Chapter I: Got Two Vields (5)

There the bendèn stream do flow, John,
By the mossy bridge's bow, John;
An' there the road do wind below the hill;
There the miller, white wi' meal, John,
Deafen'd wi' his foamy wheel, John,
Do stan' o' times a-lookèn out o' mill:
The while 'ithin his lightly-sheäken door.
His wheatèn flour do whitèn all his floor.

When my daily work's a-done, John,
At the zettèn o' the zun, John,
An' I all day 've a-plaÿ'd a good man's peärt,
I do vind my ease a-blest, John,
While my conscience is at rest, John;
An' while noo worm's a-left to fret my heart;
An' who vor finer hwomes o' restless pride,
Would pass the plaïn abode where peace do bide?

By a windor in the west, John,
There upon my fiddle's breast, John,
The strings do sound below my bow's white heäir;
While a zingèn drush do swaÿ, John,
Up an' down upon a spraÿ, John,
An' cast his sheäde upon the window square;
Vor birds do know their friends, an' build their nest,
An' love to roost, where they can live at rest.

Out o' town the win' do bring, John,
Peals o' bells when they do ring, John,
An' roun' me here, at hand, my ear can catch
The maïd a-zingèn by the stream, John,
Or carter whislèn wi' his team, John,
Or zingèn birds, or water at the hatch;
An' zoo wi' sounds o' vaïce, an' bird an' bell,
Noo hour is dull 'ithin our rwosy dell.

An' when the darksome night do hide, John,
Land an' wood on ev'ry zide, John;
An' when the light's a-burnèn on my bwoard,
Then vor pleasures out o' door, John,
I've enough upon my vloor, John:
My Jenny's lovèn deed, an' look, an' word,
An' we be lwoth, lik' culvers zide by zide,
To leäve the plaïn abode where love do bide.

HALLOWED PLEÄCES.

At Woodcombe farm, wi' ground an' tree
Hallow'd by times o' youthvul glee,
At Chris'mas time I spent a night
Wi' feäces dearest to my zight;
An' took my wife to tread, woonce mwore,
Her maïden hwome's vorseäken vloor,
An' under stars that slowly wheel'd
Aloft, above the keen-aïr'd vield,
While night bedimm'd the rus'lèn copse,
An' darken'd all the ridges' tops,
The hall, a-hung wi' holly, rung
Wi' many a tongue o' wold an' young.

There, on the he'th's well-hetted ground,
Hallow'd by times o' zittèn round,
The brimvul mug o' cider stood
An' hiss'd avore the bleäzèn wood;
An' zome, a-zittèn knee by knee,
Did tell their teäles wi' hearty glee,
An' others gamboll'd in a roar
O' laughter on the stwonèn vloor;
An' while the moss o' winter-tide
Clung chilly roun' the house's zide,
The hall, a-hung wi' holly, rung
Wi' many a tongue o' wold an' young.

There, on the pworches bench o' stwone,
Hallow'd by times o' youthvul fun,
We laugh'd an' sigh'd to think o' neämes
That rung there woonce, in evenèn geämes;
An' while the swaÿèn cypress bow'd,
In chilly wind, his darksome sh'oud
An' honeyzuckles, beäre o' leäves,
Still reach'd the window-sheädèn eaves
Up where the clematis did trim
The stwonèn arches mossy rim,
The hall, a-hung wi' holly, rung
Wi' many a tongue o' wold an' young.

There, in the geärden's wall-bound square,
Hallow'd by times o' strollèn there,
The winter wind, a-hufflèn loud,
Did swaÿ the pear-tree's leafless sh'oud,
An' beät the bush that woonce did bear
The damask rwose vor Jenny's heäir;
An' there the walk o' peävèn stwone
That burn'd below the zummer zun,
Struck icy-cwold drough shoes a-wore
By maïdens vrom the hetted vloor
In hall, a-hung wi' holm, where rung
Vull many a tongue o' wold an' young.

There at the geäte that woonce wer blue
Hallow'd by times o' passèn drough,
Light strawmotes rose in flaggèn flight,
A-floated by the winds o' night,
Where leafy ivy-stems did crawl
In moonlight on the windblown wall,
An' merry maïdens' vaïces vled
In echoes sh'ill, vrom wall to shed,
As shiv'rèn in their frocks o' white
They come to bid us there "Good night,"
Vrom hall, a-hung wi' holm, that rung
Wi' many a tongue o' wold an' young.

There in the narrow leäne an' drong
Hallow'd by times o' gwaïn along,
The lofty ashes' leafless sh'ouds
Rose dark avore the clear-edged clouds,
The while the moon, at girtest height,
Bespread the pooly brook wi' light,
An' as our child, in loose-limb'd rest,
Lay peäle upon her mother's breast,
Her waxen eyelids seal'd her eyes
Vrom darksome trees, an' sheenèn skies,
An' halls a-hung wi' holm, that rung
Wi' many a tongue, o' wold an' young.

THE WOLD WALL.

Here, Jeäne, we vu'st did meet below
The leafy boughs, a-swingèn slow,
Avore the zun, wi' evenèn glow,
Above our road, a-beamèn red;
The grass in zwath wer in the meäds,
The water gleam'd among the reeds
In aïr a-steälèn roun' the hall,
Where ivy clung upon the wall.
Ah! well-a-day! O wall adieu!
The wall is wold, my grief is new.

An' there you walk'd wi' blushèn pride,
Where softly-wheelèn streams did glide,
Drough sheädes o' poplars at my zide,
An' there wi' love that still do live,
Your feäce did wear the smile o' youth,
The while you spoke wi' age's truth,
An' wi' a rwosebud's mossy ball,
I deck'd your bosom vrom the wall.
Ah! well-a-day! O wall adieu!
The wall is wold, my grief is new.

But now when winter's raïn do vall,
An' wind do beät ageän the hall,
The while upon the wat'ry wall
In spots o' grey the moss do grow;
The ruf noo mwore shall overspread
The pillor ov our weary head,
Nor shall the rwose's mossy ball
Behang vor you the house's wall.
Ah! well-a-day! O wall adieu!
The wall is wold, my grief is new.

BLEÄKE'S HOUSE IN BLACKMWORE.

John Bleäke he had a bit o' ground
Come to en by his mother's zide;
An' after that, two hunderd pound
His uncle left en when he died;
"Well now," cried John, "my mind's a-bent
To build a house, an' paÿ noo rent."
An' Meäry gi'ed en her consent.
"Do, do,"--the maïdens cried
"True, true,"--his wife replied.
"Done, done,--a house o' brick or stwone,"
Cried merry Bleäke o' Blackmwore.

