THE church do zeem a touchèn zight,

When vo'k, a-comèn in at door,

Do softly tread the long-aïl'd vloor -aisled

Below the pillar'd arches’ height,

Wi’ bells a-pealèn,

Vo'k a-kneelèn,

Hearts a-healèn, wi’ the love

An’ peäce a-zent em vrom above.

An’ there, wi’ mild an’ thoughtvul feäce,

Wi’ downcast eyes, an’ vaïces dum’, silent

The wold an’ young do slowly come, old

An’ teäke in stillness each his pleäce,

A-zinkèn slowly,

Kneelèn lowly,

Seekèn holy thoughts alwone,

In praÿ'r avore their Meäker's throne.

An’ there be sons in youthvul pride,

An’ fathers weak wi’ years an’ païn,

An’ daughters in their mother's traïn,

The tall wi’ smaller at their zide;

Heads in murnèn mourning

Never turnèn,

Cheäks a-burnèn, wi’ the het heat

O’ youth, an’ eyes noo tears do wet.

There friends do settle, zide by zide,

The knower speechless to the known;

Their vaïce is there vor God alwone;

To flesh an’ blood their tongues be tied.

Grief a-wringèn,

Jaÿ a-zingèn, joy

Pray'r a-bringèn welcome rest

So softly to the troubled breast.

WE Do'set, though we mid be hwomely, may

Be'nt asheäm'd to own our pleäce;

An’ we've zome women not uncomely;

Nor asheäm'd to show their feäce:

We've a meäd or two wo'th mowèn, worth

We've an ox or two wo'th showèn,

In the village,

At the tillage,

Come along an’ you shall vind

That Do'set men don't sheäme their kind.

Friend an’ wife,

Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers,

Happy, happy, be their life!

Vor Do'set dear,

Then gi'e woone cheer; give one

D'ye hear? woone cheer!

If you in Do'set be a-roamèn,

An’ ha’ business at a farm,

Then woont ye zee your eäle a-foamèn! ale

Or your cider down to warm?

Woont ye have brown bread a-put ye, offered to you

An’ some vinny cheese a-cut ye? blue vinny (made from skimmed milk)

Butter?—rolls o't! of it

Cream?—why bowls o't!

Woont ye have, in short, your vill,

A-gi'ed wi’ a right good will? given

Friend an’ wife,

Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers,

Happy, happy, be their life!

Vor Do'set dear,

Then gi'e woone cheer; give one

D'ye hear? woone cheer!

An’ woont ye have vor ev'ry shillèn,

Shillèn's wo'th at any shop, worth

Though Do'set chaps be up to zellèn,

An’ can meäke 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 maïdens, if your son

Took woone o'm, then you'd cry ―Well done!” one of them

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 meäres, horses

Along the windèn leänes o’ gravel, lanes

To the markets or the feäirs,—

Though their ho'ses cwoats be ragged, horses’

Though the men be muddy-laggèd,

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; give

D'ye hear?

AH! I do think, as I do tread

Theäse path, wi’ elems overhead, this

A-climèn slowly up vrom Bridge,

By easy steps, to Broadwoak Ridge,

That all theäse roads that we do bruise these

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; bane

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 might

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:

An’ lifted stwones an’ beams to keep

The raïn an’ cwold vrom us asleep.

Zoo now mid nwone ov us vorget so, may

The pattern our vorefathers zet;

But each be faïn to underteäke

Some work to meäke vor others’ gaïn,

That we mid leäve mwore good to sheäre, may

Less ills to bear, less souls to grieve,

An’ when our hands do vall to rest,

It mid be vrom a work a-blest.

IN brown-leav'd Fall the wheat a-left

'Ithin its darksome bed,

Where all the creakèn roller's heft weight

Seal'd down its lowly head,

Sprung sheäkèn drough the crumblèn mwold, through, earth

Green-yollow, vrom below,

An’ bent its bleädes, a-glitt'rèn cwold,

At last in winter snow.

Zoo luck betide so

The upland zide,

Where wheat do wride, spread

In corn-vields wide,

By crowns o’ Do'set Downs, O.

