SECOND COLLECTION.

The primrwose in the sheäde do blow, The cowslip in the zun, The thyme upon the down do grow, The clote where streams do run; An' where do pretty maïdens grow An' blow, but where the tow'r Do rise among the bricken tuns, In Blackmwore by the Stour. If you could zee their comely gaït, An' prettÿ feäces' smiles, A-trippèn on so light o' waïght, An' steppèn off the stiles; A-gwaïn to church, as bells do swing An' ring 'ithin the tow'r, You'd own the pretty maïdens' pleäce Is Blackmwore by the Stour. If you vrom Wimborne took your road, To Stower or Paladore, An' all the farmers' housen show'd Their daughters at the door; You'd cry to bachelors at hwome— "Here, come: 'ithin an hour You'll vind ten maïdens to your mind, In Blackmwore by the Stour." An' if you look'd 'ithin their door, To zee em in their pleäce, [page 186] A-doèn housework up avore Their smilèn mother's feäce; You'd cry—"Why, if a man would wive An' thrive, 'ithout a dow'r, Then let en look en out a wife In Blackmwore by the Stour." As I upon my road did pass A school-house back in Maÿ, There out upon the beäten grass Wer maïdens at their plaÿ; An' as the pretty souls did tweil An' smile, I cried, "The flow'r O' beauty, then, is still in bud In Blackmwore by the Stour."

'Ithin the woodlands, flow'ry gleäded, By the woak tree's mossy moot, The sheenèn grass-bleädes, timber-sheäded, Now do quiver under voot; An' birds do whissle over head, An' water's bubblèn in its bed, An' there vor me the apple tree Do leän down low in Linden Lea. When leaves that leätely wer a-springèn Now do feäde 'ithin the copse, An' païnted birds do hush their zingèn Up upon the timber's tops; An' brown-leav'd fruit's a-turnèn red, In cloudless zunsheen, over head, Wi' fruit vor me, the apple tree Do leän down low in Linden Lea. [page 187] Let other vo'k meäke money vaster In the aïr o' dark-room'd towns, I don't dread a peevish meäster; Though noo man do heed my frowns, I be free to goo abrode, Or teäke ageän my hwomeward road To where, vor me, the apple tree Do leän down low in Linden Lea.

At peace day, who but we should goo To Caundle vor an' hour or two: As gaÿ a day as ever broke Above the heads o' Caundle vo'k, Vor peace, a-come vor all, did come To them wi' two new friends at hwome. Zoo while we kept, wi' nimble peäce, The wold dun tow'r avore our feäce, The aïr, at last, begun to come Wi' drubbèns ov a beäten drum; An' then we heärd the horns' loud droats Plaÿ off a tuen's upper notes; An' then ageän a-risèn cheärm Vrom tongues o' people in a zwarm: An' zoo, at last, we stood among The merry feäces o' the drong. An' there, wi' garlands all a-tied In wreaths an' bows on every zide, An' color'd flags, a fluttrèn high An' bright avore the sheenèn sky, The very guide-post wer a-drest Wi' posies on his eärms an' breast. At last, the vo'k zwarm'd in by scores [page 188] An' hundreds droo the high barn-doors, To dine on English feäre, in ranks, A-zot on chairs, or stools, or planks, By bwoards a-reachèn, row an' row, Wi' cloths so white as driven snow. An' while they took, wi' merry cheer, Their pleäces at the meat an' beer, The band did blow an' beät aloud Their merry tuèns to the crowd; An' slowly-zwingèn flags did spread Their hangèn colors over head. An' then the vo'k, wi' jaÿ an' pride, Stood up in stillness, zide by zide, Wi' downcast heads, the while their friend Rose up avore the teäble's end, An' zaid a timely greäce, an' blest The welcome meat to every guest. An' then arose a mingled naïse O' knives an' pleätes, an' cups an' traÿs, An' tongues wi' merry tongues a-drown'd Below a deaf'nèn storm o' sound. An' zoo, at last, their worthy host Stood up to gi'e em all a twoast, That they did drink, wi' shouts o' glee, An' whirlèn eärms to dree times dree. An' when the bwoards at last wer beäre Ov all the cloths an' goodly feäre, An' froth noo longer rose to zwim Within the beer-mugs sheenèn rim, The vo'k, a-streamèn drough the door, Went out to geämes they had in store An' on the blue-reäv'd waggon's bed, Above his vower wheels o' red, Musicians zot in rows, an' plaÿ'd Their tuèns up to chap an' maïd, That beät, wi' plaÿsome tooes an' heels, [page 189] The level ground in nimble reels. An' zome ageän, a-zet in line, An' startèn at a given sign, Wi' outreach'd breast, a-breathèn quick Droo op'nèn lips, did nearly kick Their polls, a-runnèn sich a peäce, Wi' streamèn heäir, to win the reäce. An' in the house, an' on the green, An' in the shrubb'ry's leafy screen, On ev'ry zide we met sich lots O' smilèn friends in happy knots, That I do think, that drough the feäst In Caundle, vor a day at leäst, You woudden vind a scowlèn feäce Or dumpy heart in all the pleäce.

A. Back here, but now, the jobber John Come by, an' cried, "Well done, zing on, I thought as I come down the hill, An' heärd your zongs a-ringèn sh'ill, Who woudden like to come, an' fling A peäir o' prongs where you did zing?" J. Aye, aye, he woudden vind it plaÿ, To work all day a-meäkèn haÿ, Or pitchèn o't, to eärms a-spread By lwoaders, yards above his head, 'T'ud meäke en wipe his drippèn brow. A. Or else a-reäken after plow. J. Or workèn, wi' his nimble pick, A-stiffled wi' the haÿ, at rick. [page 190] A. Our Company would suit en best, When we do teäke our bit o' rest, At nunch, a-gather'd here below The sheäde theäse wide-bough'd woak do drow, Where hissèn froth mid rise, an' float In horns o' eäle, to wet his droat. J. Aye, if his zwellèn han' could drag A meat-slice vrom his dinner bag. 'T'ud meäke the busy little chap Look rather glum, to zee his lap Wi' all his meal ov woone dry croust, An' vinny cheese so dry as doust. A. Well, I don't grumble at my food, 'Tis wholesome, John, an' zoo 'tis good. J. Whose reäke is that a-lyèn there? Do look a bit the woo'se vor wear. A. Oh! I mus' get the man to meäke A tooth or two vor thik wold reäke, 'Tis leäbour lost to strik a stroke Wi' him, wi' half his teeth a-broke. J. I should ha' thought your han' too fine To break your reäke, if I broke mine. A. The ramsclaws thin'd his wooden gum O' two teeth here, an' here were zome That broke when I did reäke a patch O' groun' wi' Jimmy, vor a match: An' here's a gap ov woone or two A-broke by Simon's clumsy shoe, An' when I gi'ed his poll a poke, Vor better luck, another broke. In what a veag have you a-swung Your pick, though, John? His stem's a-sprung. [page 191] J. When I an' Simon had a het O' pookèn, yonder, vor a bet, The prongs o'n gi'ed a tump a poke, An' then I vound the stem a-broke, Bût they do meäke the stems o' picks O' stuff so brittle as a kicks. A. There's poor wold Jeäne, wi' wrinkled skin, A-tellèn, wi' her peakèd chin, Zome teäle ov her young days, poor soul. Do meäke the young-woones smile. 'Tis droll. What is it? Stop, an' let's goo near. I do like theäse wold teäles. Let's hear.