Then John he call'd vor men o' skill,
An' builders answer'd to his call;
An' met to reckon, each his bill;
Vor vloor an' window, ruf an' wall.
An' woone did mark it on the groun',
An' woone did think, an' scratch his crown,
An' reckon work, an' write it down:
"Zoo, zoo,"--woone treädesman cried,
"True, true,"--woone mwore replied.
"Aye, aye,--good work, an' have good paÿ,"
Cried merry Bleäke o' Blackmwore.

The work begun, an' trowels rung,
An' up the brickèn wall did rise,
An' up the slantèn refters sprung,
Wi' busy blows, an' lusty cries!
An' woone brought planks to meäke a vloor,
An' woone did come wi' durns or door,
An' woone did zaw, an' woone did bore,
"Brick, brick,--there down below,
Quick, quick,--why b'ye so slow?"
"Lime, lime,--why we do weäste the time,
Vor merry Bleäke o' Blackmwore."

The house wer up vrom groun' to tun,
An' thatch'd ageän the raïny sky,
Wi' windows to the noonday zun,
Where rushy Stour do wander by.
In coo'se he had a pworch to screen
The inside door, when win's wer keen,
An' out avore the pworch, a green.
"Here! here!"--the childern cried:
"Dear! dear!"--the wife replied;
"There, there,--the house is perty feäir,"
Cried merry Bleäke o' Blackmwore.

Then John he ax'd his friends to warm
His house, an' they, a goodish batch,
Did come alwone, or eärm in eärm,
All roads, a-meäkèn vor his hatch:
An' there below the clavy beam
The kettle-spout did zing an' steam;
An' there wer ceäkes, an' tea wi' cream.
"Lo! lo!"--the women cried;
"Ho! ho!"--the men replied;
"Health, health,--attend ye wi' your wealth,
Good merry Bleäke o' Blackmwore."

Then John, a-praïs'd, flung up his crown,
All back a-laughèn in a roar.
They praïs'd his wife, an' she look'd down
A-simperèn towards the vloor.
Then up they sprung a-dancèn reels,
An' up went tooes, an' up went heels,
A-windèn roun' in knots an' wheels.
"Brisk, brisk,"--the maïdens cried;
"Frisk, frisk,"--the men replied;
"Quick, quick,--there wi' your fiddle-stick,"
Cried merry Bleäke o' Blackmwore.

An' when the morrow's zun did sheen,
John Bleäke beheld, wi' jaÿ an' pride,
His brickèn house, an' pworch, an' green,
Above the Stour's rushy zide.
The zwallows left the lwonesome groves,
To build below the thatchèn oves,
An' robins come vor crumbs o' lwoaves:
"Tweet, tweet,"--the birds all cried;
"Sweet, sweet,"--John's wife replied;
"Dad, dad,"--the childern cried so glad,
To merry Bleäke o' Blackmwore.

JOHN BLEÄKE AT HWOME AT NIGHT.

No: where the woak do overspread,
The grass begloom'd below his head,
An' water, under bowèn zedge,
A-springèn vrom the river's edge,
Do ripple, as the win' do blow,
An' sparkle, as the sky do glow;
An' grey-leav'd withy-boughs do cool,
Wi' darksome sheädes, the clear-feäced pool,
My chimny smoke, 'ithin the lew
O' trees is there arisèn blue;
Avore the night do dim our zight,
Or candle-light, a-sheenèn bright,
Do sparkle drough the window.

When crumpled leaves o' Fall do bound
Avore the wind, along the ground,
An' wither'd bennet-stems do stand
A-quiv'rèn on the chilly land;
The while the zun, wi' zettèn rim,
Do leäve the workman's pathway dim;
An' sweet-breath'd childern's hangèn heads
Be laid wi' kisses, on their beds;
Then I do seek my woodland nest,
An' zit bezide my vier at rest,
While night's a-spread, where day's a-vled,
An' lights do shed their beams o' red,
A-sparklèn drough the window.

If winter's whistlèn winds do vreeze
The snow a-gather'd on the trees,
An' sheädes o' poplar stems do vall
In moonlight up athirt the wall;
An' icicles do hang below
The oves, a-glitt'rèn in a row,
An' risèn stars do slowly ride
Above the ruf's upslantèn zide;
Then I do lay my weary head
Asleep upon my peaceful bed,
When middle-night ha' quench'd the light
Ov embers bright, an' candles white
A-beamèn drough the window.

MILKEN TIME.

'Twer when the busy birds did vlee,
Wi' sheenèn wings, vrom tree to tree,
To build upon the mossy lim',
Their hollow nestes' rounded rim;
The while the zun, a-zinkèn low,
Did roll along his evenèn bow,
I come along where wide-horn'd cows,
'Ithin a nook, a-screen'd by boughs,
Did stan' an' flip the white-hoop'd païls
Wi' heäiry tufts o' swingèn taïls;
An' there wer Jenny Coom a-gone
Along the path a vew steps on.
A-beärèn on her head, upstraïght,
Her païl, wi' slowly-ridèn waïght,
An' hoops a-sheenèn, lily-white,
Ageän the evenèn's slantèn light;
An' zo I took her païl, an' left
Her neck a-freed vrom all his heft;
An' she a-lookèn up an' down,
Wi' sheäpely head an' glossy crown,
Then took my zide, an' kept my peäce
A-talkèn on wi' smilèn feäce,
An' zettèn things in sich a light,
I'd faïn ha' heär'd her talk all night;
An' when I brought her milk avore
The geäte, she took it in to door,
An' if her païl had but allow'd
Her head to vall, she would ha' bow'd,
An' still, as 'twer, I had the zight
Ov her sweet smile droughout the night.

WHEN BIRDS BE STILL.

Vor all the zun do leäve the sky,
An' all the sounds o' day do die,
An' noo mwore veet do walk the dim
Vield-path to clim' the stiel's bars,
Yeet out below the rizèn stars,
The dark'nèn day mid leäve behind
Woone tongue that I shall always vind,
A-whisperèn kind, when birds be still.

Zoo let the day come on to spread
His kindly light above my head,
Wi' zights to zee, an' sounds to hear,
That still do cheer my thoughtvul mind;
Or let en goo, an' leäve behind
An' hour to stroll along the gleädes,
Where night do drown the beeches' sheädes,
On grasses' bleädes, when birds be still.

Vor when the night do lull the sound
O' cows a-bleärèn out in ground,
The sh'ill-vaïc'd dog do stan' an' bark
'Ithin the dark, bezide the road;
An' when noo cracklèn waggon's lwoad
Is in the leäne, the wind do bring
The merry peals that bells do ring
O ding-dong-ding, when birds be still.

