Ah! they wer times, when Nanny Gill Went so'jeren ageaenst her will, Back when the King come down to view His ho'se an' voot, in red an' blue, An' they did march in rows, An' wheel in lines an' bows, Below the King's own nose; An' guns did pwoint, an' swords did gleaere, A-fighten foes that werden there.
Poor Nanny Gill did goo to zell In town her glitt'ren macarel, A-pack'd wi' ceaere, in even lots, A-ho'seback in a peaeir o' pots. An' zoo when she did ride Between her panniers wide, Red-cloked in all her pride, Why, who but she, an' who but broke The road avore her scarlet cloke!
But Nanny's ho'se that she did ride, Woonce carr'd a sword ageaen his zide, An' had, to prick en into rank, A so'jer's spurs ageaen his flank; An' zoo, when he got zight O' swords a-gleamen bright, An' men agwain to fight, He set his eyes athirt the ground, An' prick'd his ears to catch the sound.
Then Nanny gi'ed his zide a kick, An' het en wi' her limber stick; But suddenly a horn did sound, An' zend the ho'semen on vull bound; An' her ho'se at the zight Went after em, vull flight, Wi' Nanny in a fright, A-pullen, wi' a scream an' grin, Her wold brown rains to hold en in.
But no! he went away vull bound, As vast as he could tear the ground, An' took, in line, a so'jer's pleaece, Vor Nanny's cloke an' frighten'd feaece; While vo'k did laugh an' shout To zee her cloke stream out, As she did wheel about, A-cryen, "Oh! la! dear!" in fright, The while her ho'se did play sham fight.
MOONLIGHT ON THE DOOR.
A-swayen slow, the poplar's head, Above the slopen thatch did ply, The while the midnight moon did shed His light below the spangled sky. An' there the road did reach avore The hatch, all vootless down the hill; An' hands, a-tired by day, wer still, Wi' moonlight on the door.
A-boomen deep, did slowly sound The bell, a-tellen middle night; The while the quiv'ren ivy, round The tree, did sheaeke in softest light. But vootless wer the stwone avore The house where I, the maidens guest, At evenen, woonce did zit at rest By moonlight on the door.
Though till the dawn, where night's a-meaede The day, the laughen crowds be gay, Let evenen zink wi' quiet sheaede, Where I do hold my little sway. An' childern dear to my heart's core, A-sleep wi' little heaven breast, That pank'd by day in play, do rest Wi' moonlight on the door.
But still 'tis good, woonce now an' then To rove where moonlight on the land Do show in vain, vor heedless men, The road, the vield, the work in hand. When curtains be a-hung avore The glitt'ren windows, snowy white, An' vine-leaf sheaedes do sheaeke in light O' moonlight on the door.
MY LOVE'S GUARDIAN ANGEL.
As in the cool-air'd road I come by, —in the night, Under the moon-clim'd height o' the sky, —in the night, There by the lime's broad lim's as I stay'd, Dark in the moonlight, bough's sheaedows play'd Up on the window-glass that did keep Lew vrom the wind, my true love asleep, —in the night.
While in the grey-wall'd height o' the tow'r, —in the night, Sounded the midnight bell wi' the hour, —in the night, There lo! a bright-heaeir'd angel that shed Light vrom her white robe's zilvery thread, Put her vore-vinger up vor to meaeke Silence around lest sleepers mid weaeke, —in the night.
"Oh! then," I whisper'd, do I behold —in the night. Linda, my true-love, here in the cwold, —in the night?" "No," she meaede answer, "you do misteaeke: She is asleep, but I that do weaeke, Here be on watch, an' angel a-blest, Over her slumber while she do rest, —in the night."
"Zee how the winds, while here by the bough, —in the night, They do pass on, don't smite on her brow, in the night; Zee how the cloud-sheaedes naiseless do zweep Over the house-top where she's asleep. You, too, goo by, in times that be near, You too, as I, mid speak in her ear —in the night."
Ov all the meaeds wi' shoals an' pools, Where streams did sheaeke the limber zedge, An' milken vo'k did teaeke their stools, In evenen zun-light under hedge: Ov all the wears the brook did vill, Or all the hatches where a sheet O' foam did leaep below woone's veet, The pleaece vor me wer Leeburn Mill.
An' while below the mossy wheel All day the foamen stream did roar, An' up in mill the floaten meal Did pitch upon the sheaeken vloor. We then could vind but vew han's still, Or veet a-resten off the ground, An' seldom hear the merry sound O' geaemes a-play'd at Leeburn Mill.
But when they let the stream goo free, Bezide the drippen wheel at rest, An' leaves upon the poplar-tree Wer dark avore the glowen west; An' when the clock, a-ringen sh'ill, Did slowly beaet zome evenen hour, Oh! then 'ithin the leafy bow'r Our tongues did run at Leeburn Mill.
An' when November's win' did blow, Wi' hufflen storms along the plain, An' blacken'd leaves did lie below The neaeked tree, a-zoak'd wi' rain, I werden at a loss to vill The darkest hour o' rainy skies, If I did vind avore my eyes The feaeces down at Leeburn Mill.
PRAISE O' DO'SET.
We Do'set, though we mid be hwomely, Be'nt asheaem'd to own our pleaece; An' we've zome women not uncomely; Nor asheaem'd to show their feaece: We've a meaed or two wo'th mowen, We've an ox or two we'th showen, In the village, At the tillage, Come along an' you shall vind That Do'set men don't sheaeme their kind. Friend an' wife, Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, Happy, happy, be their life! Vor Do'set dear, Then gi'e woone cheer; D'ye hear? woone cheer!
If you in Do'set be a-roamen, An' ha' business at a farm, Then woont ye zee your eaele a-foamen! Or your cider down to warm? Woont ye have brown bread a-put ye, An' some vinny cheese a-cut ye? Butter?—rolls o't! Cream?—why bowls o't! Woont ye have, in short, your vill, A-gi'ed wi' a right good will? Friend an' wife, Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers. Happy, happy, be their life! Vor Do'set dear, Then gi'e woone cheer; D'ye hear? woone cheer!
An' woont ye have vor ev'ry shillen, Shillen's wo'th at any shop, Though Do'set chaps be up to zellen, An' can meaeke a tidy swop? Use em well, they'll use you better; In good turns they woont be debtor. An' so comely, An' so hwomely, Be the maidens, if your son Took woone o'm, then you'd cry "Well done!" Friend an' wife, Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, Happy, happy, be their life! Vor Do'set dear, Then gi'e woone cheer; D'ye hear? woone cheer!
If you do zee our good men travel, Down a-voot, or on their meaeres, Along the winden leaenes o' gravel, To the markets or the feaeirs,— Though their ho'ses cwoats be ragged, Though the men be muddy-lagged, Be they roughish, Be they gruffish, They be sound, an' they will stand By what is right wi' heart an' hand. Friend an' wife, Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, Happy, happy, be their life! Vor Do'set dear, Then gi'e woone cheer; D'ye hear? woone cheer!
POEMS OF RURAL LIFE.
WOONE SMILE MWORE.
O! Meaery, when the zun went down, Woone night in Spring, wi' vi'ry rim, Behind thik nap wi' woody crown, An' left your smilen feaece so dim; Your little sister there, inside, Wi' bellows on her little knee, Did blow the vier, a-glearen wide Drough window-peaenes, that I could zee,— As you did stan' wi' me, avore The house, a-peaerten,—woone smile mwore.
The chatt'ren birds, a-risen high, An' zinken low, did swiftly vlee Vrom shrinken moss, a-growen dry, Upon the leaenen apple tree. An' there the dog, a-whippen wide His heaeiry tail, an' comen near, Did fondly lay ageaen your zide His coal-black nose an' russet ear: To win what I'd a-won avore, Vrom your gay feaece, his woone smile mwore.
An' while your mother bustled sprack, A-getten supper out in hall, An' cast her sheaede, a-whiv'ren black Avore the vier, upon the wall; Your brother come, wi' easy peaece, In drough the slammen geaete, along The path, wi' healthy-bloomen feaece, A-whis'len shrill his last new zong; An' when he come avore the door, He met vrom you his woone smile mwore.
Now you that wer the daughter there, Be mother on a husband's vloor, An' mid ye meet wi' less o' ceaere Than what your hearty mother bore; An' if abroad I have to rue The bitter tongue, or wrongvul deed, Mid I come hwome to sheaere wi' you What's needvul free o' pinchen need: An' vind that you ha' still in store, My evenen meal, an' woone smile mwore.
About the tow'r an' churchyard wall, Out nearly overright our door, A tongue ov wind did always call Whatever we did call avore. The vaice did mock our neaemes, our cheers, Our merry laughs, our hands' loud claps, An' mother's call "Come, come, my dears" —my dears; Or "Do as I do bid, bad chaps" —bad chaps.
An' when o' Zundays on the green, In frocks an' cwoats as gay as new, We walk'd wi' shoes a-meaede to sheen So black an' bright's a vull-ripe slooe We then did hear the tongue ov air A-mocken mother's vaice so thin, "Come, now the bell do goo vor pray'r" —vor pray'r; "'Tis time to goo to church; come in" —come in.
The night when little Anne, that died, Begun to zicken, back in May, An' she, at dusk ov evenen-tide, Wer out wi' others at their play, Within the churchyard that do keep Her little bed, the vaice o' thin Dark air, mock'd mother's call "To sleep" —to sleep; "'Tis bed time now, my love, come in" —come in.