An’ while the screamèn bird-bwoy shook

Wi’ little zun-burnt hand,

His clacker at the bright-wing'd rook,

About the zeeded land;

His meäster there did come an’ stop

His bridle-champèn meäre, horse

Wi’ thankvul heart, to zee his crop

A-comèn up so feäir.

As there awhile

By geäte or stile,

He gi'ed the chile gave

A cheerèn smile,

By crowns o’ Do'set Downs, O.

At last, wi’ eärs o’ darksome red,

The yollow stalks did ply,

A-swaÿèn slow, so heavy 's lead,

In aïr a-blowèn by;

An’ then the busy reapers laid

In row their russlèn grips, handfuls of sheaves

An’ sheäves, a-leänèn head by head,

Did meäke the stitches tips. shocks (or stooks)

Zoo food's a-vound, so

A-comèn round,

Vrom zeed in ground,

To sheaves a-bound,

By crowns o’ Do'set Downs, O.

An’ now the wheat, in lofty lwoads,

Above the meäres’ broad backs, horses’

Do ride along the cracklèn rwoads,

Or dousty waggon-tracks. dusty

An’ there, mid every busy pick, may, pitchfork

Ha’ work enough to do;

An’ where, avore, we built woone rick, one

Mid theäse year gi'e us two; this, give

Wi’ God our friend,

An’ wealth to spend,

Vor zome good end,

That times mid mend,

In towns, an’ Do'set Downs, O.

Zoo let the merry thatcher veel so

Fine weather on his brow,

As he, in happy work, do kneel

Up roun’ the new-built mow, stack

That now do zwell in sich a size,

An’ rise to sich a height,

That, oh! the miller's wistful eyes

Do sparkle at the zight.

An’ long mid stand,

A happy band,

To till the land,

Wi’ head an’ hand,

By crowns o’ Do'set Downs, O.

A-SWAŸÈN slow, the poplar's head,

Above the slopèn 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; wicket-gate

An’ hands, a-tired by day, wer still,

Wi’ moonlight on the door.

A-boomèn deep, did slowly sound

The bell, a-tellèn middle night;

The while the quiv'rèn ivy, round

The tree, did sheäke in softest light.

But vootless wer the stwone avore

The house where I, the maïden's guest,

At evenèn, woonce did zit at rest once

By moonlight on the door.

Though till the dawn, where night's a-meäde

The day, the laughèn crowds be gaÿ,

Let evenèn zink wi’ quiet sheäde,

Where I do hold my little swaÿ .

An’ childern dear to my heart's core,

A-sleep wi’ little heavèn breast,

That pank'd by day in plaÿ, do rest panted

Wi’ moonlight on the door.

But still 'tis good, woonce now an’ then,

To rove where moonlight on the land

Do show in vaïn, vor heedless men,

The road, the vield, the work in hand,

When curtains be a-hung avore

The glitt'rèn windows, snowy white,

An’ vine-leaf sheädes do sheäke in light shadows

O’ moonlight on the door.

WHY, his heart's lik’ a popple, so hard as a stwone, pebble

Vor 'tis money, an’ money's his ho, concern

An’ to handle an’ reckon it up vor his own,

Is the best o’ the jaÿs he do know. joys

Why, vor money he'd gi'e up his lags an’ be leäme, give, lame

Or would peärt wi’ his zight an’ be blind,

Or would lose vo'k's good will, vor to have a bad neäme, folk's

Or his peace, an’ have trouble o’ mind.

But wi’ ev'ry good thing that his meänness mid bring, might

He'd paÿ vor his money,

An’ only zell honey to buy zome'hat sweet.

He did whisper to me, ―You do know that you stood

By the Squier, wi’ the vote that you had,

You could ax en to help ye to zome'hat as good, ask him

Or to vind a good pleäce vor your lad.”

―Aye, aye, but if I wer beholdèn vor bread

To another,” I zaid, ―I should bind

All my body an’ soul to the nod of his head,

An’ gi'e up all my freedom o’ mind.” give

An’ then, if my païn wer a-zet wi’ my gaïn,

I should paÿ vor my money,

An’ only zell honey to buy zome'hat sweet.