Zoo teäke, vor me, the town a-drown'd,
'Ithin a storm o' rumblèn sound,
An' gi'e me vaïces that do speak
So soft an' meek, to souls alwone;
The brook a-gurglèn round a stwone,
An' birds o' day a-zingèn clear,
An' leaves, that I mid zit an' hear
A-rustlèn near, when birds be still.

RIDEN HWOME AT NIGHT.

Oh! no, I quite injaÿ'd the ride
Behind wold Dobbin's heavy heels,
Wi' Jeäne a-prattlèn at my zide,
Above our peäir o' spinnèn wheels,
As grey-rin'd ashes' swaÿèn tops
Did creak in moonlight in the copse,
Above the quiv'rèn grass, a-beät
By wind a-blowèn drough the geät.

If weary souls did want their sleep,
They had a-zent vor sleep the night;
Vor vo'k that had a call to keep
Awake, lik' us, there still wer light.
An' He that shut the sleepers' eyes,
A-waïtèn vor the zun to rise,
Ha' too much love to let em know
The ling'rèn night did goo so slow.

But if my wife did catch a zight
O' zome queer pollard, or a post,
Poor soul! she took en in her fright
To be a robber or a ghost.
A two-stump'd withy, wi' a head,
Mus' be a man wi' eärms a-spread;
An' foam o' water, round a rock,
Wer then a drownèn leädy's frock.

Zome staddle stwones to bear a mow,
Wer dancèn veäries on the lag;
An' then a snow-white sheeted cow
Could only be, she thought, their flag,
An owl a-vleèn drough the wood
Wer men on watch vor little good;
An' geätes a slam'd by wind, did goo,
She thought, to let a robber drough.

But after all, she lik'd the zight
O' cows asleep in glitt'rèn dew;
An' brooks that gleam'd below the light,
An' dim vield paths 'ithout a shoe.
An' gaïly talk'd bezide my ears,
A-laughèn off her needless fears:
Or had the childern uppermost
In mind, instead o' thief or ghost.

An' when our house, wi' open door,
Did rumble hollow round our heads,
She heästen'd up to tother vloor,
To zee the childern in their beds;
An' vound woone little head awry,
Wi' woone a-turn'd toward the sky;
An' wrung her hands ageän her breast,
A-smilèn at their happy rest.

ZUN-ZET.

Where the western zun, unclouded,
Up above the grey hill-tops,
Did sheen drough ashes, lofty sh'ouded
On the turf bezide the copse,
In zummer weather,
We together,
Sorrow-slightèn, work-vorgettèn.
Gambol'd wi' the zun a-zetten.

There, by flow'ry bows o' bramble,
Under hedge, in ash-tree sheädes,
The dun-heaïr'd ho'se did slowly ramble
On the grasses' dewy bleädes,
Zet free o' lwoads,
An' stwony rwoads,
Vorgetvul o' the lashes frettèn,
Grazèn wi' the zun a-zettèn.

There wer rooks a-beätèn by us
Drough the aïr, in a vlock,
An' there the lively blackbird, nigh us,
On the meäple bough did rock,
Wi' ringèn droat,
Where zunlight smote
The yollow boughs o' zunny hedges
Over western hills' blue edges.

Waters, drough the meäds a-purlèn,
Glissen'd in the evenèn's light,
An' smoke, above the town a-curlèn,
Melted slowly out o' zight;
An' there, in glooms
Ov unzunn'd rooms,
To zome, wi' idle sorrows frettèn,
Zuns did set avore their zettèn.

We were out in geämes and reäces,
Loud a-laughèn, wild in me'th,
Wi' windblown heäir, an' zunbrown'd feäces,
Leäpen on the high-sky'd e'th,
Avore the lights
Wer tin'd o' nights,
An' while the gossamer's light nettèn
Sparkled to the zun a-zettèn.

SPRING.

Now the zunny aïr's a-blowèn
Softly over flowers a-growèn;
An' the sparklèn light do quiver
On the ivy-bough an' river;
Bleätèn lambs, wi' woolly feäces,
Now do plaÿ, a-runnèn reäces;
An' the springèn
Lark's a-zingèn,
Lik' a dot avore the cloud,
High above the ashes sh'oud.

Housèn, in the open brightness,
Now do sheen in spots o' whiteness;
Here an' there, on upland ledges,
In among the trees an' hedges,
Where, along by vlocks o' sparrows,
Chatt'rèn at the ploughman's harrows.
Dousty rwoaded,
Errand-lwoaded;
Jenny, though her cloak is thin,
Do wish en hwome upon the pin.

Zoo come along, noo longer heedvul
Ov the viër, leätely needvul,
Over grass o' slopèn leäzes,
Zingèn zongs in zunny breezes;
Out to work in copse, a-mootèn,
Where the primrwose is a-shootèn,
An in gladness,
Free o' sadness,
In the warmth o' Spring vorget
Leafless winter's cwold an' wet.

THE ZUMMER HEDGE.

As light do gleäre in ev'ry ground,
Wi' boughy hedges out a-round
A-climmèn up the slopèn brows
O' hills, in rows o' sheädy boughs:
The while the hawthorn buds do blow
As thick as stars, an' white as snow;
Or cream-white blossoms be a-spread
About the guelder-rwoses' head;
How cool's the sheäde, or warm's the lewth,
Bezide a zummer hedge in blooth.

When we've a-work'd drough longsome hours,
Till dew's a-dried vrom dazzlèn flow'rs,
The while the climmèn zun ha' glow'd
Drough mwore than half his daily road:
Then where the sheädes do slily pass
Athirt our veet upon the grass,
As we do rest by lofty ranks
Ov elems on the flow'ry banks;
How cool's the sheäde, or warm's the lewth,
Bezide a zummer hedge in blooth.

But oh! below woone hedge's zide
Our jaÿ do come a-most to pride;
Out where the high-stemm'd trees do stand,
In row bezide our own free land,
An' where the wide-leav'd clote mid zwim
'Ithin our water's rushy rim:
An' raïn do vall, an' zuns do burn,
An' each in season, and in turn,
To cool the sheäde or warm the lewth
Ov our own zummer hedge in blooth.

How soft do sheäke the zummer hedge--
How soft do sway the zummer zedge--
How bright be zummer skies an' zun--
How bright the zummer brook do run;
An' feäir the flow'rs do bloom, to feäde
Behind the swaÿen mower's bleäde;
An' sweet be merry looks o' jaÿ,
By weäles an' pooks o' June's new haÿ,
Wi' smilèn age, an laughèn youth,
Bezide the zummer hedge in blooth.

THE WATER CROWVOOT.