An' when our Jeaene come out so smart A-married, an' we help'd her in To Henry's newly-painted cart, The while the wheels begun to spin, An' her gay nods, vor all she smil'd, Did sheaeke a tear-drop vrom each eye, The vaice mock'd mother's call, "Dear child" —dear child; "God bless ye evermwore; good bye" —good bye.
VULL A MAN.
No, I'm a man, I'm vull a man, You beaet my manhood, if you can. You'll be a man if you can teaeke All steaetes that household life do meaeke. The love-toss'd child, a-croodlen loud, The bwoy a-screamen wild in play, The tall grown youth a-steppen proud, The father staid, the house's stay. No; I can boast if others can, I'm vull a man.
A young-cheaek'd mother's tears mid vall, When woone a-lost, not half man-tall, Vrom little hand, a-called vrom play, Do leaeve noo tool, but drop a tay, An' die avore he's father-free To sheaepe his life by his own plan; An' vull an angel he shall be, But here on e'th not vull a man, No; I could boast if others can, I'm vull a man.
I woonce, a child, wer father-fed, An' I've a vound my childern bread; My eaerm, a sister's trusty crook, Is now a faithvul wife's own hook; An' I've a-gone where vo'k did zend, An' gone upon my own free mind, An' of'en at my own wits' end. A-led o' God while I wer blind. No; I could boast if others can I'm vull a man.
An' still, ov all my tweil ha' won, My loven maid an' merry son, Though each in turn's a jay an' ceaere, 'Ve a-had, an' still shall have, their sheaere: An' then, if God should bless their lives, Why I mid zend vrom son to son My life, right on drough men an' wives, As long, good now, as time do run. No; I could boast if others can, I'm vull a man.
O jay betide the dear wold mill, My naighbour playmeaetes' happy hwome, Wi' rollen wheel, an' leaepen foam, Below the overhangen hill, Where, wide an' slow, The stream did flow, An' flags did grow, an' lightly vlee Below the grey-leav'd withy tree, While clack, clack, clack, vrom hour to hour, Wi' whirlen stwone, an' streamen flour, Did goo the mill by cloty Stour.
An' there in geaemes by evenen skies, When Meaery zot her down to rest, The broach upon her panken breast, Did quickly vall an' lightly rise, While swans did zwim In steaetely trim. An' swifts did skim the water, bright Wi' whirlen froth, in western light; An' clack, clack, clack, that happy hour, Wi' whirlen stwone, an' streamen flour, Did goo the mill by cloty Stour.
Now mortery jeints, in streaks o' white, Along the geaerden wall do show In May, an' cherry boughs do blow, Wi' bloomen tutties, snowy white, Where rollen round, Wi' rumblen sound, The wheel woonce drown'd the vaice so dear To me. I fain would goo to hear The clack, clack, clack, vor woone short hour, Wi' whirlen stwone, an' streamen flour, Bezide the mill on cloty Stour.
But should I vind a-heaven now Her breast wi' air o' thik dear pleaece? Or zee dark locks by such a brow, Or het o' play on such a feaece? No! She's now staid, An' where she play'd, There's noo such maid that now ha' took The pleaece that she ha' long vorsook, Though clack, clack, clack, vrom hour to hour, Wi' whirlen stwone an' streamen flour, Do goo the mill by cloty Stour.
An' still the pulley rwope do heist The wheat vrom red-wheeled waggon beds. An' ho'ses there wi' lwoads of grist, Do stand an' toss their heavy heads; But on the vloor, Or at the door, Do show noo mwore the kindly feaece Her father show'd about the pleaece, As clack, clack, clack, vrom hour to hour, Wi' whirlen stwone, an' streamen flour, Did goo his mill by cloty Stour.
As I, below the mornen sky, Wer out a worken in the lew O' black-stemm'd thorns, a-springen high, Avore the worold-bounden blue, A-reaeken, under woak tree boughs, The orts a-left behin' by cows.
Above the grey-grow'd thistle rings, An' deaeisy-buds, the lark, in flight, Did zing a-loft, wi' flappen wings, Tho' mwore in heaeren than in zight; The while my bwoys, in playvul me'th, Did run till they wer out o' breath.
Then woone, wi' han'-besheaeded eyes, A-stoppen still, as he did run, Look'd up to zee the lark arise A-zingen to the high-gone zun; The while his brother look'd below Vor what the groun' mid have to show
Zoo woone did watch above his head The bird his hands could never teaeke; An' woone, below, where he did tread, Vound out the nest within the breaeke; But, aggs be only woonce a-vound, An' uncaught larks ageaen mid sound.
THE TWO CHURCHES.
A happy day, a happy year. A zummer Zunday, dazzlen clear, I went athirt vrom Lea to Noke. To goo to church wi' Fanny's vo'k: The sky o' blue did only show A cloud or two, so white as snow, An' air did sway, wi' softest strokes, The eltrot roun' the dark-bough'd woaks. O day o' rest when bells do toll! O day a-blest to ev'ry soul! How sweet the zwells o' Zunday bells.
An' on the cowslip-knap at Creech, Below the grove o' steaetely beech, I heaerd two tow'rs a-cheemen clear, Vrom woone I went, to woone drew near, As they did call, by flow'ry ground, The bright-shod veet vrom housen round, A-drownen wi' their holy call, The goocoo an' the water-vall. Die off, O bells o' my dear pleaece, Ring out, O bells avore my feaece, Vull sweet your zwells, O ding-dong bells.
Ah! then vor things that time did bring My kinsvo'k, Lea had bells to ring; An' then, ageaen, vor what bevell My wife's, why Noke church had a bell; But soon wi' hopevul lives a-bound In woone, we had woone tower's sound, Vor our high jays all vive bells rung Our losses had woone iron tongue. Oh! ring all round, an' never mwoaen So deep an' slow woone bell alwone, Vor sweet your swells o' vive clear bells.
When sycamore leaves wer a-spreaden, Green-ruddy, in hedges, Bezide the red doust o' the ridges, A-dried at Woak Hill;
I packed up my goods all a-sheenen Wi' long years o' handlen, On dousty red wheels ov a waggon, To ride at Woak Hill.
The brown thatchen ruf o' the dwellen, I then wer a-leaeven, Had shelter'd the sleek head o' Meaery, My bride at Woak Hill.
But now vor zome years, her light voot-vall 'S a-lost vrom the vlooren. Too soon vor my jay an' my childern, She died at Woak Hill.
But still I do think that, in soul, She do hover about us; To ho vor her motherless childern, Her pride at Woak Hill.
Zoo—lest she should tell me hereafter I stole off 'ithout her, An' left her, uncall'd at house-ridden, To bide at Woak Hill—
I call'd her so fondly, wi' lippens All soundless to others, An' took her wi' air-reachen hand, To my zide at Woak Hill.
On the road I did look round, a-talken To light at my shoulder, An' then led her in at the door-way, Miles wide vrom Woak Hill.
An' that's why vo'k thought, vor a season, My mind wer a-wandren Wi' sorrow, when I wer so sorely A-tried at Woak Hill.
But no; that my Meaery mid never Behold herzelf slighted, I wanted to think that I guided My guide vrom Woak Hill.
Upon the hedge theaese bank did bear, Wi' lwonesome thought untwold in words, I woonce did work, wi' noo sound there But my own strokes, an' chirpen birds; As down the west the zun went wan, An' days brought on our Zunday's rest, When sounds o' cheemen bells did vill The air, an' hook an' axe wer still.
Along the wold town-path vo'k went, An' met unknown, or friend wi' friend, The maid her busy mother zent, The mother wi' noo maid to zend; An' in the light the gleaezier's glass, As he did pass, wer dazzlen bright, Or woone went by wi' down-cast head, A wrapp'd in blackness vor the dead.
An' then the bank, wi' risen back, That's now a-most a-trodden down, Bore thorns wi' rind o' sheeny black, An' meaeple stems o' ribby brown; An' in the lewth o' theaese tree heads, Wer primrwose beds a-sprung in blooth, An' here a geaete, a-slammen to, Did let the slow-wheel'd plough roll drough.
Ov all that then went by, but vew Be now a-left behine', to beaet The mornen flow'rs or evenen dew, Or slam the woaken vive-bar'd geaete; But woone, my wife, so litty-stepp'd, That have a-kept my path o' life, Wi' her vew errands on the road, Where woonce she bore her mother's lwoad.
IN THE SPRING.
My love is the maid ov all maidens, Though all mid be comely, Her skin's lik' the jessamy blossom A-spread in the Spring.
Her smile is so sweet as a beaeby's Young smile on his mother, Her eyes be as bright as the dew drop A-shed in the Spring.
O grey-leafy pinks o' the geaerden, Now bear her sweet blossoms; Now deck wi' a rwose-bud, O briar. Her head in the Spring.
O light-rollen wind blow me hither, The vaeice ov her talken, Or bring vrom her veet the light doust, She do tread in the Spring.
O zun, meaeke the gil'cups all glitter, In goold all around her; An' meaeke o' the deaeisys' white flowers A bed in the Spring.
O whissle gay birds, up bezide her, In drong-way, an' woodlands, O zing, swingen lark, now the clouds, Be a-vled in the Spring.