The snow-white clouds did float on high In shoals avore the sheenèn sky, An' runnèn weäves in pon' did cheäse Each other on the water's feäce, As hufflèn win' did blow between The new-leav'd boughs o' sheenèn green. An' there, the while I walked along The path, drough leäze, above the drong, A little maïd, wi' bloomèn feäce, Went on up hill wi' nimble peäce, A-leänèn to the right-han' zide, To car a basket that did ride, A-hangèn down, wi' all his heft, Upon her elbow at her left. An' yet she hardly seem'd to bruise The grass-bleädes wi' her tiny shoes, That pass'd each other, left an' right. In steps a'most too quick vor zight. But she'd a-left her mother's door A-bearèn vrom her little store [page 192] Her father's welcome bit o' food, Where he wer out at work in wood; An' she wer bless'd wi' mwore than zwome— A father out, an' mother hwome. An' there, a-vell'd 'ithin the copse, Below the timber's new-leav'd tops, Wer ashèn poles, a-castèn straïght, On primrwose beds, their langthy waïght; Below the yollow light, a-shed Drough boughs upon the vi'let's head, By climèn ivy, that did reach, A sheenèn roun' the dead-leav'd beech. An' there her father zot, an' meäde His hwomely meal bezide a gleäde; While she, a-croopèn down to ground, Did pull the flowers, where she vound The droopèn vi'let out in blooth, Or yollow primrwose in the lewth, That she mid car em proudly back, An' zet em on her mother's tack; Vor she wer bless'd wi' mwore than zwome— A father out, an' mother hwome. A father out, an' mother hwome, Be blessèns soon a-lost by zome; A-lost by me, an' zoo I pray'd They mid be speär'd the little maïd.

A. A plague! theäse cow wont stand a bit, Noo sooner do she zee me zit Ageän her, than she's in a trot, A-runnèn to zome other spot. [page 193] J. Why 'tis the dog do sceäre the cow, He worried her a-vield benow. A. Goo in, Ah! Liplap, where's your taïl! J. He's off, then up athirt the raïl. Your cow there, Anne's a-come to hand A goodish milcher. A. If she'd stand, But then she'll steäre an' start wi' fright To zee a dumbledore in flight. Last week she het the païl a flought, An' flung my meal o' milk half out. J. Ha! Ha! But Anny, here, what lout Broke half your small païl's bottom out? A. What lout indeed! What, do ye own The neäme? What dropp'd en on a stwone? J. Hee! Hee! Well now he's out o' trim Wi' only half a bottom to en; Could you still vill en' to the brim An' yit not let the milk run drough en? A. Aye, as for nonsense, Joe, your head Do hold it all so tight's a blather, But if 'tis any good, do shed It all so leäky as a lather. Could you vill païls 'ithout a bottom, Yourself that be so deeply skill'd? J. Well, ees, I could, if I'd a-got em Inside o' bigger woones a-vill'd. A. La! that is zome'hat vor to hatch! Here answer me theäse little catch. Down under water an' o' top o't I went, an' didden touch a drop o't, [page 194] J. Not when at mowèn time I took An' pull'd ye out o' Longmeäd brook, Where you'd a-slidder'd down the edge An' zunk knee-deep bezide the zedge, A-tryèn to reäke out a clote. A. Aye I do hear your chucklèn droat When I athirt the brudge did bring Zome water on my head vrom spring. Then under water an' o' top o't, Wer I an' didden touch a drop o't. J. O Lauk! What thik wold riddle still, Why that's as wold as Duncliffe Hill; "A two-lagg'd thing do run avore An' run behind a man, An' never run upon his lags Though on his lags do stan'. What's that? I don't think you do know. There idden sich a thing to show. Not know? Why yonder by the stall 'S a wheel-barrow bezide the wall, Don't he stand on his lags so trim, An' run on nothèn but his wheels wold rim. A. There's horn vor Goodman's eye-zight seäke; There's horn vor Goodman's mouth to teäke; There's horn vor Goodman's ears, as well As horn vor Goodman's nose to smell— What horns be they, then? Do your hat Hold wit enough to tell us that? J. Oh! horns! but no, I'll tell ye what, My cow is hornless, an' she's knot. A. Horn vor the mouth's a hornèn cup. [page 195] J. An' eäle's good stuff to vill en up. A. An' horn vor eyes is horn vor light, Vrom Goodman's lantern after night; Horn vor the ears is woone to sound Vor hunters out wi' ho'se an' hound; But horn that vo'k do buy to smell o' Is hart's-horn. J. Is it? What d'ye tell o' How proud we be, vor ben't we smart? Aye, horn is horn, an' hart is hart. Well here then, Anne, while we be at it, 'S a ball vor you if you can bat it. On dree-lags, two-lags, by the zide O' vower-lags, woonce did zit wi' pride, When vower-lags, that velt a prick, Vrom zix-lags, het two lags a kick. An' two an' dree-lags vell, all vive, Slap down, zome dead an' zome alive. A. Teeh! heeh! what have ye now then, Joe, At last, to meäke a riddle o'? J. Your dree-lagg'd stool woone night did bear Up you a milkèn wi' a peäir; An' there a zix-lagg'd stout did prick Your vow'r-lagg'd cow, an meäke her kick, A-hettèn, wi' a pretty pat, Your stool an' you so flat's a mat. You scrambled up a little dirty, But I do hope it didden hurt ye. A. You hope, indeed! a likely ceäse, Wi' thik broad grin athirt your feäce You saucy good-vor-nothèn chap, I'll gi'e your grinnèn feäce a slap, Your drawlèn tongue can only run To turn a body into fun. [page 196] J. Oh! I woont do 't ageän. Oh dear! Till next time, Anny. Oh my ear! Oh! Anne, why you've a-het my hat 'Ithin the milk, now look at that. A. Do sar ye right, then, I don't ceäre. I'll thump your noddle,—there—there—there.

And oh! the jaÿ our rest did yield, At evenèn by the mossy wall, When we'd a-work'd all day a-vield, While zummer zuns did rise an' vall; As there a-lettèn Goo all frettèn, An' vorgettèn all our tweils, We zot among our childern's smiles. An' under skies that glitter'd white, The while our smoke, arisèn blue, Did melt in aiër, out o' zight, Above the trees that kept us lew; Wer birds a-zingèn, Tongues a-ringèn, Childern springèn, vull o' jaÿ, A-finishèn the day in plaÿ. An' back behind, a-stannèn tall, The cliff did sheen to western light; An' while avore the water-vall, A-rottlèn loud, an' foamèn white. The leaves did quiver, Gnots did whiver, By the river, where the pool, In evenèn aïr did glissen cool. [page 197] An' childern there, a-runnèn wide, Did plaÿ their geämes along the grove, Vor though to us 'twer jaÿ to bide At rest, to them 'twer jaÿ to move. The while my smilèn Jeäne, beguilèn, All my tweilèn, wi' her ceäre, Did call me to my evenèn feäre.

A Maÿtide's evenèn wer a-dyèn, Under moonsheen, into night, Wi' a streamèn wind a-sighèn By the thorns a-bloomèn white. Where in sheäde, a-zinkèn deeply, Wer a nook, all dark but lew, By a bank, arisèn steeply, Not to let the win' come drough. Should my love goo out, a-showèn All her smiles, in open light; Or, in lewth, wi' wind a-blowèn, Staÿ in darkness, dim to zight? Staÿ in sheäde o' bank or wallèn, In the warmth, if not in light; Words alwone vrom her a-vallèn, Would be jaÿ vor all the night.