O' small-feäc'd flow'r that now dost bloom
To stud wi' white the shallow Frome,
An' leäve the clote to spread his flow'r
On darksome pools o' stwoneless Stour,
When sof'ly-rizèn aïrs do cool
The water in the sheenèn pool,
Thy beds o' snow-white buds do gleam
So feäir upon the sky-blue stream,
As whitest clouds, a-hangèn high
Avore the blueness o' the sky;
An' there, at hand, the thin-heäir'd cows,
In aïry sheädes o' withy boughs,
Or up bezide the mossy raïls,
Do stan' an' zwing their heavy taïls,
The while the ripplèn stream do flow
Below the dousty bridge's bow;
An' quiv'rèn water-gleams do mock
The weäves, upon the sheäded rock;
An' up athirt the copèn stwone
The laïtren bwoy do leän alwone,
A-watchèn, wi' a stedvast look,
The vallèn waters in the brook,
The while the zand o' time do run
An' leäve his errand still undone.
An' oh! as long's thy buds would gleam
Above the softly-slidèn stream,
While sparklèn zummer-brooks do run
Below the lofty-climèn zun,
I only wish that thou could'st staÿ
Vor noo man's harm, an' all men's jaÿ.
But no, the waterman 'ull weäde
Thy water wi' his deadly bleäde,
To slay thee even in thy bloom,
Fair small-feäced flower o' the Frome.

THE LILAC.

Dear lilac-tree, a-spreadèn wide
Thy purple blooth on ev'ry zide,
As if the hollow sky did shed
Its blue upon thy flow'ry head;
Oh! whether I mid sheäre wi' thee
Thy open aïr, my bloomèn tree,
Or zee thy blossoms vrom the gloom,
'Ithin my zunless workèn-room,
My heart do leäp, but leäp wi' sighs,
At zight o' thee avore my eyes,
For when thy grey-blue head do swaÿ
In cloudless light, 'tis Spring, 'tis Maÿ.

'Tis Spring, 'tis Maÿ, as Maÿ woonce shed
His glowèn light above thy head--
When thy green boughs, wi' bloomy tips,
Did sheäde my childern's laughèn lips;
A-screenèn vrom the noonday gleäre
Their rwosy cheäks an' glossy heäir;
The while their mother's needle sped,
Too quick vor zight, the snow-white thread,
Unless her han', wi' lovèn ceäre,
Did smooth their little heads o' heäir;

Or wi' a sheäke, tie up anew
Vor zome wild voot, a slippèn shoe;
An' I did leän bezide thy mound
Ageän the deäsy-dappled ground,
The while the woaken clock did tick
My hour o' rest away too quick,
An' call me off to work anew,
Wi' slowly-ringèn strokes, woone, two.

Zoo let me zee noo darksome cloud
Bedim to-day thy flow'ry sh'oud,
But let en bloom on ev'ry spraÿ,
Drough all the days o' zunny Maÿ.

THE BLACKBIRD.

'Twer out at Penley I'd a-past
A zummer day that went too vast,
An' when the zettèn zun did spread
On western clouds a vi'ry red;
The elems' leafy limbs wer still
Above the gravel-bedded rill,
An' under en did warble sh'ill,
Avore the dusk, the blackbird.

An' there, in sheädes o' darksome yews,
Did vlee the maïdens on their tooes,
A-laughèn sh'ill wi' merry feäce
When we did vind their hidèn pleäce.
'Ithin the loose-bough'd ivys gloom,
Or lofty lilac, vull in bloom,
Or hazzle-wrides that gi'ed em room
Below the zingèn blackbird.

Above our heads the rooks did vlee
To reach their nested elem-tree,
An' splashèn vish did rise to catch
The wheelèn gnots above the hatch;
An' there the miller went along,
A-smilèn, up the sheädy drong,
But yeet too deaf to hear the zong
A-zung us by the blackbird.

An' there the sh'illy-bubblèn brook
Did leäve behind his rocky nook,
To run drough meäds a-chill'd wi' dew,
Vrom hour to hour the whole night drough;
But still his murmurs wer a-drown'd
By vaïces that mid never sound
Ageän together on that ground,
Wi' whislèns o' the blackbird.

THE SLANTÈN LIGHT O' FALL.

Ah! Jeäne, my maïd, I stood to you,
When you wer christen'd, small an' light,
Wi' tiny eärms o' red an' blue,
A-hangèn in your robe o' white.
We brought ye to the hallow'd stwone,
Vor Christ to teäke ye vor his own,
When harvest work wer all a-done,
An' time brought round October zun--
The slantèn light o' Fall.

An' I can mind the wind wer rough,
An' gather'd clouds, but brought noo storms,
An' you did nessle warm enough,
'Ithin your smilèn mother's eärms.
The whindlèn grass did quiver light,
Among the stubble, feäded white,
An' if at times the zunlight broke
Upon the ground, or on the vo'k,
'Twer slantèn light o' Fall.

An' when we brought ye drough the door
O' Knapton Church, a child o' greäce,
There cluster'd round a'most a score
O' vo'k to zee your tiny feäce.
An' there we all did veel so proud,
To zee an' op'nèn in the cloud,
An' then a stream o' light break drough,
A-sheenèn brightly down on you--
The slantèn light o' Fall.

But now your time's a-come to stand
In church, a-blushèn at my zide,
The while a bridegroom vrom my hand
Ha' took ye vor his faïthvul bride.
Your christèn neäme we gi'd ye here,
When Fall did cool the weästèn year;
An' now, ageän, we brought ye drough
The doorway, wi' your surneäme new,
In slantèn light o' Fall.

An' zoo vur, Jeäne, your life is feäir,
An' God ha' been your steadvast friend,
An' mid ye have mwore jaÿ than ceäre,
Vor ever, till your journey's end.
An' I've a-watch'd ye on wi' pride,
But now I soon mus' leäve your zide,
Vor you ha' still life's spring-tide zun,
But my life, Jeäne, is now a-run
To slantèn light o' Fall.

THISSLEDOWN.

The thissledown by wind's a-roll'd
In Fall along the zunny plaïn,
Did catch the grass, but lose its hold,
Or cling to bennets, but in vaïn.

But when it zwept along the grass,
An' zunk below the hollow's edge,
It lay at rest while winds did pass
Above the pit-bescreenèn ledge.

The plaïn ha' brightness wi' his strife,
The pit is only dark at best,
There's pleasure in a worksome life,
An' sloth is tiresome wi' its rest.

Zoo, then, I'd sooner beär my peärt,
Ov all the trials vo'k do rue,
Than have a deadness o' the heart,
Wi' nothèn mwore to veel or do.

THE MAY-TREE.

I've a-come by the Maÿ-tree all times o' the year,
When leaves wer a-springèn,
When vrost wer a-stingèn,
When cool-winded mornèn did show the hills clear,
When night wer bedimmèn the vields vur an' near.

When, in zummer, his head wer as white as a sheet,
Wi' white buds a-zwellèn,
An' blossom, sweet-smellèn,
While leaves wi' green leaves on his bough-zides did meet,
A-sheädèn the deäisies down under our veet.