An' who, you mid ax, be my praises A-meaeken so much o', An' oh! 'tis the maid I'm a-hopen To wed in the Spring.
THE FLOOD IN SPRING.
Last night below the elem in the lew Bright the sky did gleam On water blue, while air did softly blow On the flowen stream, An' there wer gil'cups' buds untwold, An' deaeisies that begun to vwold Their low-stemm'd blossoms vrom my zight Ageaen the night, an' evenen's cwold.
But, oh! so cwold below the darksome cloud Soon the night-wind roar'd, Wi' rainy storms that zent the zwollen streams Over ev'ry vword. The while the drippen tow'r did tell The hour, wi' storm-be-smother'd bell, An' over ev'ry flower's bud Roll'd on the flood, 'ithin the dell.
But when the zun arose, an' lik' a rwose Shone the mornen sky; An' roun' the woak, the wind a-blowen weak, Softly whiver'd by. Though drown'd wer still the deaisy bed Below the flood, its feaece instead O' flow'ry grown', below our shoes Show'd feaeirest views o' skies o'er head.
An' zoo to try if all our faith is true Jay mid end in tears, An' hope, woonce feaeir, mid sadden into fear, Here in e'thly years. But He that tried our soul do know To meaeke us good amends, an' show Instead o' things a-took away, Some higher jay that He'll bestow.
As clouds did ride wi' heaesty flight. An' woods did swaey upon the height, An' bleaedes o' grass did sheaeke, below The hedge-row bremble's swingen bow, I come back hwome where winds did zwell, In whirls along the woody gleaedes, On primrwose beds, in windy sheaedes, To Burnley's dark-tree'd dell.
There hills do screen the timber's bough, The trees do screen the leaeze's brow, The timber-sheaeded leaeze do bear A beaeten path that we do wear. The path do stripe the leaeze's zide, To willows at the river's edge. Where hufflen winds did sheaeke the zedge An' sparklen weaeves did glide.
An' where the river, bend by bend, Do draein our meaed, an' mark its end, The hangen leaeze do teaeke our cows, An' trees do sheaede em wi' their boughs, An' I the quicker beaet the road, To zee a-comen into view, Still greener vrom the sky-line's blue, Wold Burnley our abode.
"The zunny copse ha' birds to zing, The leaeze ha' cows to low, The elem trees ha' rooks on wing, The meaeds a brook to flow, But I can walk noo mwore, to pass The drashel out abrode, To wear a path in theaese year's grass Or tread the wheelworn road," Cried Grammer, "then adieu, O runnen brooks, An' vleen rooks, I can't come out to you. If 'tis God's will, why then 'tis well, That I should bide 'ithin a wall."
An' then the childern, wild wi' fun, An' loud wi' jayvul sounds, Sprung in an' cried, "We had a run, A-playen heaere an' hounds; But oh! the cowslips where we stopt In Maycreech, on the knap!" An' vrom their little han's each dropt Some cowslips in her lap. Cried Grammer, "Only zee! I can't teaeke strolls, An' little souls Would bring the vields to me. Since 'tis God's will, an' mus' be well That I should bide 'ithin a wall."
"Oh! there be prison walls to hold The han's o' lawless crimes, An' there be walls arear'd vor wold An' zick in tryen times; But oh! though low mid slant my ruf, Though hard my lot mid be, Though dry mid come my daily lwoaf, Mid mercy leaeve me free!" Cried Grammer, "Or adieu To jay; O grounds, An' bird's gay sounds If I mus' gi'e up you, Although 'tis well, in God's good will, That I should bide 'ithin a wall."
"Oh! then," we answer'd, "never fret, If we shall be a-blest, We'll work vull hard drough het an' wet To keep your heart at rest: To woaken chair's vor you to vill, For you shall glow the coal, An' when the win' do whissle sh'ill We'll screen it vrom your poll." Cried Grammer, "God is true. I can't but feel He smote to heal My wounded heart in you; An' zoo 'tis well, if 'tis His will, That I be here 'ithin a wall."
THE CASTLE RUINS.
A happy day at Whitsuntide, As soon's the zun begun to vall, We all stroll'd up the steep hill-zide To Meldon, girt an' small; Out where the castle wall stood high A-mwoldren to the zunny sky.
An' there wi' Jenny took a stroll Her youngest sister, Poll, so gay, Bezide John Hind, ah! merry soul, An' mid her wedlock fay; An' at our zides did play an' run My little maid an' smaller son.
Above the beaeten mwold upsprung The driven doust, a-spreaden light, An' on the new-leav'd thorn, a-hung, Wer wool a-quiv'ren white; An' corn, a sheenen bright, did bow, On slopen Meldon's zunny brow.
There, down the rufless wall did glow The zun upon the grassy vloor, An' weakly-wandren winds did blow, Unhinder'd by a door; An' smokeless now avore the zun Did stan' the ivy-girded tun.
My bwoy did watch the daws' bright wings A-flappen vrom their ivy bow'rs; My wife did watch my maid's light springs, Out here an' there vor flow'rs; And John did zee noo tow'rs, the pleaece Vor him had only Polly's feaece.
An' there, of all that pried about The walls, I overlook'd em best, An' what o' that? Why, I meaede out Noo mwore than all the rest: That there wer woonce the nest of zome That wer a-gone avore we come.
When woonce above the tun the smoke Did wreathy blue among the trees, An' down below, the liven vo'k, Did tweil as brisk as bees; Or zit wi' weary knees, the while The sky wer lightless to their tweil.
JOHN, JEALOUS AT SHROTON FEAeIR.
Jeaene; her Brother; John, her Sweetheart; and Racketen Joe
I'm thankvul I be out o' that Thick crowd, an' not asquot quite flat. That ever we should plunge in where the vo'k do drunge So tight's the cheese-wring on the veaet! I've sca'ce a thing a-left in pleaece. 'Tis all a-tore vrom pin an' leaece. My bonnet's like a wad, a-beaet up to a dod, An' all my heaeir's about my feaece.
Here, come an' zit out here a bit, An' put yourzelf to rights.
No, Jeaene; no, no! Now you don't show The very wo'st o' plights.
Come, come, there's little harm adone; Your hoops be out so roun's the zun.
An' there's your bonnet back in sheaepe.
An' there's your pin, and there's your ceaepe.
An' there your curls do match, an' there 'S the vittiest maid in all the feaeir.
Now look, an' tell us who's a-spied Vrom Sturminster, or Manston zide.
There's ranten Joe! How he do stalk, An' zwang his whip, an' laugh, an' talk!
An' how his head do wag, avore his steppen lag. Jist like a pigeon's in a walk!
Heigh! there, then, Joey, ben't we proud
He can't hear you among the crowd.
Why, no, the thunder peals do drown the sound o' wheels. His own pipe is a-pitched too loud. What, you here too?
Yes, Sir, to you. All o' me that's a-left.
A body plump's a goodish lump Where reaemes ha' such a heft.
Who lost his crown a-racen?
Who? Zome silly chap abacken you. Well, now, an' how do vo'k treat Jeaene?
Why not wi' feaerens.
What d'ye meaen, When I've a-brought ye such a bunch O' theaese nice ginger-nuts to crunch? An' here, John, here! you teaeke a vew.
No, keep em all vor Jeaene an' you!
Well, Jeaene, an' when d'ye meaen to come An' call on me, then, up at hwome. You han't a-come athirt, since I'd my voot a-hurt, A-slippen vrom the tree I clomb.
Well, if so be that you be stout On voot ageaen, you'll vind me out.
Aye, better chaps woont goo, not many steps vor you, If you do hawk yourzelf about.
Wull John, come too?
No, thanks to you. Two's company, dree's nwone.
There don't be stung by his mad tongue, 'Tis nothen else but fun.
There, what d'ye think o' my new ceaepe?
Why, think that 'tis an ugly sheaepe.
Then you should buy me, now theaese feaeir, A mwore becomen woone to wear.
I buy your ceaepe! No; Joe wull screaepe Up dibs enough to buy your ceaepe. As things do look, to meaeke you fine Is long Joe's business mwore than mine.
Lauk, John, the mwore that you do pout The mwore he'll glēne.
A yelpen lout.
After many long years had a-run, The while I wer a-gone vrom the pleaece, I come back to the vields, where the zun Ov her childhood did show me her feaece. There her father, years wolder, did stoop. An' her brother, wer now a-grow'd staid, An' the apple tree lower did droop. Out in the orcha'd where we had a-play'd, There wer zome things a-seemen the seaeme, But Meaery's a-married away.
There wer two little childern a-zent, Wi' a message to me, oh! so feair As the mother that they did zoo ment, When in childhood she play'd wi' me there. Zoo they twold me that if I would come Down to Coomb, I should zee a wold friend, Vor a playmeaete o' mine wer at hwome, An' would stay till another week's end. At the dear pworched door, could I dare To zee Meaery a-married away!
On the flower-not, now all a-trod Stwony hard, the green grass wer a-spread, An' the long-slighted woodbine did nod Vrom the wall, wi' a loose-hangen head. An' the martin's clay nest wer a-hung Up below the brown oves, in the dry, An' the rooks had a-rock'd broods o' young On the elems below the May sky; But the bud on the bed, coulden bide, Wi' young Meaery a-married away.
