dead,
Had vorgotten his work at the dawn;
An' their mother, a vew stilly hours,
Had vorgotten where he sleept so sound,
Where the wind wer a-sheäkèn the flow'rs,
Aye, the blast the feäir buds on the ground.

Oh! the moon, wi' his peäle lighted skies,
Have his sorrowless sleepers below.
But by day to the zun they must rise
To their true lives o' tweil an' ov ho.
Then the childern wull rise to their fun,
An' their mother mwore sorrow to veel,
While the aïr is a-warm'd by the zun,
Aye, the win' by the day's vi'ry wheel.

THE CHILD'S GREÄVE.

Avore the time when zuns went down
On zummer's green a-turn'd to brown,
When sheädes o' swaÿèn wheat-eärs vell
Upon the scarlet pimpernel;
The while you still mid goo, an' vind
'Ithin the geärden's mossy wall,
Sweet blossoms, low or risèn tall,
To meäke a tutty to your mind,
In churchyard heav'd, wi' grassy breast,
The greäve-mound ov a beäby's rest.

An' when a high day broke, to call
A throng 'ithin the churchyard wall,
The mother brought, wi' thoughtvul mind,
The feäirest buds her eyes could vind,
To trim the little greäve, an' show
To other souls her love an' loss,
An' meäde a Seävior's little cross
O' brightest flow'rs that then did blow,
A-droppèn tears a-sheenèn bright,
Among the dew, in mornèn light

An' woone sweet bud her han' did pleäce
Up where did droop the Seävior's feäce;
An' two she zet a-bloomèn bright,
Where reach'd His hands o' left an' right;
Two mwore feäir blossoms, crimson dyed,
Did mark the pleäces ov his veet,
An' woone did lie, a-smellèn sweet,
Up where the spear did wound the zide
Ov Him that is the life ov all
Greäve sleepers, whether big or small.

The mother that in faïth could zee
The Seävior on the high cross tree
Mid be a-vound a-grievèn sore,
But not to grieve vor evermwore,
Vor He shall show her faïthvul mind,
His chaïce is all that she should choose,
An' love that here do grieve to lose,
Shall be, above, a jaÿ to vind,
Wi' Him that evermwore shall keep
The souls that He do lay asleep.

WENT VROM HWOME.

The stream-be-wander'd dell did spread
Vrom height to woody height,
An' meäds did lie, a grassy bed,
Vor elem-sheädèn light.
The milkmaïd by her white-horn'd cow,
Wi' païl so white as snow,
Did zing below the elem bough
A-swaÿèn to an' fro.

An' there the evenèn's low-shot light
Did smite the high tree-tops,
An' rabbits vrom the grass, in fright,
Did leäp 'ithin the copse.
An' there the shepherd wi' his crook.
An' dog bezide his knee,
Went whisslèn by, in aïr that shook
The ivy on the tree.

An' on the hill, ahead, wer bars
A-showèn dark on high,
Avore, as eet, the evenèn stars
Did twinkle in the sky,
An' then the last sweet evenèn-tide
That my long sheäde vell there,
I went down Brindon's thymy zide,
To my last sleep at Ware.

THE FANCY FEÄIR AT MAÏDEN NEWTON.

The Frome, wi' ever-water'd brink,
Do run where shelvèn hills do zink
Wi' housen all a-cluster'd roun'
The parish tow'rs below the down.
An' now, vor woonce, at leäst, ov all
The pleäcen where the stream do vall,
There's woone that zome to-day mid vind,
Wi' things a-suited to their mind.
An' that's out where the Fancy Feäir
Is on at Maïden Newton.

An' vo'k, a-smarten'd up, wull hop
Out here, as ev'ry traïn do stop,
Vrom up the line, a longish ride,
An' down along the river-zide.
An' zome do beät, wi' heels an' tooes,
The leänes an' paths, in nimble shoes,
An' bring, bezides, a biggish knot,
Ov all their childern that can trot,
A-vlockèn where the Fancy Feäir
Is here at Maïden Newton.

If you should goo, to-day, avore
A _Chilfrome_ house or _Downfrome_ door,
Or _Frampton's_ park-zide row, or look
Drough quiet _Wraxall's_ slopy nook,
Or elbow-streeted _Catt'stock_, down
By _Castlehill's_ cwold-winded crown,
An' zee if vo'k be all at hwome,
You'd vind em out--they be a-come
Out hither, where the Fancy Feäir
Is on at Maïden Newton.