When the zun, in the Fall, wer a-wanderèn wan,
An' haws on his head
Did sprinkle en red,
Or bright drops o' raïn wer a-hung loosely on,
To the tips o' the sprigs when the scud wer a-gone.

An' when, in the winter, the zun did goo low,
An' keen win' did huffle,
But never could ruffle
The hard vrozen feäce o' the water below,
His limbs wer a-fringed wi' the vrost or the snow.

LYDLINCH BELLS.

When skies wer peäle wi' twinklèn stars,
An' whislèn aïr a-risèn keen;
An' birds did leäve the icy bars
To vind, in woods, their mossy screen;
When vrozen grass, so white's a sheet,
Did scrunchy sharp below our veet,
An' water, that did sparkle red
At zunzet, wer a-vrozen dead;
The ringers then did spend an hour
A-ringèn changes up in tow'r;
Vor Lydlinch bells be good vor sound,
An' liked by all the naïghbours round.

An' while along the leafless boughs
O' ruslèn hedges, win's did pass,
An' orts ov haÿ, a-left by cows,
Did russle on the vrozen grass,
An' maïdens' païls, wi' all their work
A-done, did hang upon their vurk,
An' they, avore the fleämèn brand,
Did teäke their needle-work in hand,
The men did cheer their heart an hour
A-ringèn changes up in tow'r;
Vor Lydlinch bells be good vor sound,
An' liked by all the naïghbours round.

There sons did pull the bells that rung
Their mothers' weddèn peals avore,
The while their fathers led em young
An' blushèn vrom the churches door,
An' still did cheem, wi' happy sound,
As time did bring the Zundays round,
An' call em to the holy pleäce
Vor heav'nly gifts o' peace an' greäce;
An' vo'k did come, a-streamèn slow
Along below the trees in row,
While they, in merry peals, did sound
The bells vor all the naïghbours round.

An' when the bells, wi' changèn peal,
Did smite their own vo'ks window-peänes,
Their sof'en'd sound did often steal
Wi' west winds drough the Bagber leänes;
Or, as the win' did shift, mid goo
Where woody Stock do nessle lew,
Or where the risèn moon did light
The walls o' Thornhill on the height;
An' zoo, whatever time mid bring
To meäke their vive clear vaïces zing,
Still Lydlinch bells wer good vor sound,
An' liked by all the naïghbours round.

THE STAGE COACH.

Ah! when the wold vo'k went abroad
They thought it vast enough,
If vow'r good ho'ses beät the road
Avore the coach's ruf;
An' there they zot,
A-cwold or hot,
An' roll'd along the ground,
While the whip did smack
On the ho'ses' back,
An' the wheels went swiftly round, Good so's;
The wheels went swiftly round.

Noo iron raïls did streak the land
To keep the wheels in track.
The coachman turn'd his vow'r-in-hand,
Out right, or left, an' back;
An' he'd stop avore
A man's own door,
To teäke en up or down:
While the reïns vell slack
On the ho'ses' back,
Till the wheels did rottle round ageän;
Till the wheels did rottle round.

An' there, when wintry win' did blow,
Athirt the plaïn an' hill,
An' the zun wer peäle above the snow,
An' ice did stop the mill,
They did laugh an' joke
Wi' cwoat or cloke,
So warmly roun' em bound,
While the whip did crack
On the ho'ses' back,
An' the wheels did trundle round, d'ye know;
The wheels did trundle round.

An' when the rumblèn coach did pass
Where hufflèn winds did roar,
They'd stop to teäke a warmèn glass
By the sign above the door;
An' did laugh an' joke
An' ax the vo'k
The miles they wer vrom town,
Till the whip did crack
On the ho'ses back,
An' the wheels did truckle roun', good vo'k;
The wheels did truckle roun'.

An' gaïly rod wold age or youth,
When zummer light did vall
On woods in leaf, or trees in blooth,
Or girt vo'ks parkzide wall.
An' they thought they past
The pleäces vast,
Along the dousty groun',
When the whip did smack
On the ho'ses' back,
An' the wheels spun swiftly roun'. Them days
The wheels spun swiftly roun'.

WAYFEAREN.

The sky wer clear, the zunsheen glow'd
On droopèn flowers drough the day,
As I did beät the dousty road
Vrom hinder hills, a-feädèn gray;
Drough hollows up the hills,
Vrom knaps along by mills,
Vrom mills by churches tow'rs, wi' bells
That twold the hours to woody dells.

An' when the windèn road do guide
The thirsty vootman where mid flow
The water vrom a rock bezide
His vootsteps, in a sheenèn bow;
The hand a-hollow'd up
Do beät a goolden cup,
To catch an' drink it, bright an' cool,
A-vallèn light 'ithin the pool.

Zoo when, at last, I hung my head
Wi' thirsty lips a-burnèn dry,
I come bezide a river-bed
Where water flow'd so blue's the sky;
An' there I meäde me up
O' coltsvoot leaf a cup,
Where water vrom his lip o' gray,
Wer sweet to sip thik burnèn day.

But when our work is right, a jaÿ
Do come to bless us in its traïn,
An' hardships ha' zome good to paÿ
The thoughtvul soul vor all their päin:
The het do sweetèn sheäde,
An' weary lim's ha' meäde
A bed o' slumber, still an' sound,
By woody hill or grassy mound.

An' while I zot in sweet delay
Below an elem on a hill,
Where boughs a-halfway up did swaÿ
In sheädes o' lim's above em still,
An' blue sky show'd between
The flutt'rèn leäves o' green;
I woulden gi'e that gloom an' sheäde
Vor any room that weälth ha' meäde.

But oh! that vo'k that have the roads
Where weary-vooted souls do pass,
Would leäve bezide the stwone vor lwoads,
A little strip vor zummer grass;
That when the stwones do bruise
An' burn an' gall our tooes,
We then mid cool our veet on beds
O' wild-thyme sweet, or deäisy-heads.

THE LEANE.

They do zay that a travellèn chap
Have a-put in the newspeäper now,
That the bit o' green ground on the knap
Should be all a-took in vor the plough.
He do fancy 'tis easy to show
That we can be but stunpolls at best,
Vor to leäve a green spot where a flower can grow,
Or a voot-weary walker mid rest.
Tis hedge-grubbèn, Thomas, an' ledge-grubbèn,
Never a-done
While a sov'rèn mwore's to be won.

The road, he do zay, is so wide
As 'tis wanted vor travellers' wheels,
As if all that did travel did ride
An' did never get galls on their heels.
He would leäve sich a thin strip o' groun',
That, if a man's veet in his shoes
Wer a-burnèn an' zore, why he coulden zit down
But the wheels would run over his tooes.
Vor 'tis meäke money, Thomas, an' teäke money,
What's zwold an' bought
Is all that is worthy o' thought.