There the copse-wood, a-grow'd to a height, Wer a-vell'd, an' the primrwose in blooth, Among chips on the ground a-turn'd white, Wer a-quiv'ren, all beaere ov his lewth. The green moss wer a-spread on the thatch, That I left yollow reed, an' avore The small green, there did swing a new hatch, Vor to let me walk into the door. Oh! the rook did still rock o'er the rick, But wi' Meaery a-married away.
PICKEN O' SCROFF.
Oh! the wood wer a-vell'd in the copse, An' the moss-bedded primrwose did blow; An' vrom tall-stemmed trees' leafless tops, There did lie but slight sheaedes down below. An' the sky wer a-showen, in drough By the tree-stems, the deepest o' blue, Wi' a light that did vall on an' off The dry ground, a-strew'd over wi' scroff.
There the hedge that wer leaetely so high, Wer a-plush'd, an' along by the zide, Where the waggon 'd a-haul'd the wood by, There did reach the deep wheelrouts, a-dried. An' the groun' wi' the sticks wer bespread, Zome a-cut off alive, an' zome dead. An' vor burnen, well wo'th reaeken off, By the childern a-picken o' scroff.
In the tree-studded leaeze, where the woak Wer a-spreaden his head out around, There the scrags that the wind had a-broke, Wer a-lyen about on the ground Or the childern, wi' little red hands, Wer a-tyen em up in their bands; Vor noo squier or farmer turn'd off Little childern a-picken o' scroff.
There wer woone bloomen child wi' a cloak On her shoulders, as green as the ground; An' another, as gray as the woak, Wi' a bwoy in a brown frock, a-brown'd. An' woone got up, in play, vor to tait, On a woak-limb, a-growen out straight. But she soon wer a-taited down off, By her meaetes out a-picken o' scroff.
When they childern do grow to staid vo'k, An' goo out in the worold, all wide Vrom the copse, an' the zummerleaeze woak, Where at last all their elders ha' died, They wull then vind it touchen to bring, To their minds, the sweet springs o' their spring, Back avore the new vo'k did turn off The poor childern a-picken o' scroff.
While down the meaeds wound slow, Water vor green-wheel'd mills, Over the streams bright bow, Win' come vrom dark-back'd hills. Birds on the win' shot along down steep Slopes, wi' a swift-swung zweep. Dim weaen'd the red streak'd west Lim'-weary souls "Good rest."
Up on the plough'd hill brow, Still wer the zull's wheel'd beam, Still wer the red-wheel'd plough, Free o' the strong limb'd team, Still wer the shop that the smith meaede ring, Dark where the sparks did spring; Low shot the zun's last beams. Lim'-weary souls "Good dreams."
Where I vrom dark bank-sheaedes Turn'd up the west hill road, Where all the green grass bleaedes Under the zunlight glow'd. Startled I met, as the zunbeams play'd Light, wi' a zunsmote maid, Come vor my day's last zight, Zun-brighten'd maid "Good night."
Upon the slope, the hedge did bound The yield wi' blossom-whited zide, An' charlock patches, yollow-dyed, Did reach along the white-soil'd ground, An' vo'k, a-comen up vrom meaed, Brought gil'cup meal upon the shoe; Or went on where the road did leaed, Wi' smeechy doust from heel to tooe. As noon did smite, wi' burnen light, The road so white, to Meldonley.
An' I did tramp the zun-dried ground, By hedge-climb'd hills, a-spread wi' flow'rs, An' watershooten dells, an' tow'rs, By elem-trees a-hemm'd all round, To zee a vew wold friends, about Wold Meldon, where I still ha' zome, That bid me speed as I come out, An' now ha' bid me welcome hwome, As I did goo, while skies wer blue, Vrom view to view, to Meldonley.
An' there wer timber'd knaps, that show'd Cool sheaedes, vor rest, on grassy ground, An' thatch-brow'd windows, flower-bound, Where I could wish wer my abode. I pass'd the maid avore the spring, An' shepherd by the thornen tree; An' heaerd the merry drever zing, But met noo kith or kin to me, Till I come down, vrom Meldon's crown To rufs o' brown, at Meldonley.
THE HOLLOW WOAK.
The woaken tree, so hollow now, To souls ov other times wer sound, An' reach'd on ev'ry zide a bough Above their heads, a-gather'd round, But zome light veet That here did meet In friendship sweet, vor rest or jay, Shall be a-miss'd another May.
My childern here, in playvul pride Did zit 'ithin his wooden walls, A-menten steaetely vo'k inside O' castle towers an' lofty halls. But now the vloor An' mossy door That woonce they wore would be too small To teaeke em in, so big an' tall.
Theaese year do show, wi' snow-white cloud, An' deaesies in a sprinkled bed, An' green-bough birds a-whislen loud, The looks o' zummer days a-vled; An' grass do grow, An' men do mow, An' all do show the wold times' feaece Wi' new things in the wold things' pleaece.
Oh! if my ling'ren life should run, Drough years a-reckoned ten by ten, Below the never-tiren zun, Till beaebes ageaen be wives an' men; An' stillest deafness should ha' bound My ears, at last, vrom ev'ry sound; Though still my eyes in that sweet light, Should have the zight o' sky an' ground: Would then my steaete In time so leaete, Be jay or pain, be pain or jay?
When Zunday then, a-weaenen dim, As theaese that now's a-clwosen still, Mid lose the zun's down-zinken rim, In light behind the vier-bound hill; An' when the bells' last peal's a-rung, An' I mid zee the wold an' young A-vlocken by, but shoulden hear, However near, a voot or tongue: Mid zuch a zight, In that soft light Be jay or pain, be pain or jay.
If I should zee among em all, In merry youth, a-gliden by, My son's bwold son, a-grown man-tall, Or daughter's daughter, woman-high; An' she mid smile wi' your good feaece, Or she mid walk your comely peaece, But seem, although a-chatten loud, So dumb's a cloud, in that bright pleaece: Would youth so feaeir, A-passen there, Be jay or pain, be pain or jay.
'Tis seldom strangth or comeliness Do leaeve us long. The house do show Men's sons wi' mwore, as they ha' less, An' daughters brisk, vor mothers slow. A dawn do clear the night's dim sky, Woone star do zink, an' woone goo high, An' liven gifts o' youth do vall, Vrom girt to small, but never die: An' should I view, What God mid do, Wi' jay or pain, wi' pain or jay?
THE RWOSE IN THE DARK.
In zummer, leaete at evenen tide, I zot to spend a moonless hour 'Ithin the window, wi' the zide A-bound wi' rwoses out in flow'r, Bezide the bow'r, vorsook o' birds, An' listen'd to my true-love's words.
A-risen to her comely height, She push'd the swingen ceaesement round; And I could hear, beyond my zight, The win'-blow'd beech-tree softly sound, On higher ground, a-swayen slow, On drough my happy hour below.
An' tho' the darkness then did hide The dewy rwose's blushen bloom, He still did cast sweet air inside To Jeaene, a-chatten in the room; An' though the gloom did hide her feaece, Her words did bind me to the pleaece.
An' there, while she, wi' runnen tongue, Did talk unzeen 'ithin the hall, I thought her like the rwose that flung His sweetness vrom his darken'd ball, 'Ithout the wall, an' sweet's the zight Ov her bright feaece by mornen light.
Wull ye come in eaerly Spring, Come at Easter, or in May? Or when Whitsuntide mid bring Longer light to show your way? Wull ye come, if you be true, Vor to quicken love anew. Wull ye call in Spring or Fall? Come now soon by zun or moon? Wull ye come?
Come wi' vaice to vaice the while All their words be sweet to hear; Come that feaece to feaece mid smile, While their smiles do seem so dear; Come within the year to seek Woone you have sought woonce a week? Come while flow'rs be on the bow'rs. And the bird o' zong's a-heaerd. Wull ye come?
Ees come to ye, an' come vor ye, is my word, I wull come.
Let me work, but mid noo tie Hold me vrom the oben sky, When zummer winds, in playsome flight, Do blow on vields in noon-day light, Or ruslen trees, in twilight night. Sweet's a stroll, By flow'ry knowl, or blue-feaeced pool That zummer win's do ruffle cool.
When the moon's broad light do vill Plains, a-sheenen down the hill; A-glitteren on window glass, O then, while zummer win's do pass The rippled brook, an' swayen grass, Sweet's a walk, Where we do talk, wi' feaeces bright, In whispers in the peacevul night.
When the swayen men do mow Flow'ry grass, wi' zweepen blow, In het a-most enough to dry The flat-spread clote-leaf that do lie Upon the stream a-stealen by, Sweet's their rest, Upon the breast o' knap or mound Out where the goocoo's vaice do sound.
Where the sleek-heaeir'd maid do zit Out o' door to zew or knit, Below the elem where the spring 'S a-runnen, an' the road do bring The people by to hear her zing, On the green, Where she's a-zeen, an' she can zee, O gay is she below the tree.
Come, O zummer wind, an' bring Sounds o' birds as they do zing, An' bring the smell o' bloomen may, An' bring the smell o' new-mow'd hay; Come fan my feaece as I do stray, Fan the heaeir O' Jessie feaeir; fan her cool, By the weaeves o' stream or pool.
THE NEAeME LETTERS.