(1) Well, here we be, then, wi' the vu'st poor lwoad O' vuzz we brought, a-stoodèd in the road. [page 198] (2) The road, George, no. There's na'r a road. That's wrong. If we'd a road, we mid ha' got along. (1) Noo road! Ees 'tis, the road that we do goo. (2) Do goo, George, no. The pleäce we can't get drough. (1) Well, there, the vu'st lwoad we've a-haul'd to day Is here a-stoodèd in theäse bed o' clay. Here's rotten groun'! an' how the wheels do cut! The little woone's a-zunk up to the nut. (3) An' yeet this rotten groun' don't reach a lug. (1) Well, come, then, gi'e the plow another tug. (2) They meäres wull never pull the waggon out, A-lwoaded, an' a-stoodèd in thik rout. (3) We'll try. Come, Smiler, come! C'up, Whitevoot, gee! (2) White-voot wi' lags all over mud! Hee! Hee! (3) 'Twoon't wag. We shall but snap our gear, An' overstraïn the meäres. 'Twoon't wag, 'tis clear. (1) That's your work, William. No, in coo'se, 'twoon't wag. Why did ye drēve en into theäse here quag? The vore-wheels be a-zunk above the nuts. (3) What then? I coulden leäve the beäten track, To turn the waggon over on the back Ov woone o' theäsem wheel-high emmet-butts. If you be sich a drēver, an' do know't, You drēve the plow, then; but you'll overdrow 't. (1) I drēve the plow, indeed! Oh! ees, what, now The wheels woont wag, then, I mid drēve the plow! We'd better dig away the groun' below The wheels. (2) There's na'r a speäde to dig wi'. (1) An' teäke an' cut a lock o' frith, an' drow Upon the clay. (2) Nor hook to cut a twig wi'. [page 199] (1) Oh! here's a bwoy a-comèn. Here, my lad, Dost know vor a'r a speäde, that can be had? (B) At father's. (1) Well, where's that? (Bwoy) At Sam'el Riddick's. (1) Well run, an' ax vor woone. Fling up your heels, An' mind: a speäde to dig out theäsem wheels, An' hook to cut a little lock o' widdicks. (3) Why, we shall want zix ho'ses, or a dozen, To pull the waggon out, wi' all theäse vuzzen. (1) Well, we mus' lighten en; come, Jeämes, then, hop Upon the lwoad, an' jus' fling off the top. (2) If I can clim' en; but 'tis my consaït, That I shall overzet en wi' my waïght. (1) You overzet en! No, Jeämes, he won't vall, The lwoad's a-built so firm as any wall. (2) Here! lend a hand or shoulder vor my knee Or voot. I'll scramble to the top an' zee What I can do. Well, here I be, among The fakkets, vor a bit, but not vor long. Heigh, George! Ha! ha! Why this wull never stand. Your firm 's a wall, is all so loose as zand; 'Tis all a-come to pieces. Oh! Teäke ceäre! Ho! I'm a-vallèn, vuzz an' all! Haë! There! (1) Lo'k there, thik fellor is a-vell lik' lead, An' half the fuzzen wi 'n, heels over head! There's all the vuzz a-lyèn lik' a staddle, An' he a-deäb'd wi' mud. Oh! Here's a caddle! (3) An' zoo you soon got down zome vuzzen, Jimmy. (2) Ees, I do know 'tis down. I brought it wi' me. (3) Your lwoad, George, wer a rather slick-built thing, But there, 'twer prickly vor the hands! Did sting? [page 200] (1) Oh! ees, d'ye teäke me vor a nincompoop, No, no. The lwoad wer up so firm's a rock, But two o' theäsem emmet-butts would knock The tightest barrel nearly out o' hoop. (3) Oh! now then, here 's the bwoy a-bringèn back The speäde. Well done, my man. That idder slack. (2) Well done, my lad, sha't have a ho'se to ride When thou'st a meäre. (Bwoy) Next never's-tide. (3) Now let's dig out a spit or two O' clay, a-vore the little wheels; Oh! so's, I can't pull up my heels, I be a-stogg'd up over shoe. (1) Come, William, dig away! Why you do spuddle A'most so weak's a child. How you do muddle! Gi'e me the speäde a-bit. A pig would rout It out a'most so nimbly wi' his snout. (3) Oh! so's, d'ye hear it, then. How we can thunder! How big we be, then George! what next I wonder? (1) Now, William, gi'e the waggon woone mwore twitch, The wheels be free, an' 'tis a lighter nitch. (3) Come, Smiler, gee! C'up, White-voot. (1) That wull do. (2) Do wag. (1) Do goo at last. (3) Well done. 'Tis drough. (1) Now, William, till you have mwore ho'ses' lags, Don't drēve the waggon into theäsem quags. (3) You build your lwoads up tight enough to ride. (1) I can't do less, d'ye know, wi' you vor guide.

While zuns do roll vrom east to west To bring us work, or leäve us rest, There down below the steep hill-zide, Drough time an' tide, the spring do flow; An' mothers there, vor years a-gone, Lik' daughters now a-comèn on, To bloom when they be weak an' wan, Went down the steps vor water. An' what do yonder ringers tell A-ringèn changes, bell by bell; Or what's a-show'd by yonder zight O' vo'k in white, upon the road, But that by John o' Woodleys zide, There's now a-blushèn vor his bride, A pretty maïd that vu'st he spied, Gwaïn down the steps vor water. Though she, 'tis true, is feäir an' kind, There still be mwore a-left behind; So cleän 's the light the zun do gi'e, So sprack 's a bee when zummer's bright; An' if I've luck, I woont be slow To teäke off woone that I do know, A-trippèn gaïly to an' fro, Upon the steps vor water. Her father idden poor—but vew In parish be so well to do; Vor his own cows do swing their taïls Behind his païls, below his boughs: An' then ageän to win my love, Why, she's as hwomely as a dove, An' don't hold up herzelf above Gwaïn down the steps vor water. [page 202] Gwaïn down the steps vor water! No! How handsome it do meäke her grow. If she'd be straïght, or walk abrode, To tread her road wi' comely gaït, She coulden do a better thing To zet herzelf upright, than bring Her pitcher on her head, vrom spring Upon the steps, wi' water. No! don't ye neäme in woone seäme breath Wi' bachelors, the husband's he'th; The happy pleäce, where vingers thin Do pull woone's chin, or pat woone's feäce. But still the bleäme is their's, to slight Their happiness, wi' such a zight O' maïdens, mornèn, noon, an' night, A-gwaïn down steps vor water.

Noo soul did hear her lips complaïn, An' she's a-gone vrom all her païn, An' others' loss to her is gaïn For she do live in heaven's love; Vull many a longsome day an' week She bore her aïlèn, still, an' meek; A-workèn while her strangth held on, An' guidèn housework, when 'twer gone. Vor Ellen Brine ov Allenburn, Oh! there be souls to murn. The last time I'd a-cast my zight Upon her feäce, a-feäded white, Wer in a zummer's mornèn light In hall avore the smwold'rèn vier, The while the childern beät the vloor, [page 203] In plaÿ, wi' tiny shoes they wore, An' call'd their mother's eyes to view The feät's their little limbs could do. Oh! Ellen Brine ov Allenburn, They childern now mus' murn. Then woone, a-stoppèn vrom his reäce, Went up, an' on her knee did pleäce His hand, a-lookèn in her feäce, An' wi' a smilèn mouth so small, He zaid, "You promised us to goo To Shroton feäir, an' teäke us two!" She heärd it wi' her two white ears, An' in her eyes there sprung two tears, Vor Ellen Brine ov Allenburn Did veel that they mus' murn. September come, wi' Shroton feäir, But Ellen Brine wer never there! A heavy heart wer on the meäre Their father rod his hwomeward road. 'Tis true he brought zome feärèns back, Vor them two childern all in black; But they had now, wi' plaÿthings new, Noo mother vor to shew em to, Vor Ellen Brine ov Allenburn Would never mwore return.

The zun'd a-zet back tother night, But in the zettèn pleäce The clouds, a-redden'd by his light, Still glow'd avore my feäce. An' I've a-lost my Meäry's smile, I thought; but still I have her chile, [page 204] Zoo like her, that my eyes can treäce The mother's in her daughter's feäce. O little feäce so near to me, An' like thy mother's gone; why need I zay Sweet night cloud, wi' the glow o' my lost day, Thy looks be always dear to me. The zun'd a-zet another night; But, by the moon on high, He still did zend us back his light Below a cwolder sky. My Meäry's in a better land I thought, but still her chile's at hand, An' in her chile she'll zend me on Her love, though she herzelf's a-gone. O little chile so near to me, An' like thy mother gone; why need I zay, Sweet moon, the messenger vrom my lost day, Thy looks be always dear to me.