Years agoo the leäne-zides did bear grass,
Vor to pull wi' the geeses' red bills,
That did hiss at the vo'k that did pass,
Or the bwoys that pick'd up their white quills.
But shortly, if vower or vive
Ov our goslèns do creep vrom the agg,
They must mwope in the geärden, mwore dead than alive,
In a coop, or a-tied by the lag.
Vor to catch at land, Thomas, an' snatch at land,
Now is the plan;
Meäke money wherever you can.

The childern wull soon have noo pleäce
Vor to plaÿ in, an' if they do grow,
They wull have a thin musheroom feäce,
Wi' their bodies so sumple as dough.
But a man is a-meäde ov a child,
An' his limbs do grow worksome by plaÿ;
An' if the young child's little body's a-spweil'd,
Why, the man's wull the sooner decaÿ.
But wealth is wo'th now mwore than health is wo'th;
Let it all goo,
If't 'ull bring but a sov'rèn or two.

Vor to breed the young fox or the heäre,
We can gi'e up whole eäcres o' ground,
But the greens be a-grudg'd, vor to rear
Our young childern up healthy an' sound,
Why, there woont be a-left the next age
A green spot where their veet can goo free;
An' the goocoo wull soon be committed to cage
Vor a trespass in zomebody's tree.
Vor 'tis lockèn up, Thomas, an' blockèn up,
Stranger or brother,
Men mussen come nigh woone another.

Woone day I went in at a geäte,
Wi' my child, where an echo did sound,
An' the owner come up, an' did reäte
Me as if I would car off his ground.
But his vield an' the grass wer a-let,
An' the damage that he could a-took
Wer at mwost that the while I did open the geäte
I did rub roun' the eye on the hook.
But 'tis drevèn out, Thomas, an' hevèn out.
Trample noo grounds,
Unless you be after the hounds.

Ah! the Squiër o' Culver-dell Hall
Wer as diff'rent as light is vrom dark,
Wi' zome vo'k that, as evenèn did vall,
Had a-broke drough long grass in his park;
Vor he went, wi' a smile, vor to meet
Wi' the trespassers while they did pass,
An' he zaid, "I do fear you'll catch cwold in your veet,
You've a-walk'd drough so much o' my grass."
His mild words, Thomas, cut em like swords, Thomas,
Newly a-whet,
An' went vurder wi' them than a dreat.

THE RAILROAD.

I took a flight, awhile agoo,
Along the raïls, a stage or two,
An' while the heavy wheels did spin
An' rottle, wi' a deafnèn din,
In clouds o' steam, the zweepèn traïn
Did shoot along the hill-bound plaïn,
As sheädes o' birds in flight, do pass
Below em on the zunny grass.
An' as I zot, an' look'd abrode
On leänen land an' windèn road,
The ground a-spread along our flight
Did vlee behind us out o' zight;
The while the zun, our heav'nly guide,
Did ride on wi' us, zide by zide.
An' zoo, while time, vrom stage to stage,
Do car us on vrom youth to age,
The e'thly pleasures we do vind
Be soon a-met, an' left behind;
But God, beholdèn vrom above
Our lowly road, wi' yearnèn love,
Do keep bezide us, stage by stage,
Vrom be'th to youth, vrom youth to age.

THE RAILROAD.

An' while I went 'ithin a traïn,
A-ridèn on athirt the plaïn,
A-cleären swifter than a hound,
On twin-laid rails, the zwimmèn ground;
I cast my eyes 'ithin a park,
Upon a woak wi' grey-white bark,
An' while I kept his head my mark,
The rest did wheel around en.

An' when in life our love do cling
The clwosest round zome single thing,
We then do vind that all the rest
Do wheel roun' that, vor vu'st an' best;
Zoo while our life do last, mid nought
But what is good an' feäir be sought,
In word or deed, or heart or thought,
An' all the rest wheel round it.

SEATS.

When starbright maïdens be to zit
In silken frocks, that they do wear,
The room mid have, as 'tis but fit,
A han'some seat vor vo'k so feäir;
But we, in zun-dried vield an' wood,
Ha' seats as good's a goolden chair.

Vor here, 'ithin the woody drong,
A ribbèd elem-stem do lie,
A-vell'd in Spring, an' stratch'd along
A bed o' grægles up knee-high,
A sheädy seat to rest, an' let
The burnèn het o' noon goo by.

Or if you'd look, wi' wider scope,
Out where the gray-tree'd plaïn do spread,
The ash bezide the zunny slope,
Do sheäde a cool-aïr'd deäisy bed,
An' grassy seat, wi' spreadèn eaves
O' rus'lèn leaves, above your head.

An' there the traïn mid come in zight,
Too vur to hear a-rollèn by,
A-breathèn quick, in heästy flight,
His breath o' tweil, avore the sky,
The while the waggon, wi' his lwoad,
Do crawl the rwoad a-windèn nigh.

Or now theäse happy holiday
Do let vo'k rest their weäry lim's,
An' lwoaded hay's a-hangèn gray,
Above the waggon-wheels' dry rims,
The meäd ha' seats in weäles or pooks,
By windèn brooks, wi' crumblèn brims.

Or if you'd gi'e your thoughtvul mind
To yonder long-vorseäken hall,
Then teäke a stwonèn seat behind
The ivy on the broken wall,
An' learn how e'thly wealth an' might
Mid clim' their height, an' then mid vall.

SOUND O' WATER.

I born in town! oh no, my dawn
O' life broke here beside theäse lawn;
Not where pent aïr do roll along,
In darkness drough the wall-bound drong,
An' never bring the goo-coo's zong,
Nor sweets o' blossoms in the hedge,
Or bendèn rush, or sheenèn zedge,
Or sounds o' flowèn water.

The aïr that I've a-breath'd did sheäke
The draps o' raïn upon the breäke,
An' bear aloft the swingèn lark,
An' huffle roun' the elem's bark,
In boughy grove, an' woody park,
An' brought us down the dewy dells,
The high-wound zongs o' nightingeäles.
An' sounds o' flowèn water.

An' when the zun, wi' vi'ry rim,
'S a-zinkèn low, an' wearèn dim,
Here I, a-most too tired to stand,
Do leäve my work that's under hand
In pathless wood or oben land,
To rest 'ithin my thatchèn oves,
Wi' ruslèn win's in leafy groves,
An' sounds o' flowèn water.

TREES BE COMPANY.