When high-flown larks wer on the wing, A warm-air'd holiday in Spring, We stroll'd, 'ithout a ceaere or frown, Up roun' the down at Meldonley; An' where the hawthorn-tree did stand Alwone, but still wi' mwore at hand, We zot wi' sheaedes o' clouds on high A-flitten by, at Meldonley.
An' there, the while the tree did sheaede Their gigglen heads, my knife's keen bleaede Carved out, in turf avore my knee, J. L., *T. D., at Meldonley. 'Twer Jessie Lee J. L. did meaen, T. D. did stan' vor Thomas Deaene; The "L" I scratch'd but slight, vor he Mid soon be D, at Meldonley.
An' when the vields o' wheat did spread Vrom hedge to hedge in sheets o' red. An' bennets wer a-sheaeken brown. Upon the down at Meldonley, We stroll'd ageaen along the hill, An' at the hawthorn-tree stood still, To zee J. L. vor Jessie Lee, An' my T. D., at Meldonley.
The grey-poll'd bennet-stems did hem Each half-hid letter's zunken rim, By leaedy's-vingers that did spread In yollow red, at Meldonley. An' heaerebells there wi' light blue bell Shook soundless on the letter L, To ment the bells when L vor Lee Become a D at Meldonley.
Vor Jessie, now my wife, do strive Wi' me in life, an' we do thrive; Two sleek-heaeired meaeres do sprackly pull My waggon vull, at Meldonley; An' small-hoof'd sheep, in vleeces white, Wi' quickly-panken zides, do bite My thymy grass, a-mark'd vor me In black, T. D., at Meldonley.
THE NEW HOUSE A-GETTEN WOLD.
Ah! when our wedded life begun, Theaese clean-wall'd house of ours wer new; Wi' thatch as yollor as the zun Avore the cloudless sky o' blue; The sky o' blue that then did bound The blue-hilled worold's flow'ry ground.
An' we've a-vound it weather-brown'd, As Spring-tide blossoms oben'd white, Or Fall did shed, on zunburnt ground, Red apples from their leafy height: Their leafy height, that Winter soon Left leafless to the cool-feaeced moon.
An' rain-bred moss ha' stain'd wi' green The smooth-feaeced wall's white-morter'd streaks, The while our childern zot between Our seats avore the fleaeme's red peaks: The fleaeme's red peaks, till axan white Did quench em vor the long-sleep'd night.
The bloom that woonce did overspread Your rounded cheaek, as time went by, A-shrinken to a patch o' red, Did feaede so soft's the evenen sky: The evenen sky, my faithful wife, O' days as feaeir's our happy life.
In zummer, when the sheaedes do creep Below the Zunday steeple, round The mossy stwones, that love cut deep Wi' neaemes that tongues noo mwore do sound, The leaene do lose the stalken team, An' dry-rimm'd waggon-wheels be still, An' hills do roll their down-shot stream Below the resten wheel at mill. O holy day, when tweil do ceaese, Sweet day o' rest an' greaece an' peaece!
The eegrass, vor a while unwrung By hoof or shoe, 's a sheenen bright, An' clover flowers be a-sprung On new-mow'd knaps in beds o' white, An' sweet wild rwoses, up among The hedge-row boughs, do yield their smells. To aier that do bear along The loud-rung peals o' Zunday bells, Upon the day o' days the best, The day o' greaece an' peaece an' rest.
By brightshod veet, in peaeir an' peaeir, Wi' comely steps the road's a-took To church, an' work-free han's do beaer Woone's walken stick or sister's book; An' there the bloomen niece do come To zee her aunt, in all her best; Or married daughter do bring hwome Her vu'st sweet child upon her breast, As she do seek the holy pleaece, The day o' rest an' peaece an' greaece.
THE PILLAR'D GEAeTE.
As I come by, zome years agoo, A-burnt below a sky o' blue, 'Ithin the pillar'd geaete there zung A vaice a-sounden sweet an' young, That meaede me veel awhile to zwim In weaeves o' jay to hear its hymn; Vor all the zinger, angel-bright, Wer then a-hidden vrom my zight, An' I wer then too low To seek a meaete to match my steaete 'Ithin the lofty-pillar'd geaete, Wi' stwonen balls upon the walls: Oh, no! my heart, no, no.
Another time as I come by The house, below a dark-blue sky, The pillar'd geaete wer oben wide, An' who should be a-show'd inside, But she, the comely maid whose hymn Woonce meaede my giddy brain to zwim, A-zitten in the sheaede to zew, A-clad in robes as white as snow. What then? could I so low Look out a meaete ov higher steaete So gay 'ithin a pillar'd geaete, Wi' high walls round the smooth-mow'd ground? Oh, no! my heart, no, no.
Long years stole by, a-gliden slow, Wi' winter cwold an' zummer glow, An' she wer then a widow, clad In grey; but comely, though so sad; Her husband, heartless to his bride, Spent all her store an' wealth, an' died, Though she noo mwore could now rejaice, Yet sweet did sound her zongless vaice. But had she, in her woe, The higher steaete she had o' leaete 'Ithin the lofty pillar'd geaete, Wi' stwonen balls upon the walls? Oh, no! my heart, no, no.
But while she vell, my Meaeker's greaece Led me to teaeke a higher pleaece, An' lighten'd up my mind wi' lore, An' bless'd me wi' a worldly store; But still noo winsome feaece or vaice, Had ever been my wedded chaice; An' then I thought, why do I mwope Alwone without a jay or hope? Would she still think me low? Or scorn a meaete, in my feaeir steaete, In here 'ithin a pillar'd geaete, A happy pleaece wi' her kind feaece? Oh, no! my hope, no, no.
I don't stand out 'tis only feaete Do gi'e to each his wedded meaete; But eet there's woone above the rest, That every soul can like the best. An' my wold love's a-kindled new, An' my wold dream's a-come out true; But while I had noo soul to sheaere My good an' ill, an' jaey an ceaere, Should I have bliss below, In gleaemen pleaete an' lofty steaete 'Ithin the lofty pillar'd geaete, Wi' feaeirest flow'rs, an' ponds an' tow'rs? Oh, no! my heart, no, no.
Ah! then the grassy-meaeded May Did warm the passen year, an' gleam Upon the yellow-grounded stream, That still by beech-tree sheaedes do stray. The light o' weaeves, a-runnen there, Did play on leaves up over head, An' vishes sceaely zides did gleaere, A-darten on the shallow bed, An' like the stream a-sliden 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 deaeisies white, Or blue below the deep blue sky. Then glowen warm wer ev'ry brow, O' maid, or man, in zummer het, An' warm did glow the cheaeks I met That time, noo mwore to meet em now. As brooks, a-sliden on their bed, My season-measur'd time's a-vled.
Vrom yonder window, in the thatch, Did sound the maidens' merry words, As I did stand, by zingen birds, Bezide the elem-sheaeded hatch. 'Tis good to come back to the pleaece, Back to the time, to goo noo mwore; 'Tis good to meet the younger feaece A-menten others here avore. As streams do glide by green mead-grass, My zummer-brighten'd years do pass.
The bright-tunn'd house, a-risen proud, Stood high avore a zummer cloud, An' windy sheaedes o' tow'rs did vall Upon the many-window'd wall; An' on the grassy terrace, bright Wi' white-bloom'd zummer's deaisy beds, An' snow-white lilies nodden heads, Sweet Linda Deaene did walk in white; But ah! avore too high a door, Wer Linda Deaene ov Ellendon.
When sparklen brooks an' grassy ground, By keen-air'd Winter's vrost wer bound, An' star-bright snow did streak the forms O' beaere-lim'd trees in darksome storms, Sweet Linda Deaene did lightly glide, Wi' snow-white robe an' rwosy feaece, Upon the smooth-vloor'd hall, to treaece The merry dance o' Chris'mas tide; But oh! not mine be balls so fine As Linda Deaene's at Ellendon.
Sweet Linda Deaene do match the skies Wi' sheenen blue o' glisnen eyes, An' feairest blossoms do but show Her forehead's white, an' feaece's glow; But there's a winsome jay 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 Deaene ov Ellendon.
COME AND ZEE US IN THE ZUMMER.
John; William; William's Bwoy; and William's Maid at Feaeir.
Zoo here be your childern, a-sheaeren Your feaeir-day, an' each wi' a feaeiren.
Aye, well, there's noo peace 'ithout comen To stannen an' show, in the zummer.
An' how is your Jeaene? still as merry As ever, wi' cheaeks lik' a cherry?
Still merry, but beauty's as feaedesome 'S the rain's glowen bow in the zummer.
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.
Well, aye, when the mowen 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.
I'll goo, an' we'll zet up a wicket, An' have a good innens at cricket; An' teaeke a good plounce in the water. Where clote-leaves do grow in the zummer.
I'll goo, an' we'll play "Thread the needle" Or "Hunten the slipper," or wheedle Young Jemmy to fiddle, an' reely So brisk to an' fro in the zummer.
An' Jeaene. Mind you don't come 'ithout her, My wife is a-thinken about her; At our house she'll find she's as welcome 'S the rwose that do blow in the zummer.
At Lindenore upon the steep, Bezide the trees a-reachen high, The while their lower limbs do zweep The river-stream a-flowen by; By graegle bells in beds o' blue, Below the tree-stems in the lew, Calm air do vind the rwose-bound door, Ov Ellen Dare o' Lindenore.
