The Vision.

Blest vision of departed worth, I see thee still, I see thee still; Thou art the shade of her that’s goan, My Mary Hill, my Mary Hill.

My chaamer in this silent hour, Were dark an’ drear, were dark an’ drear; But brighter far than Cynthia’s beam, Now thou art here, now thou art here.

Wild nature in her grandeur had No charm for me, no charm for me; Did not the songsters chant thy name Fra ivvery tree, fra ivvery tree.

Chaos wod hev com agean, E worlds afar, e worlds afar; Could aw not see my Mary’s face, In ivvery star, in ivvery star;

Say when the messenger o’ death, Sal bid ma come, sal bid ma come; Wilt thou be foremost in the van, To tack ma hoam, to tack ma hoam.