Then, if my bit o’ brook that do wind so vur round, far

Wer but his, why, he'd straïghten his bed, its

An’ the wold stunpole woak that do stan’ in my ground, half-dead

Shoudden long sheäde the grass wi’ his head. [oak

But if I do vind jaÿ where the leaves be a-shook

On the limbs, wi’ their sheädes on the grass, shadows

Or below, in the bow o’ the withy-bound nook, bend, willow-

That the rock-washèn water do pass,

Then wi’ they jaÿs a-vled an’ zome goold in their stead, flown

I should paÿ vor my money,

An’ only zell honey to buy zome'hat sweet.

No, be my lot good work, wi’ the lungs well in plaÿ,

An’ good rest when the body do tire,

Vor the mind a good conscience, wi’ hope or wi’ jaÿ,

Vor the body, good lewth, an’ good vire, shelter

There's noo good o’ goold, but to buy what 'ull meäke

Vor our happiness here among men;

An’ who would gi'e happiness up vor the seäke give

O’ zome money to buy it ageän?

AH! Meäster Collins overtook

Our knot o’ vo'k a-stannèn still, folk standing

Last Zunday, up on Ivy Hill,

To zee how strong the corn did look.

An’ he staÿ 'd back awhile an’ spoke

A vew kind words to all the vo'k, few

Vor good or joke, an’ wi’ a smile

Begun a-plaÿèn wi’ a chile.

The zull, wi’ iron zide awry, plough

Had long a-vurrow'd up the vield;

The heavy roller had a-wheel'd

It smooth vor showers vrom the sky;

The bird-bwoy's cry, a-risèn sh'ill, shrilly

An’ clacker, had a-left the hill,

All bright but still, vor time alwone

To speed the work that we'd a-done. bring to fruition

Down drough the wind, a-blowèn keen, through

Did gleäre the nearly cloudless sky,

An’ corn in bleäde, up ancle-high,

'Ithin the geäte did quiver green;

An’ in the geäte a-lock'd there stood

A prickly row o’ thornèn wood

Vor vo'k vor food had done their best, folk

An’ left to Spring to do the rest.

“The geäte,” he cried, ―a-seal'd wi’ thorn

Vrom harmvul veet's a-left to hold

The bleäde a-springèn vrom the mwold, earth

While God do ripen it to corn.

An’ zoo in life let us vulvil so

Whatever is our Meäker's will,

An’ then bide still, wi’ peacevul breast,

While He do manage all the rest.”

No: where the woak do overspread, oak

The grass begloom'd below his head,

An’ water, under bowèn zedge, bending

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, willow-

Wi’ darksome sheädes, the clear-feäced pool, shadows

My chimny smoke, 'ithin the lew shelter

O’ trees is there arisèn blue;

Avore the night do dim our zight,

Or candle-light, a-sheenèn bright, shining

Do sparkle drough the window. through

When crumpled leaves o’ Fall do bound

Avore the wind, along the ground,

An’ wither'd bennet-stems do stand grass-stalks

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, fire

While night's a-spread, where day's a-vled, flown by

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 shadows, trunks

In moonlight up athirt the wall; across

An’ icicles do hang below

The oves, a-glitt'rèn in a row, eaves

An’ risèn stars do slowly ride

Above the ruf's upslantèn zide; roof's

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.

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, once

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. old

There, on the he'th's well-hetted ground, hearth's, heated

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; stone

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; once

An’ while the swaÿèn cypress bow'd,

In chilly wind, his darksome sh'oud canopy

An’ honeyzuckles, beäre o’ leaves, bare

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, gusting

Did swaÿ the pear-tree's leafless sh'oud, canopy

An’ beät the bush that woonce did bear once

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 through

By maïdens vrom the hetted vloor heated

In hall, a-hung wi’ holm, where rung holly

Vull many a tongue o’ wold an’ young.

WHEN I wer still a bwoy, an’ mother's pride,

A bigger bwoy spoke up to me so kind-like,

―If you do like, I'll treat ye wi’ a ride

In theäse wheel-barrow here.” Zoo I wer blind-like this, so

To what he had a-workèn in his mind-like,

An’ mounted vor a passenger inside;

An’ comèn to a puddle, perty wide,

He tipp'd me in, a-grinnèn back behind-like.