Come, young men, come, an' here you'll vind
A gift to please a maïden's mind;
Come, husbands, here be gifts to please
Your wives, an' meäke em smile vor days;
Come, so's, an' buy at Fancy Feäir
A keepseäke vor your friends elsewhere;
You can't but stop an' spend a cwein
Wi' leädies that ha' goods so fine;
An' all to meake, vor childern's seäke,
The School at Maïden Newton.

THINGS DO COME ROUND.

Above the leafless hazzle-wride
The wind-drove raïn did quickly vall,
An' on the meäple's ribby zide
Did hang the raïn-drops quiv'rèn ball;
Out where the brook o' foamy yollow
Roll'd along the meäd's deep hollow,
An' noo birds wer out to beät,
Wi' flappèn wings, the vleèn wet
O' zunless clouds on flow'rless ground.
How time do bring the seasons round!

The moss, a-beät vrom trees, did lie
Upon the ground in ashen droves,
An' western wind did huffle high,
Above the sheds' quick-drippèn oves.
An' where the ruslèn straw did sound
So dry, a-shelter'd in the lew,
I staïed alwone, an' weather-bound,
An' thought on times, long years agoo,
Wi' water-floods on flow'rless ground.
How time do bring the seasons round!

We then, in childhood plaÿ, did seem
In work o' men to teäke a peärt,
A-drevèn on our wild bwoy team,
Or lwoadèn o' the tiny cart.
Or, on our little refters, spread
The zedgen ruf above our head,
But coulden tell, as now we can,
Where each would goo to tweil a man.
O jaÿs a-lost, an' jaÿs a-vound,
How Providence do bring things round!

Where woonce along the sky o' blue
The zun went roun' his longsome bow,
An' brighten'd, to my soul, the view
About our little farm below.
There I did plaÿ the merry geäme,
Wi' childern ev'ry holitide,
But coulden tell the vaïce or neäme
That time would vind to be my bride.
O hwome a-left, O wife a-vound,
How Providence do bring things round!

An' when I took my manhood's pleäce,
A husband to a wife's true vow,
I never thought by neäme or feäce
O' childern that be round me now.
An' now they all do grow vrom small,
Drough life's feäir sheäpes to big an' tall,
I still be blind to God's good plan,
To pleäce em out as wife, or man.
O thread o' love by God unwound,
How He in time do bring things round;

ZUMMER THOUGHTS IN WINTER TIME.

Well, aye, last evenèn, as I shook
My locks ov haÿ by Leecombe brook.
The yollow zun did weakly glance
Upon the winter meäd askance,
A-castèn out my narrow sheäde
Athirt the brook, an' on the meäd.
The while ageän my lwonesome ears
Did russle weatherbeäten spears,
Below the withy's leafless head
That overhung the river's bed;
I there did think o' days that dried
The new-mow'd grass o' zummer-tide,
When white-sleev'd mowers' whetted bleädes
Rung sh'ill along the green-bough'd gleädes,
An' maïdens gaÿ, wi' plaÿsome chaps,
A-zot wi' dinners in their laps,
Did talk wi' merry words that rung
Around the ring, vrom tongue to tongue;
An' welcome, when the leaves ha' died,
Be zummer thoughts in winter-tide.

I'M OUT O' DOOR.

I'm out, when, in the Winter's blast,
The zun, a-runnèn lowly round,
Do mark the sheädes the hedge do cast
At noon, in hoarvrost, on the ground,
I'm out when snow's a-lyèn white
In keen-aïr'd vields that I do pass,
An' moonbeams, vrom above, do smite
On ice an' sleeper's window-glass.
I'm out o' door,
When win' do zweep,
By hangèn steep,
Or hollow deep,
At Lindenore.

O welcome is the lewth a-vound
By rustlèn copse, or ivied bank,
Or by the haÿ-rick, weather-brown'd
By barken-grass, a-springèn rank;
Or where the waggon, vrom the team
A-freed, is well a-housed vrom wet,
An' on the dousty cart-house beam
Do hang the cobweb's white-lin'd net.
While storms do roar,
An' win' do zweep,
By hangèn steep,
Or hollow deep,
At Lindenore.

An' when a good day's work's a-done
An' I do rest, the while a squall
Do rumble in the hollow tun,
An' ivy-stems do whip the wall.
Then in the house do sound about
My ears, dear vaïces vull or thin,
A praÿèn vor the souls vur out
At sea, an' cry wi' bibb'rèn chin--
Oh! shut the door.
What soul can sleep,
Upon the deep,
When storms do zweep
At Lindenore.

GRIEF AN' GLADNESS.