An' then we went along the gleädes O' zunny turf, in quiv'rèn sheädes, A-windèn off, vrom hand to hand, Along a path o' yollow zand, An' clomb a stickle slope, an' vound An open patch o' lofty ground, Up where a steätely tow'r did spring, So high as highest larks do zing. "Oh! Meäster Collins," then I zaid, A-lookèn up wi' back-flung head; Vor who but he, so mild o' feäce, Should teäke me there to zee the pleäce. [page 205] "What is it then theäse tower do meän, A-built so feäir, an' kept so cleän?" "Ah! me," he zaid, wi' thoughtvul feäce, "'Twer grief that zet theäse tower in pleäce. The squier's e'thly life's a-blest Wi' gifts that mwost do teäke vor best; The lofty-pinion'd rufs do rise To screen his head vrom stormy skies; His land's a-spreadèn roun' his hall, An' hands do leäbor at his call; The while the ho'se do fling, wi' pride, His lofty head where he do guide; But still his e'thly jaÿ's a-vled, His woone true friend, his wife, is dead. Zoo now her happy soul's a-gone, An' he in grief's a-ling'rèn on, Do do his heart zome good to show His love to flesh an' blood below. An' zoo he rear'd, wi' smitten soul, Theäse Leädy's Tower upon the knowl. An' there you'll zee the tow'r do spring Twice ten veet up, as roun's a ring, Wi' pillars under mwolded eäves, Above their heads a-carv'd wi' leaves; An' have to peäce, a-walkèn round His voot, a hunderd veet o' ground. An' there, above his upper wall, A roundèd tow'r do spring so tall 'S a springèn arrow shot upright, A hunderd giddy veet in height. An' if you'd like to straïn your knees A-climèn up above the trees, To zee, wi' slowly wheelèn feäce, The vur-sky'd land about the pleäce, You'll have a flight o' steps to wear Vor forty veet, up steäir by steäir, [page 206] That roun' the risèn tow'r do wind, Like withwind roun' the saplèn's rind, An' reach a landèn, wi' a seat, To rest at last your weary veet, 'Ithin a breast be-screenèn wall, To keep ye vrom a longsome vall. An' roun' the windèn steäirs do spring Aïght stwonèn pillars in a ring, A-reachèn up their heavy strangth Drough forty veet o' slender langth, To end wi' carvèd heads below The broad-vloor'd landèn's aïry bow. Aïght zides, as you do zee, do bound The lower buildèn on the ground, An' there in woone, a two-leav'd door Do zwing above the marble vloor: An' aÿe, as luck do zoo betide Our comèn, wi' can goo inside. The door is oben now. An' zoo The keeper kindly let us drough. There as we softly trod the vloor O' marble stwone, 'ithin the door, The echoes ov our vootsteps vled Out roun' the wall, and over head; An' there a-païnted, zide by zide, In memory o' the squier's bride, In zeven païntèns, true to life, Wer zeven zights o' wedded life." Then Meäster Collins twold me all The teäles a-païntèd roun' the wall; An' vu'st the bride did stan' to plight Her weddèn vow, below the light A-shootèn down, so bright's a fleäme, In drough a churches window freäme. [page 207] An' near the bride, on either hand, You'd zee her comely bridemaïds stand, Wi' eyelashes a-bent in streäks O' brown above their bloomèn cheäks: An' sheenèn feäir, in mellow light, Wi' flowèn heäir, an' frocks o' white. "An' here," good Meäster Collins cried, "You'll zee a creädle at her zide, An' there's her child, a-lyèn deep 'Ithin it, an' a-gone to sleep, Wi' little eyelashes a-met In fellow streäks, as black as jet; The while her needle, over head, Do nimbly leäd the snow-white thread, To zew a robe her love do meäke Wi' happy leäbor vor his seäke. "An' here a-geän's another pleäce, Where she do zit wi' smilèn feäce, An' while her bwoy do leän, wi' pride, Ageän her lap, below her zide, Her vinger tip do leäd his look To zome good words o' God's own book. "An' next you'll zee her in her pleäce, Avore her happy husband's feäce, As he do zit, at evenèn-tide, A-restèn by the vier-zide. An' there the childern's heads do rise Wi' laughèn lips, an' beamèn eyes, Above the bwoard, where she do lay Her sheenèn tacklèn, wi' the tea. "An' here another zide do show Her vinger in her scizzars' bow [page 208] Avore two daughters, that do stand, Wi' leärnsome minds, to watch her hand A-sheäpèn out, wi' skill an' ceäre, A frock vor them to zew an' wear. "Then next you'll zee her bend her head Above her aïlèn husband's bed, A-fannèn, wi' an inward praÿ'r, His burnèn brow wi' beäten aïr; The while the clock, by candle light, Do show that 'tis the dead o' night. "An' here ageän upon the wall, Where we do zee her last ov all, Her husband's head's a-hangèn low, 'Ithin his hands in deepest woe. An' she, an angel ov his God, Do cheer his soul below the rod, A-liftèn up her han' to call His eyes to writèn on the wall, As white as is her spotless robe, 'Hast thou rememberèd my servant Job?' "An' zoo the squier, in grief o' soul, Built up the Tower upon the knowl."

Let en zit, wi' his dog an' his cat, Wi' their noses a-turn'd to the vier, An' have all that a man should desire; But there idden much reädship in that. Whether vo'k mid have childern or no, Wou'dden meäke mighty odds in the maïn; They do bring us mwore jaÿ wi' mwore ho, An' wi' nwone we've less jaÿ wi' less païn [page 209] We be all lik' a zull's idle sheäre out, An' shall rust out, unless we do wear out, Lik' do-nothèn, rue-nothèn, Dead alive dumps. As vor me, why my life idden bound To my own heart alwone, among men; I do live in myzelf, an' ageän In the lives o' my childern all round: I do live wi' my bwoy in his plaÿ, An' ageän wi' my maïd in her zongs; An' my heart is a-stirr'd wi' their jaÿ, An' would burn at the zight o' their wrongs. I ha' nine lives, an' zoo if a half O'm do cry, why the rest o'm mid laugh All so plaÿvully, jaÿvully, Happy wi' hope. Tother night I come hwome a long road, When the weather did sting an' did vreeze; An' the snow—vor the day had a-snow'd— Wer avroze on the boughs o' the trees; An' my tooes an' my vingers wer num', An' my veet wer so lumpy as logs, An' my ears wer so red's a cock's cwom'; An' my nose wer so cwold as a dog's; But so soon's I got hwome I vorgot Where my limbs wer a-cwold or wer hot, When wi' loud cries an' proud cries They coll'd me so cwold. Vor the vu'st that I happen'd to meet Come to pull my girtcwoat vrom my eärm, An' another did rub my feäce warm, An' another hot-slipper'd my veet; While their mother did cast on a stick, Vor to keep the red vier alive; [page 210] An' they all come so busy an' thick As the bees vlee-èn into their hive, An' they meäde me so happy an' proud, That my heart could ha' crow'd out a-loud; They did tweil zoo, an' smile zoo, An' coll me so cwold. As I zot wi' my teacup, at rest, There I pull'd out the taÿs I did bring; Men a-kickèn, a-wagg'd wi' a string, An' goggle-ey'd dolls to be drest; An' oh! vrom the childern there sprung Such a charm when they handled their taÿs, That vor pleasure the bigger woones wrung Their two hands at the zight o' their jaÿs; As the bwoys' bigger vaïces vell in Wi' the maïdens a-titterèn thin, An' their dancèn an' prancèn, An' little mouth's laughs. Though 'tis hard stripes to breed em all up, If I'm only a-blest vrom above, They'll meäke me amends wi' their love, Vor their pillow, their pleäte, an' their cup; Though I shall be never a-spweil'd Wi' the sarvice that money can buy; Still the hands ov a wife an' a child Be the blessèns ov low or ov high; An' if there be mouths to be ved, He that zent em can zend me their bread, An' will smile on the chile That's a-new on the knee.