When zummer's burnèn het's a-shed
Upon the droopèn grasses head,
A-drevèn under sheädy leaves
The workvo'k in their snow-white sleeves,
We then mid yearn to clim' the height,
Where thorns be white, above the vern;
An' aïr do turn the zunsheen's might
To softer light too weak to burn--
On woodless downs we mid be free,
But lowland trees be company.

Though downs mid show a wider view
O' green a-reachèn into blue
Than roads a-windèn in the glen,
An' ringèn wi' the sounds o' men;
The thissle's crown o' red an' blue
In Fall's cwold dew do wither brown,
An' larks come down 'ithin the lew,
As storms do brew, an' skies do frown--
An' though the down do let us free,
The lowland trees be company.

Where birds do zing, below the zun,
In trees above the blue-smok'd tun,
An' sheädes o' stems do overstratch
The mossy path 'ithin the hatch;
If leaves be bright up over head,
When Maÿ do shed its glitt'rèn light;
Or, in the blight o' Fall, do spread
A yollow bed avore our zight--
Whatever season it mid be,
The trees be always company.

When dusky night do nearly hide
The path along the hedge's zide,
An' dailight's hwomely sounds be still
But sounds o' water at the mill;
Then if noo feäce we long'd to greet
Could come to meet our lwonesome treäce
Or if noo peäce o' weary veet,
However fleet, could reach its pleäce--
However lwonesome we mid be,
The trees would still be company.

A PLEÄCE IN ZIGHT.

As I at work do look aroun'
Upon the groun' I have in view,
To yonder hills that still do rise
Avore the skies, wi' backs o' blue;
'Ithin the ridges that do vall
An' rise roun' Blackmwore lik' a wall,
'Tis yonder knap do teäke my zight
Vrom dawn till night, the mwost ov all.

An' there, in Maÿ, 'ithin the lewth
O' boughs in blooth, be sheädy walks,
An' cowslips up in yollow beds
Do hang their heads on downy stalks;
An' if the weather should be feäir
When I've a holiday to speäre,
I'll teäke the chance o' gettèn drough
An hour or two wi' zome vo'k there.

An' there I now can dimly zee
The elem-tree upon the mound,
An' there meäke out the high-bough'd grove
An' narrow drove by Redcliff ground;
An' there by trees a-risèn tall,
The glowèn zunlight now do vall,
Wi' shortest sheädes o' middle day,
Upon the gray wold house's wall.

An' I can zee avore the sky
A-risèn high the churches speer,
Wi' bells that I do goo to swing,
An' like to ring, an' like to hear;
An' if I've luck upon my zide,
They bells shall sound bwoth loud an' wide,
A peal above they slopes o' gray,
Zome merry day wi' Jeäne a bride.

GWAIN TO BROOKWELL.

At Easter, though the wind wer high,
We vound we had a zunny sky,
An' zoo wold Dobbin had to trudge
His dousty road by knap an' brudge,
An' jog, wi' hangèn vetterlocks
A-sheäkèn roun' his heavy hocks,
An' us, a lwoad not much too small,
A-ridèn out to Brookwell Hall;
An' there in doust vrom Dobbin's heels,
An' green light-waggon's vower wheels,
Our merry laughs did loudly sound,
In rollèn winds athirt the ground;
While sheenèn-ribbons' color'd streäks
Did flutter roun' the maïdens' cheäks,
As they did zit, wi' smilèn lips,
A-reachèn out their vinger-tips
Toward zome teäkèn pleäce or zight
That they did shew us, left or right;
An' woonce, when Jimmy tried to pleäce
A kiss on cousin Polly's feäce,
She push'd his hat, wi' wicked leers,
Right off above his two red ears,
An' there he roll'd along the groun'
Wi' spreadèn brim an' rounded crown,
An' vound, at last, a cowpon's brim,
An' launch'd hizzelf, to teäke a zwim;
An' there, as Jim did run to catch
His neäked noddle's bit o' thatch,
To zee his straïnèns an' his strides,
We laugh'd enough to split our zides.
At Harwood Farm we pass'd the land
That father's father had in hand,
An' there, in oben light did spread,
The very groun's his cows did tread,
An' there above the stwonèn tun
Avore the dazzlèn mornèn zun,
Wer still the rollèn smoke, the breath
A-breath'd vrom his wold house's he'th;
An' there did lie below the door,
The drashol' that his vootsteps wore;
But there his meäte an' he bwoth died,
Wi' hand in hand, an' zide by zide;
Between the seäme two peals a-rung,
Two Zundays, though they wer but young,
An' laid in sleep, their worksome hands,
At rest vrom tweil wi' house or lands.
Then vower childern laid their heads
At night upon their little beds,
An' never rose ageän below
A mother's love, or father's ho:
Dree little maïdens, small in feäce,
An' woone small bwoy, the fourth in pleäce
Zoo when their heedvul father died,
He call'd his brother to his zide,
To meäke en stand, in hiz own stead,
His childern's guide, when he wer dead;
But still avore zix years brought round
The woodland goo-coo's zummer sound,
He weästed all their little store,
An' hardship drove em out o' door,
To tweil till tweilsome life should end.
'Ithout a single e'thly friend.
But soon wi' Harwood back behind,
An' out o' zight an' out o' mind,
We went a-rottlèn on, an' meäde
Our way along to Brookwell Sleäde;
An' then we vound ourselves draw nigh
The Leädy's Tow'r that rose on high,
An' seem'd a-comèn on to meet,
Wi' growèn height, wold Dobbin's veet.

BROOKWELL.