Zoo when a man do come to me so thick-like, friendly-

An’ sheäke my hand, where woonce he pass'd me by, once

An’ tell me he would do me this or that,

I can't help thinkèn o’ the big bwoy's trick-like.

An’ then, vor all I can but wag my hat raise

An’ thank en, I do veel a little shy.

LAST night the merry farmers’ sons,

Vrom biggest down to leäst, min, mate

Gi'ed in the work of all their guns, gave

An’ had their sparrow feäst, min.

An’ who vor woone good merry soul one

Should goo to sheäre their me'th, min, mirth

But Gammon Gaÿ, a chap so droll,

He'd meäke ye laugh to death, min.

Vor heads o’ sparrows they've a-shot

They'll have a prize in cwein, min, coin

That is, if they can meäke their scot, tally

Or else they'll paÿ a fine, min.

An’ all the money they can teäke

's a-gather'd up there-right, min,

An’ spent in meat an’ drink, to meäke

A supper vor the night, min.

Zoo when they took away the cloth, so

In middle of their din, min,

An’ cups o’ eäle begun to froth, ale

Below their merry chin, min,

An’ when the zong, by turn or chaïce,

Went roun’ vrom tongue to tongue, min,

Then Gammon pitch'd his merry vaïce,

An’ here's the zong he zung, min.

Zong.

If you'll but let your clackers rest tongues

Vrom jabberèn an’ hootèn,

I'll teäke my turn, an’ do my best,

To zing o’ sparrow shootèn.

Since every woone mus’ pitch his key, one

An’ zing a zong, in coo'se, lads, in turn

Why sparrow heads shall be to-day

The heads o’ my discoo'se, lads. discourse

We'll zend abroad our viery haïl out, fiery

Till ev'ry foe's a-vled, lads, fled

An’ though the rogues mid all turn taïl, may

We'll quickly show their head, lads.

In corn, or out on oben ground,

In bush, or up in tree, lads,

If we don't kill em, I'll be bound,

We'll meäke their veathers vlee, lads. fly

Zoo let the belted spwortsmen brag so

When they've a-won a neäme, so's, souls (friends)

That they do vind, or they do bag,

Zoo many head o’ geäme, so's:

Vor when our cwein is woonce a-won, coin, once

By heads o’ sundry sizes,

Why, who can slight what we've a-done?

We've all a-won head prizes. first prizes

Then teäke a drap vor harmless fun,

But not enough to quarrel;

Though where a man do like the gun,

He can't but need the barrel.

AND oh! the jaÿ our rest did yield, joy

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, toils

We zot among our childern's smiles. sat

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, sheltered

Wer birds a-zingèn,

Tongues a-ringèn,

Childern springèn, vull o’ jaÿ,

A-finishèn the day in plaÿ.

An’ back behind, a-stannèn tall, standing

The cliff did sheen to western light; shine

An’ while avore the water-vall,

A-rottlèn loud, an’ foamèn white,

The leaves did quiver,

Gnots did whiver, gnats, hover

By the river, where the pool,

In evenèn aïr did glissen cool.

An’ childern there, a-runnèn wide,

Did plaÿ their geämes along the grove,

Vor though to us 'twer jaÿ to bide joy

At rest, to them 'twer jaÿ to move.

The while my smilèn

Jeäne, beguilèn,

All my tweilèn, wi’ her ceäre, toiling

Did call me to my evenèn feäre.

'TWER where the zun did warm the lewth, shelter

An’ win’ did whiver in the sheäde, quiver

The sweet-aïr'd beäns were out in blooth, bloom

Down there 'ithin the elem gleäde;

A yollow-banded bee did come,

An’ softly-pitch, wi’ hushèn hum,

Upon a beän, an’ there did sip,

Upon a swaÿèn blossom's lip:

An’ there cried he, “Aye, I can zee,

This blossom's all a-zent vor me.”