In zummer, when the knaps wer bright In cool-aïr'd evenèn's western light, An' haÿ that had a-dried all day, Did now lie grey, to dewy night; I went, by happy chance, or doom, Vrom Broadwoak Hill, athirt to Coomb, An' met a maïd in all her bloom: The feaïrest maïd o' Newton. She bore a basket that did ride So light, she didden leän azide; Her feäce wer oval, an' she smil'd So sweet's a child, but walk'd wi' pride. I spoke to her, but what I zaid I didden know; wi' thoughts a-vled, I spoke by heart, an' not by head, Avore the maïd o' Newton. I call'd her, oh! I don't know who, 'Twer by a neäme she never knew; An' to the heel she stood upon, She then brought on her hinder shoe, An' stopp'd avore me, where we met, An' wi' a smile woone can't vorget, She zaid, wi' eyes a-zwimmèn wet, "No, I be woone o' Newton." Then on I rambled to the west, Below the zunny hangèn's breast, Where, down athirt the little stream, The brudge's beam did lie at rest: But all the birds, wi' lively glee, [page 212] Did chirp an' hop vrom tree to tree, As if it wer vrom pride, to zee Goo by the maïd o' Newton. By fancy led, at evenèn's glow, I woonce did goo, a-rovèn slow, Down where the elèms, stem by stem, Do stan' to hem the grove below; But after that, my veet vorzook The grove, to seek the little brook At Coomb, where I mid zometimes look, To meet the maïd o' Newton.

Aye, at that time our days wer but vew, An' our lim's wer but small, an' a-growèn; An' then the feäir worold wer new, An' life wer all hopevul an' gaÿ; An' the times o' the sproutèn o' leaves, An' the cheäk-burnèn seasons o' mowèn, An' bindèn o' red-headed sheaves, Wer all welcome seasons o' jaÿ. Then the housen seem'd high, that be low, An' the brook did seem wide that is narrow, An' time, that do vlee, did goo slow, An' veelèns now feeble wer strong, An' our worold did end wi' the neämes Ov the Sha'sbury Hill or Bulbarrow; An' life did seem only the geämes That we plaÿ'd as the days rolled along. Then the rivers, an' high-timber'd lands, An' the zilvery hills, 'ithout buyèn, [page 213] Did seem to come into our hands Vrom others that own'd em avore; An' all zickness, an' sorrow, an' need, Seem'd to die wi' the wold vo'k a-dyèn, An' leäve us vor ever a-freed Vrom evils our vorefathers bore. But happy be childern the while They have elders a-livèn to love em, An' teäke all the wearisome tweil That zome hands or others mus' do; Like the low-headed shrubs that be warm, In the lewth o' the trees up above em, A-screen'd vrom the cwold blowèn storm That the timber avore em must rue.

When mornèn winds, a-blowèn high, Do zweep the clouds vrom all the sky, An' laurel-leaves do glitter bright, The while the newly broken light Do brighten up, avore our view, The vields wi' green, an' hills wi' blue; What then can highten to my eyes The cheerful feäce ov e'th an' skies, But Meäry's smile, o' Morey's Mill, My rwose o' Mowy Lea. An' when, at last, the evenèn dews Do now begin to wet our shoes; An' night's a-ridèn to the west, To stop our work, an' gi'e us rest, Oh! let the candle's ruddy gleäre But brighten up her sheenèn heäir; [page 214] Or else, as she do walk abroad, Let moonlight show, upon the road, My Meäry's smile, o' Morey's Mill, My rwose o' Mowy Lea. An' O! mid never tears come on, To wash her feäce's blushes wan, Nor kill her smiles that now do plaÿ Like sparklèn weäves in zunny Maÿ; But mid she still, vor all she's gone Vrom souls she now do smile upon, Show others they can vind woone jaÿ To turn the hardest work to plaÿ. My Meäry's smile, o' Morey's Mill, My rwose o' Mowy Lea.

The zun can zink, the stars mid rise, An' woods be green to sheenèn skies; The cock mid crow to mornèn light, An' workvo'k zing to vallèn night; The birds mid whissle on the spraÿ, An' childern leäp in merry plaÿ, But our's is now a lifeless pleäce, Vor we've a-lost a smilèn feäce— Young Meäry Meäd o' merry mood, Vor she's a-woo'd an' wedded. The dog that woonce wer glad to bear Her fondlèn vingers down his heäir, Do leän his head ageän the vloor, To watch, wi' heavy eyes, the door; An' men she zent so happy hwome O' Zadurdays, do seem to come [page 215] To door, wi' downcast hearts, to miss Wi' smiles below the clematis, Young Meäry Meäd o' merry mood, Vor she's a-woo'd an' wedded. When they do draw the evenèn blind, An' when the evenèn light's a-tin'd, The cheerless vier do drow a gleäre O' light ageän her empty chair; An' wordless gaps do now meäke thin Their talk where woonce her vaïce come in. Zoo lwonesome is her empty pleäce, An' blest the house that ha' the feäce O' Meäry Meäd, o' merry mood, Now she's a-woo'd and wedded. The day she left her father's he'th, Though sad, wer kept a day o' me'th, An' dry-wheel'd waggons' empty beds Wer left 'ithin the tree-screen'd sheds; An' all the hosses, at their eäse, Went snortèn up the flow'ry leäse, But woone, the smartest for the roäd, That pull'd away the dearest lwoad— Young Meäry Meäd o' merry mood, That wer a-woo'd an' wedded.

Wi' smokeless tuns an' empty halls, An' moss a-clingèn to the walls, In ev'ry wind the lofty tow'rs Do teäke the zun, an' bear the show'rs; An' there, 'ithin a geät a-hung, But vasten'd up, an' never swung, [page 216] Upon the pillar, all alwone, Do stan' the little bwoy o' stwone; 'S a poppy bud mid linger on, Vorseäken, when the wheat's a-gone. An' there, then, wi' his bow let slack, An' little quiver at his back, Drough het an' wet, the little chile Vrom day to day do stan' an' smile. When vu'st the light, a-risèn weak, At break o' day, do smite his cheäk, Or while, at noon, the leafy bough Do cast a sheäde a-thirt his brow, Or when at night the warm-breath'd cows Do sleep by moon-belighted boughs; An' there the while the rooks do bring Their scroff to build their nest in Spring, Or zwallows in the zummer day Do cling their little huts o' clay, 'Ithin the raïnless sheädes, below The steadvast arches' mossy bow. Or when, in Fall, the woak do shed The leaves, a-wither'd, vrom his head, An' western win's, a-blowèn cool, Do dreve em out athirt the pool, Or Winter's clouds do gather dark An' wet, wi' raïn, the elem's bark, You'll zee his pretty smile betwixt His little sheäde-mark'd lips a-fix'd; As there his little sheäpe do bide Drough day an' night, an' time an' tide, An' never change his size or dress, Nor overgrow his prettiness. But, oh! thik child, that we do vind In childhood still, do call to mind A little bwoy a-call'd by death, Long years agoo, vrom our sad he'th; [page 217] An' I, in thought, can zee en dim The seäme in feäce, the seäme in lim', My heäir mid whiten as the snow, My limbs grow weak, my step wear slow, My droopèn head mid slowly vall Above the han'-staff's glossy ball, An' yeet, vor all a wid'nèn span Ov years, mid change a livèn man, My little child do still appear To me wi' all his childhood's gear, 'Ithout a beard upon his chin, 'Ithout a wrinkle in his skin, A-livèn on, a child the seäme In look, an' sheäpe, an' size, an' neäme.

If souls should only sheen so bright In heaven as in e'thly light, An' nothèn better wer the ceäse, How comely still, in sheäpe an' feäce, Would many reach thik happy pleäce,— The hopeful souls that in their prime Ha' seem'd a-took avore their time— The young that died in beauty. But when woone's lim's ha' lost their strangth A-tweilèn drough a lifetime's langth, An' over cheäks a-growèn wold The slowly-weästen years ha' rolled, The deep'nèn wrinkle's hollow vwold; When life is ripe, then death do call Vor less ov thought, than when do vall On young vo'ks in their beauty. [page 218] But pinèn souls, wi' heads a-hung In heavy sorrow vor the young, The sister ov the brother dead, The father wi' a child a-vled, The husband when his bride ha' laid Her head at rest, noo mwore to turn, Have all a-vound the time to murn Vor youth that died in beauty. An' yeet the church, where praÿer do rise Vrom thoughtvul souls, wi' downcast eyes. An' village greens, a-beät half beäre By dancers that do meet, an' weär Such merry looks at feäst an' feäir, Do gather under leàtest skies, Their bloomèn cheäks an' sparklèn eyes, Though young ha' died in beauty. But still the dead shall mwore than keep The beauty ov their eärly sleep; Where comely looks shall never weär Uncomely, under tweil an' ceäre. The feäir at death be always feäir, Still feäir to livers' thought an' love, An' feäirer still to God above, Than when they died in beauty.