An' there noo foam do hiss avore Swift bwoats, wi' water-plowen keels, An' there noo broad high-road's a-wore By vur-brought trav'lers' cracklen wheels; Noo crowd's a-passen 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 leaeve her ruf To be admir'd, an' that's enough— Vor I've a-vound 'ithin her door, Feaeir Ellen Dare o' Lindenore.
ME'TH BELOW THE TREE.
O when theaese elems' crooked boughs, A'most too thin to sheaede the cows, Did slowly swing above the grass As winds o' Spring did softly pass, An' zunlight show'd the shiften sheaede, 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 stwonen doorway, now so still; An' zome did joke, wi' ceaesement 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 jay to zee an' hear their fun, But sweeter jay up here above Wi' bright-ey'd me'th below the tree.
Now unknown veet do beaet the vloor, An' unknown han's do shut the door, An' unknown men do ride abrode, An' hwome ageaen on thik wold road, Drough geaetes all now a-hung anew. Noo mind but mine ageaen can call Wold feaeces 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 pleaece To show his head an' frownen feaece, 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 jay, wi' Pleasure or wi' Pride: My happiness wer here above The feaest, wi' me'th below the tree.
The wild rwose now do hang in zight, To mornen zun an' evenen light, The bird do whissle in the gloom, Avore the thissle out in bloom, But here alwone the tree do leaen. The twig that woonce did whiver there Is now a limb a-wither'd beaere: Zoo I do miss the sheaede above My head, an' me'th below the tree.
TREAT WELL YOUR WIFE.
No, no, good Meaester 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 beheaeve 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 sheaedy lash, A-glisnen to the moon.
Think how her girlhood met noo ceaere To peaele the bloom her feaece did weaer, An' how her glossy temple prest Her pillow down, in still-feaeced rest, While sheaedes o' window bars did vall In moonlight on the gloomy wall, In cool-air'd nights o' June; The while her lids, wi' benden streaeks O' lashes, met above her cheaeks, A-bloomen to the moon.
Think how she left her childhood's pleaece, An' only sister's long-known feaece, An' brother's jokes so much a-miss'd, An' mother's cheaek, the last a-kiss'd; An' how she lighted down avore Her new abode, a husband's door, Your wedden night in June; Wi' heart that beaet wi' hope an' fear, While on each eye-lash hung a tear, A-glisnen to the moon.
Think how her father zot all dum', A-thinken on her, back at hwome, The while grey axan gather'd thick, On dyen 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 rain-drops on a slender twig, A-glisnen to the moon.
Zoo don't zit thoughtless at your cup An' keep your wife a-waeiten up, The while the clock's a-ticken slow The chilly hours o' vrost an' snow, Until the zinken candle's light Is out avore her drowsy sight, A-dimm'd wi' grief too soon; A-leaeven there alwone to murn The feaeden cheaek that woonce did burn, A-bloomen 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-dryen zun,— Aye! vrom days under blue-hollow'd skies.
He went out to the mowers in meaed, When the zun wer a-rose to his height, An' the men wer a-swingen the sneaed, Wi' their eaerms in white sleeves, left an' right; An' out there, as they rested at noon, O! they drench'd en vrom eaele-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-zweltren wi' het, Wi' his heaeir all a-wetted around His young feaece, 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 haey russled grey On the staddle so leaetely 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 sheaeded 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 deaeisies, a-spread in a sheet. There a quick-trippen maid come along,— Aye, a girl wi' her light-steppen veet.
An' she cried "I do pray, is the road Out to Lincham on here, by the meaed?" An' "oh! ees," I meaede answer, an' show'd Her the way it would turn an' would leaed: "Goo along by the beech in the nook, Where the childern do play in the cool, To the steppen 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' cheaeks up so red As a pi'ny but leaete a-come out, "No, I liv'd wi' my uncle that died Back in Eaepril, 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 asheaemed that I wanted to know Any mwore of her childhood or life, But then, why should so feaeir a child grow Where noo father did bide wi' his wife; Then wi' blushes of zunrisen 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 meaede me a'most teary-ey'd, An' I vound I a'most could ha' groan'd— What! so winnen, 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.]
All up the down's cool brow I work'd in noontide's gleaere, On where the slow-wheel'd plow 'D a-wore the grass half bare. An' gil'cups quiver'd quick, As air did pass, An' deaeisies huddled thick Among the grass.
The while my eaerms 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 meaeke 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 pay, An' then zit down below My own wi' jay.
Well, you mid keep the town an' street, Wi' grassless stwones to beaet your veet, An' zunless windows where your brows Be never cooled by swayen boughs; An' let me end, as I begun, My days in oben air an' zun, Where zummer win's a-blowen sweet, Wi' blooth o' trees as white's a sheet; Or swayen boughs, a-benden low Wi' rip'nen apples in a row, An' we a-risen rathe do meet The bright'nen dawn wi' dewy veet, An' leaeve, at night, the vootless groves, To rest 'ithin our thatchen oves. An' here our childern still do bruise The deaeisy buds wi' tiny shoes, As we did meet avore em, free Vrom ceaere, in play below the tree. An' there in me'th their lively eyes Do glissen to the zunny skies, As air do blow, wi' leaezy peaece To cool, in sheaede, their burnen feaece. Where leaves o' spreaden docks do hide The zawpit's timber-lwoaded zide, An' trees do lie, wi' scraggy limbs, Among the deaeisy's crimson rims. An' they, so proud, wi' eaerms a-spread To keep their balance good, do tread Wi' ceaereful steps o' tiny zoles The narrow zides o' trees an' poles. An' zoo I'll leaeve vor your light veet The peaevement o' the zunless street, While I do end, as I begun, My days in oben air an' zun.
WHAT JOHN WER A-TELLEN 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 scratchen 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 air a-streamen cool, As if 'ithin a room, vull wide An' high, you zot to guide an' rule. You leaez'd about the stubbly land, An' soon vill'd up your small left hand Wi' ruddy ears your right hand vound, An' trail'd the stalks along the ground. How time's a-gone! How years do goo!
Then in the waggon you did teaeke A ride, an' as the wheels vell down Vrom ridge to vurrow, they did sheaeke On your small head your poppy crown, An' now your little maid, a dear, Your childhood's very daps, is here, Zoo let her stay, that her young feaece Mid put a former year in pleaece. How time do run! How years do roll!
Come here an' zit a while below Theaese tower, grey and ivy-bound, In sheaede, 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 gleaede, But never stir the sleepen sheaede.
As when you stood upon the brink O' yonder brook, wi' back-zunn'd head, Your zunny-grounded sheaede did zink Upon the water's grav'lly bed, Where weaeves could zweep Away, or keep, The gravel heap that they'd a-meaede, But never wash away the sheaede.
An' zoo, when you can woonce vulvil What's feaeir, a-tried by heaven's light, Why never fear that evil will Can meaeke a wrong o' your good right. The right wull stand, Vor all man's hand, Till streams on zand, an' wind in gleaedes, Can zweep away the zuncast sheaedes.
TIMES O' YEAR.
Here did swaey the eltrot flow'rs, When the hours o' night wer vew, An' the zun, wi' eaerly beams Brighten'd streams, an' dried the dew, An' the goocoo there did greet Passers by wi' dousty veet.
There the milkmaid hung her brow By the cow, a-sheenen 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-blowen blast, Here do cast vrom elems' heads Feaeded leaves, a-whirlen round, Down to ground, in yollow beds, Ruslen 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?
Racketen Joe; his Sister; his Cousin Fanny; and the Dog.
Heigh! heigh! here. Who's about?
Oh! lauk! Here's Joe, a ranten lout,
A-meaeken his wild randy-rout.
Heigh! Fanny! How d'ye do? (slaps her.)
Oh! fie; why all the woo'se vor you A-slappen o' me, black an' blue, My back!
A whack! you loose-eaerm'd chap, To gi'e your cousin sich a slap!
I'll pull the heaeir o'n, I do vow;
I'll pull the ears o'n. There.
A-comen up the drong, How he did smack his leather thong, A-zingen, as he thought, a zong;
An' there the pigs did scote Azide, in fright, wi' squeaken droat, Wi' geese a pitchen up a note. Look there.
He thump'd en down, As if he'd het en into ground.
Heigh! heigh! Look here! the vier is out.
How he do knock the tongs about!
Now theaere's his whip-nob, plum Upon the teaeble vor a drum;
An' there's a dent so big's your thumb.
My hat's awore so quaer.
'Tis quaer enough, but not wi' wear; But dabs an' dashes he do bear.
She's in the plot. A-routen up the flower knot. Ho! Towzer! Here, rout out the zow, Heigh! here, hie at her. Tiss!
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.
Athirt the bank, Look! how the dog an' he do pank.
Stay out, an' heed her now an' then, To zee she don't come in ageaen.
ZUMMER AN' WINTER.
When I led by zummer streams The pride o' Lea, as naighbours thought her, While the zun, wi' evenen beams, Did cast our sheaedes athirt the water; Winds a-blowen, Streams a-flowen, Skies a-glowen, Tokens ov my jay zoo fleeten, Heighten'd it, that happy meeten.
Then, when maid an' man took pleaeces, Gay in winter's Chris'mas dances, Showen in their merry feaeces Kindly smiles an' glisnen glances; Stars a-winken, Day a-shrinken, Sheaedes a-zinken, Brought anew the happy meeten, That did meake the night too fleeten.