A-jilted up an’ down, astride

Upon a lofty ho'se a-trot, horse

The meäster then come by wi’ pride,

To zee the beäns that he'd a-got;

An’ as he zot upon his ho'se, sat

The ho'se ageän did snort an’ toss

His high-ear'd head, an’ at the zight

Ov all the blossom, black an’ white:

“Ah! ah!” thought he, the seäme's the bee,

“Theäse beäns be all a-zent vor me.” these

Zoo let the worold's riches breed so

A strife o’ claïms, wi’ weak and strong,

Vor now what cause have I to heed

Who's in the right, or in the wrong;

Since there do come drough yonder hatch, through, wicket-gate

An’ bloom below the house's thatch,

The best o’ maïdens, an’ do own

That she is mine, an’ mine alwone:

Zoo I can zee that love do gi'e give

The best ov all good gifts to me.

Vor whose be all the crops an’ land

A-won an’ lost, an’ bought, an zwold

Or whose, a-roll'd vrom hand to hand,

The highest money that's a-twold? counted

Vrom man to man a passèn on,

'Tis here to-day, to-morrow gone.

But there's a blessèn high above

It all—a soul o’ stedvast love:

Zoo let it vlee, if God do gi'e so, fly, give

Sweet Jessie vor a gift to me.

Ov all the meäds wi’ shoals an’ pools,

Where streams did sheäke the limber zedge, pliant

An’ milkèn vo'k did teäke their stools, folk

In evenèn zun-light under hedge:

Ov all the wears the brook did vill, weirs

Or all the hatches where a sheet

O’ foam did leäp below woone's veet, one's

The pleäce vor me wer Leeburn Mill.

An’ while below the mossy wheel

All day the foamèn stream did roar,

An’ up in mill the floatèn meal

Did pitch upon the sheäkèn vloor,

We then could vind but vew han's still, few

Or veet a-restèn off the ground,

An’ seldom hear the merry sound

O’ geämes a-plaÿ'd at Leeburn Mill.

But when they let the stream goo free,

Bezide the drippèn wheel at rest,

An’ leaves upon the poplar-tree

Wer dark avore the glowèn west;

An’ when the clock, a-ringèn sh'ill, loudly

Did slowly beät zome evenèn hour,

Oh! then 'ithin the leafy bow'r

Our tongues did run at Leeburn Mill.

An’ when November's win’ did blow,

Wi’ hufflèn storms along the plaïn, gusty

An’ blacken'd leaves did lie below

The neäked tree, a-zoak'd wi’ raïn,

I werden at a loss to vill wasn't

The darkest hour o’ raïny skies,

If I did vind avore my eyes

The feäces down at Leeburn Mill.

(1) There be the greyhounds! lo'k! an’ there's the heäre! look

(2) What houn's, the squier's, Thomas? where, then, where?

(1) Why, out in Ash Hill, near the barn, behind

Thik tree. (3) The pollard?5 (1) Pollard! no, b'ye blind? that

(2) There, I do zee em over-right thik cow. right opposite

(3) The red woone? (1) No, a mile beyand her now. one

(3) Oh! there's the heäre, a-meäkèn for the drong. lane

(2) My goodness! How the dogs do zweep along,

A-pokèn out their pweinted noses’ tips. pointed

(3) He can't allow hizzelf much time vor slips!

(1) They'll hab'en, after all, I'll bet a crown. have him

(2) Done vor a crown. They woon't! He's gwäin to groun’. going

(3) He is! (1) He idden! (3) Ah! 'tis well his tooes isn't, toes

Ha’ got noo corns, inside o’ hobnaïl shoes.

(1) He's geäme a-runnèn too. Why, he do mwore

Than eärn his life. (3) His life wer his avore.

(1) There, now the dogs wull turn en. (2) No! He's right. him

(1) He idden! (2) Ees he is! (3) He's out o’ zight. yes

(1) Aye, aye. His mettle wull be well a-tried

Agwaïn down Verny Hill, o’ tother zide. going

They'll have en there. (3) O no! a vew good hops few

Wull teäke en on to Knapton Lower Copse.

(2) An’ that's a meesh that he've a-took avore. gap

(3) Ees, that's his hwome. (1) He'll never reach his door.

(2) He wull. (1) He woon't. (3) Now, hark, d'ye heär em now?

(2) O! here's a bwoy a-come athirt the brow across

O’ Knapton Hill. We'll ax en. (1) Here, my bwoy! ask him

Can'st tell us where's the heäre? (4) He's got awoy.