Well, I do zay 'tis wo'th woone's while
To beät the doust a good six mile
To zee the pleäce the squier plann'd
At Brookwell, now a-meäde by hand;
Wi' oben lawn, an' grove, an' pon',
An' gravel-walks as cleän as bron;
An' grass a'most so soft to tread
As velvet-pile o' silken thread;
An' mounds wi' mæsh, an' rocks wi' flow'rs,
An' ivy-sheäded zummer bow'rs,
An' dribblèn water down below
The stwonèn archès lofty bow.
An' there do sound the watervall
Below a cavern's maeshy wall,
Where peäle-green light do struggle down
A leafy crevice at the crown.
An' there do gush the foamy bow
O' water, white as driven snow:
An' there, a zittèn all alwone,
A little maïd o' marble stwone
Do leän her little cheäk azide
Upon her lily han', an' bide
Bezide the vallèn stream to zee
Her pitcher vill'd avore her knee.
An' then the brook, a-rollèn dark
Below a leänèn yew-tree's bark,
Wi' plaÿsome ripples that do run
A-flashèn to the western zun,
Do shoot, at last, wi' foamy shocks,
Athirt a ledge o' craggy rocks,
A-castèn in his heästy flight,
Upon the stwones a robe o' white;
An' then ageän do goo an' vall
Below a bridge's archèd wall,
Where vo'k agwaïn athirt do pass
Vow'r little bwoys a-cast in brass;
An' woone do hold an angler's wand,
Wi' steady hand, above the pond;
An' woone, a-pweïntèn to the stream
His little vinger-tip, do seem
A-showèn to his playmeätes' eyes,
Where he do zee the vishes rise;
An' woone ageän, wi' smilèn lips,
Do put a vish his han' do clips
'Ithin a basket, loosely tied
About his shoulder at his zide:
An' after that the fourth do stand
A-holdèn back his pretty hand
Behind his little ear, to drow
A stwone upon the stream below.
An' then the housèn, that be all
Sich pretty hwomes, vrom big to small,
A-lookèn south, do cluster round
A zunny ledge o' risèn ground,
Avore a wood, a-nestled warm,
In lewth ageän the northern storm,
Where smoke, a-wreathèn blue, do spread
Above the tuns o' dusky red,
An' window-peänes do glitter bright
Wi' burnèn streams o' zummer light,
Below the vine, a-traïn'd to hem
Their zides 'ithin his leafy stem,
An' rangle on, wi' flutt'rèn leaves,
Below the houses' thatchen eaves.
An' drough a lawn a-spread avore
The windows, an' the pworchèd door,
A path do wind 'ithin a hatch,
A-vastèn'd wi' a clickèn latch,
An' there up over ruf an' tun,
Do stan' the smooth-wall'd church o' stwone,
Wi' carvèd windows, thin an' tall,
A-reachèn up the lofty wall;
An' battlements, a-stannèn round
The tower, ninety veet vrom ground,
Vrom where a teäp'rèn speer do spring
So high's the mornèn lark do zing.
Zoo I do zay 'tis wo'th woone's while
To beät the doust a good six mile,
To zee the pleäce the squier plann'd
At Brookwell, now a-meäde by hand.

THE SHY MAN.

Ah! good Meäster Gwillet, that you mid ha' know'd,
Wer a-bred up at Coomb, an' went little abroad:
An' if he got in among strangers, he velt
His poor heart in a twitter, an' ready to melt;
Or if, by ill luck, in his rambles, he met
Wi' zome maïdens a-titt'rèn, he burn'd wi' a het,
That shot all drough the lim's o'n, an' left a cwold zweat,
The poor little chap wer so shy,
He wer ready to drap, an' to die.

But at last 'twer the lot o' the poor little man
To vall deeply in love, as the best ov us can;
An' 'twer noo easy task vor a shy man to tell
Sich a dazzlèn feäir maïd that he loved her so well;
An' woone day when he met her, his knees nearly smote
Woone another, an' then wi' a struggle he bro't
A vew vords to his tongue, wi' some mwore in his droat.
But she, 'ithout doubt, could soon vind
Vrom two words that come out, zix behind.

Zoo at langth, when he vound her so smilèn an' kind,
Why he wrote her zome laïns, vor to tell her his mind,
Though 'twer then a hard task vor a man that wer shy,
To be married in church, wi' a crowd stannèn by.
But he twold her woone day, "I have housen an' lands,
We could marry by licence, if you don't like banns,"
An' he cover'd his eyes up wi' woone ov his han's,
Vor his head seem'd to zwim as he spoke,
An' the aïr look'd so dim as a smoke.

Well! he vound a good naïghbour to goo in his pleäce
Vor to buy the goold ring, vor he hadden the feäce.
An' when he went up vor to put in the banns,
He did sheäke in his lags, an' did sheäke in his han's.
Then they ax'd vor her neäme, an' her parish or town,
An' he gi'ed em a leaf, wi' her neäme a-wrote down;
Vor he coulden ha' twold em outright, vor a poun',
Vor his tongue wer so weak an' so loose,
When he wanted to speak 'twer noo use.

Zoo they went to be married, an' when they got there
All the vo'k wer a-gather'd as if 'twer a feäir,
An' he thought, though his pleäce mid be pleazèn to zome,
He could all but ha' wish'd that he hadden a-come.
The bride wer a-smilèn as fresh as a rwose,
An' when he come wi' her, an' show'd his poor nose.
All the little bwoys shouted, an' cried "There he goes,"
"There he goes." Oh! vor his peärt he velt
As if the poor heart o'n would melt.

An' when they stood up by the chancel together,
Oh! a man mid ha' knock'd en right down wi' a veather,
He did veel zoo asheäm'd that he thought he would rather
He wërden the bridegroom, but only the father.
But, though 'tis so funny to zee en so shy,
Yeet his mind is so lowly, his aïms be so high,
That to do a meän deed, or to tell woone a lie,
You'd vind that he'd shun mwore by half,
Than to stan' vor vo'ks fun, or their laugh.

THE WINTER'S WILLOW.

There Liddy zot bezide her cow,
Upon her lowly seat, O;
A hood did overhang her brow,
Her païl wer at her veet, O;
An' she wer kind, an' she wer feäir,
An' she wer young, an' free o' ceäre;
Vew winters had a-blow'd her heäir,
Bezide the Winter's Willow.

She idden woone a-rear'd in town
Where many a gaÿer lass, O,
Do trip a-smilèn up an' down,
So peäle wi' smoke an' gas, O;
But here, in vields o' greäzèn herds,
Her väice ha' mingled sweetest words
Wi' evenèn cheärms o' busy birds,
Bezide the Winter's Willow.

An' when, at last, wi' beätèn breast,
I knock'd avore her door, O,
She ax'd me in to teäke the best
O' pleäces on the vloor, O;
An' smilèn feäir avore my zight,
She blush'd bezide the yollow light
O' bleäzèn brands, while winds o' night
Do sheäke the Winter's Willow.

An' if there's readship in her smile,
She don't begrudge to speäre, O,
To zomebody, a little while,
The empty woaken chair, O;
An' if I've luck upon my zide,
Why, I do think she'll be my bride
Avore the leaves ha' twice a-died
Upon the Winter's Willow.

Above the coach-wheels' rollèn rims
She never rose to ride, O,
Though she do zet her comely lim's
Above the mare's white zide, O;
But don't become too proud to stoop
An' scrub her milkèn païl's white hoop,
Or zit a-milkèn where do droop,
The wet-stemm'd Winter's Willow.

An' I've a cow or two in leäze,
Along the river-zide, O,
An' païls to zet avore her knees,
At dawn an' evenèn-tide, O;
An' there she still mid zit, an' look
Athirt upon the woody nook
Where vu'st I zeed her by the brook
Bezide the Winter's Willow.

Zoo, who would heed the treeless down,
A-beät by all the storms, O,
Or who would heed the busy town,
Where vo'k do goo in zwarms, O;
If he wer in my house below
The elems, where the vier did glow
In Liddy's feäce, though winds did blow
Ageän the Winter's Willow.