Dear Yarrowham, 'twer many miles Vrom thy green meäds that, in my walk, I met a maïd wi' winnèn smiles, That talk'd as vo'k at hwome do talk; An' who at last should she be vound, Ov all the souls the sky do bound, But woone that trod at vu'st thy groun' Fair Emily ov Yarrow Mill. [page 219] But thy wold house an' elmy nook, An' wall-screen'd geärden's mossy zides, Thy grassy meäds an' zedgy brook, An' high-bank'd leänes, wi' sheädy rides, Wer all a-known to me by light Ov eärly days, a-quench'd by night, Avore they met the younger zight Ov Emily ov Yarrow Mill. An' now my heart do leäp to think O' times that I've a-spent in plaÿ, Bezide thy river's rushy brink, Upon a deäizybed o' Maÿ; I lov'd the friends thy land ha' bore, An' I do love the paths they wore, An' I do love thee all the mwore, Vor Emily ov Yarrow Mill. When bright above the e'th below The moon do spread abroad his light, An' aïr o' zummer nights do blow Athirt the vields in plaÿsome flight, 'Tis then delightsome under all The sheädes o' boughs by path or wall, But mwostly thine when they do vall On Emily ov Yarrow Mill.

Aye, aye, the leäne wi' flow'ry zides A-kept so lew, by hazzle-wrides, Wi' beds o' grægles out in bloom, Below the timber's windless gloon An' geäte that I've a-swung, An' rod as he's a-hung, When I wer young, in Woakley Coomb. [page 220] 'Twer there at feäst we all did pass The evenèn on the leänezide grass, Out where the geäte do let us drough, Below the woak-trees in the lew, In merry geämes an' fun That meäde us skip an' run, Wi' burnèn zun, an' sky o' blue. But still there come a scud that drove The titt'rèn maïdens vrom the grove; An' there a-left wer flow'ry mound, 'Ithout a vaïce, 'ithout a sound, Unless the aïr did blow, Drough ruslèn leaves, an' drow, The raïn drops low, upon the ground. I linger'd there an' miss'd the naïse; I linger'd there an' miss'd our jaÿs; I miss'd woone soul beyond the rest; The maïd that I do like the best. Vor where her vaïce is gaÿ An' where her smiles do plaÿ, There's always jaÿ vor ev'ry breast. Vor zome vo'k out abroad ha' me'th, But nwone at hwome bezide the he'th; An' zome ha' smiles vor strangers' view; An' frowns vor kith an' kin to rue; But her sweet vaïce do vall, Wi' kindly words to all, Both big an' small, the whole day drough. An' when the evenèn sky wer peäle, We heärd the warblèn nightèngeäle, A-drawèn out his lwonesome zong, In windèn music down the drong; An' Jenny vrom her he'th, [page 221] Come out, though not in me'th, But held her breath, to hear his zong. Then, while the bird wi' oben bill Did warble on, her vaïce wer still; An' as she stood avore me, bound In stillness to the flow'ry mound, "The bird's a jaÿ to zome," I thought, "but when he's dum, Her vaïce will come, wi' sweeter sound."

'Twer when the vo'k wer out to hawl A vield o' haÿ a day in June, An' when the zun begun to vall Toward the west in afternoon, Woone only wer a-left behind To bide indoors, at hwome, an' mind The house, an' answer vo'k avore The geäte or door,—young Fanny Deäne. The aïr 'ithin the geärden wall Wer deadly still, unless the bee Did hummy by, or in the hall The clock did ring a-hettèn dree, An' there, wi' busy hands, inside The iron ceäsement, oben'd wide, Did zit an' pull wi' nimble twitch Her tiny stitch, young Fanny Deäne. As there she zot she heärd two blows A-knock'd upon the rumblèn door, An' laid azide her work, an' rose, An' walk'd out feäir, athirt the vloor; An' there, a-holdèn in his hand His bridled meäre, a youth did stand, [page 222] An' mildly twold his neäme and pleäce Avore the feäce o' Fanny Deäne. He twold her that he had on hand Zome business on his father's zide, But what she didden understand; An' zoo she ax'd en if he'd ride Out where her father mid be vound, Bezide the plow, in Cowslip Ground; An' there he went, but left his mind Back there behind, wi' Fanny Deäne. An' oh! his hwomeward road wer gaÿ In aïr a-blowèn, whiff by whiff, While sheenèn water-weäves did plaÿ An' boughs did swaÿ above the cliff; Vor Time had now a-show'd en dim The jaÿ it had in store vor him; An' when he went thik road ageän His errand then wer Fanny Deäne. How strangely things be brought about By Providence, noo tongue can tell, She minded house, when vo'k wer out, An' zoo mus' bid the house farewell; The bees mid hum, the clock mid call The lwonesome hours 'ithin the hall, But in behind the woaken door, There's now noo mwore a Fanny Deäne.

A maïd wi' many gifts o' greäce, A maïd wi' ever-smilèn feäce, [page 223] A child o' yours my chilhood's pleäce, O leänèn lawns ov Allen; 'S a-walkèn where your stream do flow, A-blushèn where your flowers do blow, A-smilèn where your zun do glow, O leänèn lawns ov Allen. An' good, however good's a-waïgh'd, 'S the lovely maïd ov Elwell Meäd. An' oh! if I could teäme an' guide The winds above the e'th, an' ride As light as shootèn stars do glide, O leänèn lawns ov Allen, To you I'd teäke my daily flight, Drough dark'nèn aïr in evenèn's light, An' bid her every night "Good night," O leänèn lawns ov Allen. Vor good, however good's a-waïgh'd, 'S the lovely maïd ov Elwell Meäd. An' when your hedges' slooes be blue, By blackberries o' dark'nèn hue, An' spiders' webs behung wi' dew, O leänèn lawns ov Allen Avore the winter aïr's a-chill'd, Avore your winter brook's a-vill'd Avore your zummer flow'rs be kill'd, O leänèn lawns ov Allen; I there would meet, in white arraÿ'd, The lovely maïd ov Elwell Meäd. For when the zun, as birds do rise, Do cast their sheädes vrom autum' skies, A-sparklèn in her dewy eyes, O leänèn lawns ov Allen [page 224] Then all your mossy paths below The trees, wi' leaves a-vallèn slow, Like zinkèn fleäkes o' yollow snow, O leänèn lawns ov Allen. Would be mwore teäkèn where they straÿ'd The lovely maïd ov Elwell Meäd.

Ah! I do think, as I do tread Theäse path, wi' elems overhead, A-climèn slowly up vrom Bridge, By easy steps, to Broadwoak Ridge, That all theäse roads that we do bruise Wi' hosses' shoes, or heavy lwoads; An' hedges' bands, where trees in row Do rise an' grow aroun' the lands, Be works that we've a-vound a-wrought By our vorefathers' ceäre an' thought. They clear'd the groun' vor grass to teäke The pleäce that bore the bremble breäke, An' draïn'd the fen, where water spread, A-lyèn dead, a beäne to men; An' built the mill, where still the wheel Do grind our meal, below the hill; An' turn'd the bridge, wi' arch a-spread, Below a road, vor us to tread. They vound a pleäce, where we mid seek The gifts o' greäce vrom week to week; An' built wi' stwone, upon the hill, A tow'r we still do call our own; With bells to use, an' meäke rejaïce, Wi' giant vaïce, at our good news: [page 225] An' lifted stwones an' beams to keep The raïn an' cwold vrom us asleep. Zoo now mid nwone ov us vorget The pattern our vorefathers zet; But each be fäin to underteäke Some work to meäke vor others' gaïn, That we mid leäve mwore good to sheäre, Less ills to bear, less souls to grieve, An' when our hands do vall to rest, It mid be vrom a work a-blest.