At night, as drough the meaed I took my way, In air a-sweeten'd by the new-meaede hay, A stream a-vallen 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 evenen darkness, an' the risen hill, Kept all the quiv'ren leaves unshown to me,
Within the copse, below the zunless sky, I heaerd a nightengeaele, a-warblen high Her lwoansome zong, a-hidden vrom my zight, An' showen nothen but her mwoan to me.
An' by a house, where rwoses hung avore The thatch-brow'd window, an' the oben door, I heaerd the merry words, an' hearty laugh O' zome feaeir maid, as eet unknown to me.
High over head the white-rimm'd clouds went on, Wi' woone a-comen up, vor woone a-gone; An' feaeir they floated in their sky-back'd flight, But still they never meaede a sound to me.
An' there the miller, down the stream did float Wi' all his childern, in his white-sail'd bwoat, Vur off, beyond the stragglen cows in meaed, But zent noo vaice, athirt the ground, to me.
An' then a buttervlee, in zultry light, A-wheelen on about me, vier-bright, Did show the gayest colors to my eye, But still did bring noo vaice around to me.
I met the merry laugher on the down, Bezide her mother, on the path to town, An' oh! her sheaepe wer comely to the zight, But wordless then wer she a-vound to me.
Zoo, sweet ov unzeen things mid be sound, An' feaeir to zight mid soundless things be vound, But I've the laugh to hear, an' feaece to zee, Vor they be now my own, a-bound to me.
TWO AN' TWO.
The zun, O Jessie, while his feaece do rise In vi'ry skies, a-shedden out his light On yollow corn a-weaeven down below His yollow glow, is gay avore the zight. By two an' two, How goodly things do goo, A-matchen woone another to fulvill The goodness ov their Meaeker's will.
How bright the spreaden water in the lew Do catch the blue, a-sheenen vrom the sky; How true the grass do teaeke the dewy bead That it do need, while dousty roads be dry. By peaeir an' peaeir Each thing's a-meaede to sheaere 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 sheaede; The air's to bear the bird, the bird's to rise; Vor light the eyes, vor eyes the light's a-meaede. 'Tis gi'e an' teaeke, An' woone vor others' seaeke; In peaeirs a-worken 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 rain 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 unmolesten me a-resten, Where I lay 'ithin the lew.
My wife's bright vier indoors did cast Its fleaeme upon the window peaenes That screen'd her teaeble, while the blast Vled on in music down the leaenes; An' as I zot in vaiceless thought Ov other zummer-tides, that brought The sheenen grass below the lark, Or left their ricks a-wearen 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 leaeve the childern, big or small; But He that meaede the wind, an' meaede The lewth, an' zent wi' het the sheaede, Can keep my childern, all alwone O' under me, an' though vull grown Or little lispers, wi' their whispers, There a-lyen in the lew.
THE WIND IN WOONE'S FEAeCE.
There lovely Jenny past, While the blast did blow On over Ashknowle Hill To the mill below; A-blinken quick, wi' lashes long, Above her cheaeks o' red, Ageaen the wind, a-beaeten strong, Upon her droopen head.
Oh! let dry win' blow bleaek, On her cheaek so heaele, But let noo rain-shot chill Meaeke her ill an' peaele; 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-heaeir Ov my feaeirest dear; An' mid noo unkind deed o' mine Spweil what my love mid gain, Nor meaeke my merry Jenny pine At last wi' dim-ey'd pain.
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 ageaen the mwoldren door 'S a token 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 Meaery gi'e Thaet she'd a-liv'd, an' liv'd vor me, But things a-done vor thought an' view? Good things that nwone ageaen can do, An' every work her love ha' wrought, To eyezight's woone, but two to thought.
The rick ov our last zummer's haulen Now vrom grey's a-feaeded dark, An' off the barken rail's a-vallen, Day by day, the rotten bark.— But short's the time our works do stand, So feaeir's we put em out ov hand, Vor time a-passen, wet an' dry, Do spweil em wi' his changen sky, The while wi' striven hope, we men, Though a-ruen time's undoen, Still do tweil an' tweil ageaen.
In wall-zide sheaedes, by leafy bowers, Underneath the swayen tree, O' leaete, as round the bloomen flowers, Lowly humm'd the giddy bee, My childern's small left voot did smite Their tiny speaede, the while the right Did trample on a deaeisy head, Bezide the flower's dousty bed, An' though their work wer idle then, They a-smilen, an' a-tweilen, Still did work an' work ageaen.
Now their little limbs be stronger, Deeper now their vaice do sound; An' their little veet be longer, An' do tread on other ground; An' rust is on the little bleaedes Ov all the broken-hafted speaedes, An' flow'rs that wer my hope an' pride Ha' long agoo a-bloom'd an' died, But still as I did leaebor then Vor love ov all them childern small, Zoo now I'll tweil an' tweil ageaen.
When the smokeless tun's a-growen Cwold as dew below the stars, An' when the vier noo mwore's a-glowen Red between the window bars, We then do lay our weary heads In peace upon their nightly beds, An' gi'e woone sock, wi' heaven 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 ageaen.
Where the vaice o' the winds is mildest, In the plain, their stroke is keen; Where their dreatnen vaice is wildest, In the grove, the grove's our screen. An' where the worold in their strife Do dreaten mwost our tweilsome life, Why there Almighty ceaere mid cast A better screen ageaen the blast. Zoo I woon't live in fear o' men, But, man-neglected, God-directed, Still wull tweil an' tweil ageaen.
In stillness we ha' words to hear, An' sheaepes to zee in darkest night, An' tongues a-lost can hail 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' weaesten life's slow-beaten track.
When feaeden leaves do drip wi' rain, Our thoughts can ramble in the dry; When Winter win' do zweep the plain 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 pain our thoughts can pass to eaese, In work our souls can be at play, An' leaeve behind the chilly leaese Vor warm-air'd meaeds o' new mow'd hay. When we do vlee in Fancy's flight Vrom daily ills avore our feaece, An' linger in zome happy pleaece Ov me'th an' smiles, an' warmth an' light.
THE BROKEN HEART.
News o' grief had overteaeken Dark-ey'd Fanny, now vorseaeken; There she zot, wi' breast a-heaven, While vrom zide to zide, wi' grieven, Vell her head, wi' tears a-creepen Down her cheaeks, in bitter weepen. There wer still the ribbon-bow She tied avore her hour ov woe, An' there wer still the han's that tied it Hangen white, Or wringen tight, In ceaere that drown'd all ceaere bezide it.
When a man, wi' heartless slighten, Mid become a maiden's blighten, He mid ceaerlessly vorseaeke her, But must answer to her Meaeker; He mid slight, wi' selfish blindness, All her deeds o' loven-kindness, God wull waigh em wi' the slighten That mid be her love's requiten; He do look on each deceiver, He do know What weight o' woe Do breaek the heart ov ev'ry griever.
The while I took my bit o' rest, Below my house's eastern sheaede, The things that stood in vield an' gleaede Wer bright in zunsheen vrom the west. There bright wer east-ward mound an' wall, An' bright wer trees, arisen 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 evenen dusk did gather slow; But bright did gleaere the twinklen spwokes O' runnen 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 ageaen his feaece mid rise, A-sheenen vrom the eastern skies To brighten up the rwose-borne dew; But still his lingren light did gi'e My heart a touchen jay, to zee His beams a-shed, wi' stratchen sheaede, On east-ward wall an' tree.
When jay, a-zent me vrom above, Vrom my sad heart is now agone, An' others be a-walken on, Amid the light ov Heaven's love, Oh! then vor loven-kindness seaeke, Mid I rejaeice that zome do teaeke My hopes a-gone, until ageaen My happy dawn do breaek.
VIELDS BY WATERVALLS.
When our downcast looks be smileless, Under others' wrongs an' slightens, When our daily deeds be guileless, An' do meet unkind requitens, You can meaeke us zome amends Vor wrongs o' foes, an' slights o' friends;— O flow'ry-gleaeded, timber-sheaeded Vields by flowen watervalls!
Here be softest airs a-blowen Drough the boughs, wi' zingen drushes, Up above the streams, a-flowen 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 flowen watervalls.
Waters, wi' their giddy rollens; Breezes wi' their playsome wooens; Here do heal, in soft consolens, Hearts a-wrung wi' man's wrong doens. Day do come to us as gay As to a king ov widest sway, In deaeisy-whiten'd, gil'cup-brighten'd Vields by flowen watervalls.
Zome feaeir buds mid outlive blightens, Zome sweet hopes mid outlive sorrow. After days of wrongs an' slightens 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 Jeaene, vrom Aunt o' Camwy dell.
Zoo all the lot o' stuff a-tied Upon the plow, a tidy tod, On gravel-crunchen 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, Astrain'd athirt, an' strain'd along, Down Thornhay's evenen-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-bearen land, When beech-leaves slowly whiver'd down. By evenen 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 ageaen did show vull bright, In two long streaks o' glitt'ren white.
But when, upon our wedden night, The cart's light wheels, a-rollen round, Brought Jenny hwome, they run too light To mark the yielden ground; Or welcome would be vound a peaeir O' green-vill'd routs a-runnen there.
Zoo let me never bring 'ithin My dwellen 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 Wi' leaves, wi' grass, wi' groun' wi' snow.
NANNY'S NEW ABODE.