"Can all be still, when win's do blow?
Look down the grove an' zee
The boughs a-swingèn on the tree,
An' beäten weäves below.
Zee how the tweilèn vo'k do bend
Upon their windward track,
Wi' ev'ry string, an' garment's end,
A-flutt'rèn at their back."
I cried, wi' sorrow sore a-tried,
An' hung, wi' Jenny at my zide,
My head upon my breast.
Wi' strokes o' grief so hard to bear,
'Tis hard vor souls to rest.

Can all be dull, when zuns do glow?
Oh! no; look down the grove,
Where zides o' trees be bright above;
An' weäves do sheen below;
An' neäked stems o' wood in hedge
Do gleäm in streäks o' light,
An' rocks do gleäre upon the ledge
O' yonder zunny height,
"No, Jeäne, wi' trials now withdrawn,
Lik' darkness at a happy dawn."
I cried, "Noo mwore despair;
Wi' our lost peace ageän a-vound,
'Tis wrong to harbour ceäre."

SLIDÈN.

When wind wer keen,
Where ivy-green
Did clwosely wind
Roun' woak-tree rind,
An' ice shone bright,
An' meäds wer white, wi' thin-spread snow
Then on the pond, a-spreadèn wide,
We bwoys did zweep along the slide,
A-strikèn on in merry row.

There ruddÿ-feäced,
In busy heäste,
We all did wag
A spankèn lag,
To win good speed,
When we, straïght-knee'd, wi' foreright tooes,
Should shoot along the slipp'ry track,
Wi' grindèn sound, a-gettèn slack,
The slower went our clumpèn shoes.

Vor zome slow chap,
Did teäke mishap,
As he did veel
His hinder heel
A-het a thump,
Wi' zome big lump, o' voot an' shoe.
Down vell the voremost wi' a squall,
An' down the next went wi' a sprawl,
An' down went all the laughèn crew.

As to an' fro,
In merry row,
We all went round
On ice, on ground
The maïdens nigh
A-stannèn shy, did zee us slide,
An' in their eäprons small, did vwold
Their little hands, a-got red-cwold,
Or slide on ice o' two veet wide.

By leafless copse,
An' beäre tree-tops,
An' zun's low beams,
An' ice-boun' streams,
An' vrost-boun' mill,
A-stannèn still. Come wind, blow on,
An' gi'e the bwoys, this Chris'mas tide,
The glitt'rèn ice to meäke a slide,
As we had our slide, years agone.

LWONESOMENESS.

As I do zew, wi' nimble hand,
In here avore the window's light,
How still do all the housegear stand
Around my lwonesome zight.
How still do all the housegear stand
Since Willie now 've a-left the land.

The rwose-tree's window-sheädèn bow
Do hang in leaf, an' win'-blow'd flow'rs,
Avore my lwonesome eyes do show
Theäse bright November hours.
Avore my lwonesome eyes do show
Wi' nwone but I to zee em blow.

The sheädes o' leafy buds, avore
The peänes, do sheäke upon the glass,
An' stir in light upon the vloor,
Where now vew veet do pass,
An' stir in light upon the vloor,
Where there's a-stirrèn nothèn mwore.

This win' mid dreve upon the maïn,
My brother's ship, a-plowèn foam,
But not bring mother, cwold, nor raïn,
At her now happy hwome.
But not bring mother, cwold, nor raïn,
Where she is out o' pain.

Zoo now that I'm a-mwopèn dumb,
A-keepèn father's house, do you
Come of'en wi' your work vrom hwome,
Vor company. Now do.
Come of'en wi' your work vrom hwome,
Up here a-while. Do come.

A SNOWY NIGHT.

'Twer at night, an' a keen win' did blow
Vrom the east under peäle-twinklèn stars,
All a-zweepèn along the white snow;
On the groun', on the trees, on the bars,
Vrom the hedge where the win' russled drough,
There a light-russlèn snow-doust did vall;
An' noo pleäce wer a-vound that wer lew,
But the shed, or the ivy-hung wall.

Then I knock'd at the wold passage door
Wi' the win'-driven snow on my locks;
Till, a-comèn along the cwold vloor,
There my Jenny soon answer'd my knocks.
Then the wind, by the door a-swung wide,
Flung some snow in her clear-bloomèn feäce,
An' she blink'd wi' her head all a-zide,
An' a-chucklèn, went back to her pleäce.

An' in there, as we zot roun' the brands,
Though the talkers wer maïnly the men,
Bloomèn Jeäne, wi' her work in her hands,
Did put in a good word now an' then.
An' when I took my leave, though so bleäk
Wer the weather, she went to the door,
Wi' a smile, an' a blush on the cheäk
That the snow had a-smitten avore.

THE YEAR-CLOCK.