My days, wi' wold vo'k all but gone, An' childern now a-comèn on, Do bring me still my mother's smiles In light that now do show my chile's; An' I've a-sheär'd the wold vo'ks' me'th, Avore the burnèn Chris'mas he'th, At friendly bwoards, where feäce by feäce, Did, year by year, gi'e up its pleäce, An' leäve me here, behind, to tread The ground a-trod by wold vo'k dead. But wold things be a-lost vor new, An' zome do come, while zome do goo: As wither'd beech-tree leaves do cling Among the nesh young buds o' Spring; An' frettèn worms ha' slowly wound, Droo beams the wold vo'k lifted sound, An' trees they planted little slips Ha' stems that noo two eärms can clips; An' grey an' yollow moss do spread On buildèns new to wold vo'k dead. [page 226] The backs of all our zilv'ry hills, The brook that still do dreve our mills, The roads a-climèn up the brows O' knaps, a-screen'd by meäple boughs, Wer all a-mark'd in sheäde an' light Avore our wolder fathers' zight, In zunny days, a-gied their hands For happy work, a-tillèn lands, That now do yield their childern bread Till they do rest wi' wold vo'k dead. But livèn vo'k, a-grievèn on, Wi' lwonesome love, vor souls a-gone, Do zee their goodness, but do vind All else a-stealèn out o' mind; As air do meäke the vurthest land Look feäirer than the vield at hand, An' zoo, as time do slowly pass, So still's a sheäde upon the grass, Its wid'nèn speäce do slowly shed A glory roun' the wold vo'k dead. An' what if good vo'ks' life o' breath Is zoo a-hallow'd after death, That they mid only know above, Their times o' faïth, an' jaÿ, an' love, While all the evil time ha' brought 'S a-lost vor ever out o' thought; As all the moon that idden bright, 'S a-lost in darkness out o' zight; And all the godly life they led Is glory to the wold vo'k dead. If things be zoo, an' souls above Can only mind our e'thly love, [page 227] Why then they'll veel our kindness drown The thoughts ov all that meäde em frown. An' jaÿ o' jaÿs will dry the tear O' sadness that do trickle here, An' nothèn mwore o' life than love, An' peace, will then be know'd above. Do good, vor that, when life's a-vled, Is still a pleasure to the dead.

There's noo pleäce I do like so well, As Elem Knap in Culver Dell, Where timber trees, wi' lofty shouds, Did rise avore the western clouds; An' stan' ageän, wi' veathery tops, A-swayèn up in North-Hill Copse. An' on the east the mornèn broke Above a dewy grove o' woak: An' noontide shed its burnèn light On ashes on the southern height; An' I could vind zome teäles to tell, O' former days in Culver Dell. An' all the vo'k did love so well The good wold squire o' Culver Dell, That used to ramble drough the sheädes O' timber, or the burnèn gleädes, An' come at evenèn up the leäze Wi' red-eär'd dogs bezide his knees. An' hold his gun, a-hangèn drough His eärmpit, out above his tooe. Wi' kindly words upon his tongue, Vor vo'k that met en, wold an' young, Vor he did know the poor so well 'S the richest vo'k in Culver Dell. [page 228] An' while the woäk, wi' spreadèn head, Did sheäde the foxes' verny bed; An' runnèn heäres, in zunny gleädes, Did beät the grasses' quiv'rèn' bleädes; An' speckled pa'tridges took flight In stubble vields a-feädèn white; Or he could zee the pheasant strut In sheädy woods, wi' païnted cwoat; Or long-tongued dogs did love to run Among the leaves, bezide his gun; We didden want vor call to dwell At hwome in peace in Culver Dell. But now I hope his kindly feäce Is gone to vind a better pleäce; But still, wi' vo'k a-left behind He'll always be a-kept in mind, Vor all his springy-vooted hounds Ha' done o' trottèn round his grounds, An' we have all a-left the spot, To teäke, a-scatter'd, each his lot; An' even Father, lik' the rest, Ha' left our long vorseäken nest; An' we should vind it sad to dwell, Ageän at hwome in Culver Dell. The aïry mornèns still mid smite Our windows wi' their rwosy light, An' high-zunn'd noons mid dry the dew On growèn groun' below our shoe; The blushèn evenèn still mid dye, Wi' viry red, the western sky; The zunny spring-time's quicknèn power Mid come to oben leaf an' flower; An' days an' tides mid bring us on Woone pleasure when another's gone. But we must bid a long farewell To days an' tides in Culver Dell.

How dear's the door a latch do shut, An' geärden that a hatch do shut, Where vu'st our bloomèn cheäks ha' prest The pillor ov our childhood's rest; Or where, wi' little tooes, we wore The paths our fathers trod avore; Or clim'd the timber's bark aloft, Below the zingèn lark aloft, The while we heärd the echo sound Drough all the ringèn valley round. A lwonesome grove o' woak did rise, To screen our house, where smoke did rise, A-twistèn blue, while yeet the zun Did langthen on our childhood's fun; An' there, wi' all the sheäpes an' sounds O' life, among the timber'd grounds, The birds upon their boughs did zing, An' milkmaïds by their cows did zing, Wi' merry sounds, that softly died, A-ringèn down the valley zide. By river banks, wi' reeds a-bound, An' sheenèn pools, wi' weeds a-bound, The long-neck'd gander's ruddy bill To snow-white geese did cackle sh'ill; An' stridèn peewits heästen'd by, O' tiptooe wi' their screamèn cry; An' stalkèn cows a-lowèn loud, An' struttèn cocks a-crowèn loud, Did rouse the echoes up to mock Their mingled sounds by hill an' rock. [page 230] The stars that clim'd our skies all dark, Above our sleepèn eyes all dark, An' zuns a-rollèn round to bring The seasons on, vrom Spring to Spring, Ha' vled, wi' never-restèn flight, Drough green-bough'd day, an' dark-tree'd night; Till now our childhood's pleäces there, Be gaÿ wi' other feäces there, An' we ourselves do vollow on Our own vorelivers dead an' gone.

When Pentridge House wer still the nest O' souls that now ha' better rest, Avore the viër burnt to ground His beams an' walls, that then wer sound, 'Ithin a naïl-bestudded door, An' passage wi' a stwonèn vloor, There spread the hall, where zun-light shone In drough a window freäm'd wi' stwone. A clavy-beam o' sheenèn woak Did span the he'th wi' twistèn smoke, Where fleämes did shoot in yollow streaks, Above the brands, their flashèn peaks; An' aunt did pull, as she did stand O'-tip-tooe, wi' her lifted hand, A curtain feäded wi' the zun, Avore the window freäm'd wi' stwone. When Hwome-ground grass, below the moon, Wer damp wi' evenèn dew in June, An' aunt did call the maïdens in Vrom walkèn, wi' their shoes too thin, [page 231] They zot to rest their litty veet Upon the window's woaken seat, An' chatted there, in light that shone In drough the window freäm'd wi' stwone. An' as the seasons, in a ring, Roll'd slowly roun' vrom Spring to Spring, An' brought em on zome holy-tide, When they did cast their tools azide; How glad it meäde em all to spy In Stwonylands their friends draw nigh, As they did know em all by neäme Out drough the window's stwonèn freäme. O evenèn zun, a-ridèn drough The sky, vrom Sh'oton Hill o' blue, To leäve the night a-broodèn dark At Stalbridge, wi' its grey-wall'd park; Small jaÿ to me the vields do bring, Vor all their zummer birds do zing, Since now thy beams noo mwore do fleäme In drough the window's stwonèn freäme.