Now day by day, at lofty height, O zummer noons, the burnen zun 'Ve a-show'd avore our eastward zight, The sky-blue zide ov Hameldon, An' shone ageaen, on new-mow'd ground, Wi' hay a-piled up grey in pook, An' down on leaezes, bennet-brown'd, An' wheat a-vell avore the hook; Till, under elems tall, The leaves do lie on leaenen lands, In leaeter 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-weaeven by the brink O' shallow brooks, do slowly die. An' on the timber tall, The boughs, half beaere, do bend above The bulgen banks in Fall.
There, we'd a spring o' water near, Here, water's deep in wink-drain'd wells, The church 'tis true, is nigh out here, Too nigh wi' vive loud-boomen bells. There, naighbours wer vull wide a-spread, But vo'k be here too clwose a-stow'd. Vor childern now do stun woone's head, Wi' naisy play bezide the road, Where big so well as small, The little lad, an' lump'ren lout, Do leaep an' laugh theaese Fall.
There the ash-tree leaves do vall In the wind a-blowen 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 vaices or their me'th.
There dead ash leaves be a-toss'd In the wind, a-blowen 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 teaeke 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 meaeke woone hour asunder; Woone hour onward, woone hour nigher To the hopeful eastern skies, Where his mornen rim o' vier Soon ageaen shall meet his eyes.
Leaves be now a-scatter'd round In the wind, a-blowen bleaker, An' if we do walk the ground Wi' our life-strangth woone year weaker. Woone year weaker, woone year nigher To the pleaece where we shall vind Woone that's deathless vor the dier, Voremost they that dropp'd behind.
O Lizzie is so mild o' mind, Vor ever kind, an' ever true; A-smilen, while her lids do rise To show her eyes as bright as dew. An' comely do she look at night, A-dancen in her skirt o' white, An' blushen wi' a rwose o' red Bezide her glossy head.
Feaeir is the rwose o' blushen hue, Behung wi' dew, in mornen's hour, Feaeir is the rwose, so sweet below The noontide glow, bezide the bow'r. Vull feaeir, an' eet I'd rather zee The rwose a-gather'd off the tree, An' bloomen 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 weanen life, Or maid or wife, be loved and blest. Though I mid never zing anew To neaeme the maid so feaeir an' true, A-blushen, wi' a rwose o' red, Bezide her glossy head.
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 beaeten rock, I still do seem to hear the sound O' weaeves that drove me vrom my track, An' zee my strugglen hopes a-drown'd, An' all my jays a-floated back. By storms a-toss'd, I'll gi'e God praise, Wi' much a-lost I still ha' jays. My peace is rest, my faith is hope, An' freedom's my unbounded scope.
Vor faith 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 blessens now a-left. What e'th do own, to e'th mid vall, But what's my own my own I'll call, My faith, an' peaece, the gifts o' greaece, An' freedom still to shift my pleaece.
When I've a-had a tree to screen My meal-rest vrom the high zunn'd-sky, Or ivy-holden wall between My head an' win's a-rustlen by, I had noo call vor han's to bring Their seaev'ry dainties at my nod, But stoop'd a-drinken vrom the spring, An' took my meal, wi' thanks to God, Wi' faith to keep me free o' dread, An' peaece to sleep wi' steadvast head, An' freedom's hands, an' veet unbound To woone man's work, or woone seaeme ground.
The gather'd clouds, a-hangen low, Do meaeke the woody ridge look dim; An' rain-vill'd streams do brisker flow, Arisen 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 mornen winds a-blowen keen; When they wer green the moss wer dead, Now they be dead the moss is green. Low the evenen zun do sheen By the boughs, Where the cows do swing their tails Over the merry milkers' pails.
Now the yollow zun, a-runnen Daily round a smaller bow, Still wi' cloudless sky's a-zunnen All the sheenen land below. Vewer blossoms now do blow, But the fruit's a-showen Reds an' blues, an' purple hues, By the leaves a-glowen.
Now the childern be a-pryen Roun' the berried bremble-bow, Zome a-laughen, woone a-cryen Vor the slent her frock do show. Bwoys be out a-pullen low Slooe-boughs, or a-runnen Where, on zides of hazzle-wrides, Nuts do hang a-zunnen.
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 Bloomen balls below em, That shall hide, on ev'ry zide Ground where we do drow em.
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' maid. But rwose-trees down along the wall, That then wer all the maiden's ceaere, An' all a-trimm'd an' train'd, did bear Their bloomen 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 play to beaet em down. An' where vor years zome busy hand Did train 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-swayen wi' low-ruslen 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-meaede vast, Wer the childern's light swing, a-hung low, An' a-rock'd by the brisk-blowen 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-sheaeken the flow'rs, Aye, the blast the feaeir buds on the ground.
Oh! the moon, wi' his peaele 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 air is a-warm'd by the zun, Aye, the win' by the day's vi'ry wheel.
THE CHILD'S GREAeVE.
Avore the time when zuns went down On zummer's green a-turn'd to brown, When sheaedes o' swayen wheat-eaers vell Upon the scarlet pimpernel; The while you still mid goo, an' vind 'Ithin the geaerden's mossy wall, Sweet blossoms, low or risen tall, To meaeke a tutty to your mind, In churchyard heav'd, wi' grassy breast, The greaeve-mound ov a beaeby's rest.
An' when a high day broke, to call A throng 'ithin the churchyard wall, The mother brought, wi' thoughtvul mind, The feaeirest buds her eyes could vind, To trim the little greaeve, an' show To other souls her love an' loss, An' meaede a Seaevior's little cross O' brightest flow'rs that then did blow, A-droppen tears a-sheenen bright, Among the dew, in mornen light
An' woone sweet bud her han' did pleaece Up where did droop the Seaevior's feaece; An' two she zet a-bloomen bright, Where reach'd His hands o' left an' right; Two mwore feaeir blossoms, crimson dyed, Did mark the pleaeces ov his veet, An' woone did lie, a-smellen sweet, Up where the spear did wound the zide Ov Him that is the life ov all Greaeve sleepers, whether big or small.
The mother that in faith could zee The Seaevior on the high cross tree Mid be a-vound a-grieven sore, But not to grieve vor evermwore, Vor He shall show her faithvul mind, His chaice is all that she should choose, An' love that here do grieve to lose, Shall be, above, a jay 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' meaeds did lie, a grassy bed, Vor elem-sheaeden light. The milkmaid by her white-horn'd cow, Wi' pail so white as snow, Did zing below the elem bough A-swayen to an' fro.
An' there the evenen's low-shot light Did smite the high tree-tops, An' rabbits vrom the grass, in fright, Did leaep 'ithin the copse. An' there the shepherd wi' his crook. An' dog bezide his knee, Went whisslen by, in air that shook The ivy on the tree.
An' on the hill, ahead, wer bars A-showen dark on high, Avore, as eet, the evenen stars Did twinkle in the sky, An' then the last sweet evenen-tide That my long sheaede vell there, I went down Brindon's thymy zide, To my last sleep at Ware.
THE FANCY FEAeIR AT MAIDEN NEWTON.
The Frome, wi' ever-water'd brink, Do run where shelven hills do zink Wi' housen all a-cluster'd roun' The parish tow'rs below the down. An' now, vor woonce, at leaest, ov all The pleaecen 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 Feaeir Is on at Maiden Newton.
An' vo'k, a-smarten'd up, wull hop Out here, as ev'ry train do stop, Vrom up the line, a longish ride, An' down along the river-zide. An' zome do beaet, wi' heels an' tooes, The leaenes an' paths, in nimble shoes, An' bring, bezides, a biggish knot, Ov all their childern that can trot, A-vlocken where the Fancy Feaeir Is here at Maiden 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 Feaeir Is on at Maiden Newton.
Come, young men, come, an' here you'll vind A gift to please a maiden's mind; Come, husbands, here be gifts to please Your wives, an' meaeke em smile vor days; Come, so's, an' buy at Fancy Feaeir A keepseaeke vor your friends elsewhere; You can't but stop an' spend a cwein Wi' leaedies that ha' goods so fine; An' all to meake, vor childern's seaeke, The School at Maiden Newton.
THINGS DO COME ROUND.
Above the leafless hazzle-wride The wind-drove rain did quickly vall, An' on the meaeple's ribby zide Did hang the rain-drops quiv'ren ball; Out where the brook o' foamy yollow Roll'd along the meaed's deep hollow, An' noo birds wer out to beaet, Wi' flappen wings, the vleen wet O' zunless clouds on flow'rless ground. How time do bring the seasons round!
The moss, a-beaet vrom trees, did lie Upon the ground in ashen droves, An' western wind did huffle high, Above the sheds' quick-drippen oves. An' where the ruslen straw did sound So dry, a-shelter'd in the lew, I staied 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 play, did seem In work o' men to teaeke a peaert, A-dreven on our wild bwoy team, Or lwoaden 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 jays a-lost, an' jays 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 play the merry geaeme, Wi' childern ev'ry holitide, But coulden tell the vaice or neaeme 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 pleaece, A husband to a wife's true vow, I never thought by neaeme or feaece O' childern that be round me now. An' now they all do grow vrom small, Drough life's feaeir sheaepes to big an' tall, I still be blind to God's good plan, To pleaece em out as wife, or man. O thread o' love by God unwound, How He in time do bring things round;