Oh! aye! the spring 'ithin the leäne, A-leäden down to Lyddan Brook; An' still a-nesslèn in his nook, As weeks do pass, an' moons do weäne. Nwone the drier, Nwone the higher, Nwone the nigher to the door Where we did live so long avore. An' oh! what vo'k his mossy brim Ha' gathered in the run o' time! [page 232] The wife a-blushèn in her prime; The widow wi' her eyezight dim; Maïdens dippèn, Childern sippèn, Water drippèn, at the cool Dark wallèn ov the little pool. Behind the spring do lie the lands My father till'd, vrom Spring to Spring, Awäitèn on vor time to bring The crops to paÿ his weary hands. Wheat a-growèn, Beäns a-blowèn, Grass vor mowèn, where the bridge Do leäd to Ryall's on the ridge. But who do know when liv'd an' died The squier o' the mwoldrèn hall; That lined en wi' a stwonèn wall, An' steän'd so cleän his wat'ry zide? We behind en, Now can't vind en, But do mind en, an' do thank His meäker vor his little tank.

If theäse day's work an' burnèn sky 'V'a-zent hwome you so tired as I, Let's zit an' rest 'ithin the screen O' my wold bow'r upon the green; Where I do goo myself an' let The evenèn aiër cool my het, When dew do wet the grasses bleädes, A-quiv'rèn in the dusky sheädes. [page 233] There yonder poplar trees do plaÿ Soft music, as their heads do swaÿ, While wind, a-rustlèn soft or loud, Do stream ageän their lofty sh'oud; An' seem to heal the ranklèn zore My mind do meet wi' out o' door, When I've a-bore, in downcast mood, Zome evil where I look'd vor good. O' they two poplars that do rise So high avore our naïghbours' eyes, A-zet by gramfer, hand by hand, Wi' grammer, in their bit o' land; The woone upon the western zide Wer his, an' woone wer grammer's pride, An' since they died, we all do teäke Mwore ceäre o'm vor the wold vo'k's seäke. An' there, wi' stems a-growèn tall Avore the houses mossy wall, The while the moon ha' slowly past The leafy window, they've a-cast Their sheädes 'ithin the window peäne; While childern have a-grown to men, An' then ageän ha' left their beds, To bear their childern's heavy heads.

No! Jenny, there's noo pleäce to charm My mind lik' yours at Woakland farm, A-peärted vrom the busy town, By longsome miles ov aïry down, Where woonce the meshy wall did gird Your flow'ry geärden, an' the bird [page 234] Did zing in zummer wind that stirr'd The spreädèn linden on the lawn. An' now ov all the trees wi' sheädes A-wheelèn round in Blackmwore gleädes, There's noo tall poplar by the brook, Nor elem that do rock the rook, Nor ash upon the shelvèn ledge, Nor low-bough'd woak bezide the hedge, Nor withy up above the zedge, So dear's thik linden on the lawn. Vor there, o' zummer nights, below The wall, we zot when aïr did blow, An' sheäke the dewy rwose a-tied Up roun' the window's stwonèn zide. An' while the carter rod' along A-zingèn, down the dusky drong, There you did zing a sweeter zong Below the linden on the lawn. An' while your warbled ditty wound Drough plaÿsome flights o' mellow sound, The nightèngeäle's sh'ill zong, that broke The stillness ov the dewy woak, Rung clear along the grove, an' smote To sudden stillness ev'ry droat; As we did zit, an' hear it float Below the linden on the lawn. Where dusky light did softly vall 'Ithin the stwonèn-window'd hall, Avore your father's blinkèn eyes, His evenèn whiff o' smoke did rise, [page 235] An' vrom the bedroom window's height Your little John, a-cloth'd in white, An' gwaïn to bed, did cry "good night" Towards the linden on the lawn. But now, as Dobbin, wi' a nod Vor ev'ry heavy step he trod, Did bring me on, to-night, avore The geäbled house's pworchèd door, Noo laughèn child a-cloth'd in white, Look'd drough the stwonèn window's light, An' noo vaïce zung, in dusky night, Below the linden on the lawn. An' zoo, if you should ever vind My kindness seem to grow less kind, An' if upon my clouded feäce My smile should yield a frown its pleäce, Then, Jenny, only laugh an' call My mind 'ithin the geärden wall, Where we did plaÿ at even-fall, Below the linden on the lawn.

Though ice do hang upon the willows Out bezide the vrozen brook, An' storms do roar above our pillows, Drough the night, 'ithin our nook; Our evenèn he'th's a-glowèn warm, Drough wringèn vrost, an' roarèn storm, Though winds mid meäke the wold beams sheäke, In our abode in Arby Wood. [page 236] An' there, though we mid hear the timber Creake avore the windy raïn; An' climèn ivy quiver, limber, Up ageän the window peäne; Our merry vaïces then do sound, In rollèn glee, or dree-vaïce round; Though wind mid roar, 'ithout the door, Ov our abode in Arby Wood.

Ah! there's a house that I do know Besouth o' yonder trees, Where northern winds can hardly blow But in a softest breeze. An' there woonce sounded zongs an' teäles Vrom vaïce o' maïd or youth, An' sweeter than the nightèngeäle's Above the copses lewth. How swiftly there did run the brooks, How swift wer winds in flight, How swiftly to their roost the rooks Did vlee o'er head at night. Though slow did seem to us the peäce O' comèn days a-head, That now do seem as in a reäce Wi' aïr-birds to ha' vled.

'Tis zome vo'ks jaÿ to teäke the road, An' goo abro'd, a-wand'rèn wide, Vrom shere to shere, vrom pleäce to pleäce, The swiftest peäce that vo'k can ride. But I've a jaÿ 'ithin the door, Wi' friends avore the vier-zide. [page 237] An' zoo, when winter skies do lour, An' when the Stour's a-rollèn wide, Drough bridge-voot raïls, a-païnted white, To be at night the traveller's guide, Gi'e me a pleäce that's warm an' dry, A-zittèn nigh my vier-zide. Vor where do love o' kith an' kin, At vu'st begin, or grow an' wride, Till souls a-lov'd so young, be wold, Though never cwold, drough time nor tide But where in me'th their gather'd veet Do often meet—the vier-zide. If, when a friend ha' left the land, I shook his hand a-most wet-eyed, I velt too well the ob'nèn door Would leäd noo mwore where he did bide An' where I heärd his vaïces sound, In me'th around the vier-zide. As I've a-zeed how vast do vall The mwold'rèn hall, the wold vo'ks pride, Where merry hearts wer woonce a-ved Wi' daily bread, why I've a-sigh'd, To zee the wall so green wi' mwold, An' vind so cwold the vier-zide. An' Chris'mas still mid bring his me'th To ouer he'th, but if we tried To gather all that woonce did wear Gay feäces there! Ah! zome ha' died, An' zome be gone to leäve wi' gaps O' missèn laps, the vier-zide. [page 238] But come now, bring us in your hand, A heavy brand o' woak a-dried, To cheer us wi' his het an' light, While vrosty night, so starry-skied, Go gather souls that time do speäre To zit an' sheäre our vier-zide.

I don't want to sleep abrode, John, I do like my hwomeward road, John; An' like the sound o' Knowlwood bells the best. Zome would rove vrom pleäce to pleäce, John, Zome would goo from feäce to feäce, John, But I be happy in my hwomely nest; An' slight's the hope vor any pleäce bezide, To leäve the plaïn abode where love do bide. Where the shelvèn knap do vall, John, Under trees a-springèn tall, John; 'Tis there my house do show his sheenèn zide, Wi' his walls vor ever green, John, Under ivy that's a screen, John, Vrom wet an' het, an' ev'ry changèn tide, An' I do little ho vor goold or pride, To leäve the plaïn abode where love do bide. 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. [page 239] 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.

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; [page 241] 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. [page 242] 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.

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. [page 243] 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.

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. [page 244] 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." [page 245] 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.

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, [page 246] 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.

'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.

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, [page 249] An' birds o' day a-zingèn clear, An' leaves, that I mid zit an' hear A-rustlèn near, when birds be still.

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, [page 250] 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.

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, [page 251] 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.

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.

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. [page 254] 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.

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, [page 255] 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.

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; [page 256] 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.

'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. [page 257] '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.

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, [page 258] 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.

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.

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. [page 260] 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.

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; [page 261] 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.

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, [page 262] 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 [page 263] 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'.