(2) Ees, got awoy, in coo'se, I never zeed of course, saw

A heäre a-scotèn on wi’ half his speed. scooting

(1) Why, there, the dogs be wold, an’ half a-done. old

They can't catch anything wi’ lags to run.

(2) Vrom vu'st to last they had but little chance first

O’ catchèn o'n. (3) They had a perty dance. him

(1) No, catch en, no! I little thought they would;

He know'd his road too well to Knapton Wood.

A MAÏD wi’ many gifts o’ greäce,

A maïd wi’ ever-smilèn feäce,

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, bloom

A-smilèn where your zun do glow,

O leänèn lawns ov Allen.

An’ good, however good's a-waïgh'd, judged (weighed)

's the lovely maïd ov Elwell Meäd.

An’ oh! if I could teäme an’ guide tame

The winds above the e'th, an’ ride earth

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, through

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, sloes

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, shadows

A-sparklèn in her dewy eyes,

O leänèn lawns ov Allen;

Then all your mossy paths below

The trees, wi’ leaves a-vallèn slow, falling

Like zinkèn fleäkes o’ yollow snow,

O leänèn lawns ov Allen,

Would be mwore teäkèn where there straÿ'd

The lovely maïd ov Elwell Meäd.

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; folk

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’ one, first

Fair Emily ov Yarrow Mill.

But thy wold house an’ elmy nook, old

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 earth

The moon do spread abroad his light, around

An’ aïr o’ zummer nights do blow

Athirt the vields in plaÿsome flight, across

'Tis then delightsome under all

The sheädes o’ boughs by path or wall, shadows

But mwostly thine when they do vall

On Emily ov Yarrow Mill.

AH! good Meäster Gwillet, that you mid ha’ know'd, may

Wer a-bred up at Coomb, an’ went little abroad; away from home

An’ if he got in among strangers, he velt

His poor heart in a twitter, an’ ready to melt;

Or if, by ill luck, in his rambles, he met

Wi’ zome maïdens a’ titt'rèn, he burn'd wi’ a het, heat

That shot all drough the lim's o'n, an’ left a cwold zweat, through

The poor little chap wer so shy, [his limbs

He wer ready to drap, an’ to die.

But at last 'twer the lot o’ the poor little man

To vall deeply in love, as the best ov us can;

An’ 'twer noo easy task vor a shy man to tell

Sich a dazzlèn feäir maïd that he loved her so well;

An’ woone day when he met her, his knees nearly smote one

Woone another, an’ then wi’ a struggle he bro't brought

A vew words to his tongue, wi’ some mwore in his droat. throat

But she, 'ithout doubt, could soon vind

Vrom two words that come out, zix behind.

Zoo at langth, when he vound her so smilèn an’ kind, so

Why he wrote her zome laïns, vor to tell her his mind, lines

Though 'twer then a hard task vor a man that wer shy,

To be married in church, wi’ a crowd stannèn by. standing

But he twold her woone day, ―I have housen an’ lands,

We could marry by licence, if you don't like banns,”

An’ he cover'd his eyes up wi’ woone ov his han's,

Vor his head seem'd to zwim as he spoke,

An’ the aïr look'd so dim as a smoke.

Well! he vound a good naïghbour to goo in his pleäce

Vor to buy the goold ring, vor he hadden the feäce.

An’ when he went up vor to put in the banns,

He did sheäke in his lags, an’ did sheäke in his han's.

Then they ax'd vor her neäme, an’ her parish or town, asked

An’ he gi'ed em a leaf wi’ her neäme a-wrote down; gave

Vor he coulden ha’ twold em outright, vor a poun’,

Vor his tongue wer so weak an’ so loose,

When he wanted to speak 'twer noo use.

WI’ smokeless tuns an’ empty halls, chimneys

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, behind a gate

But vasten'd up, an’ never swung,

Upon the pillar, all alwone,

Do stan’ the little bwoy o’ stwone;

's a poppy bud mid linger on, may

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 through heat

Vrom day to day do stan’ an’ smile.

When vu'st the light, a-risèn weak, first

At break o’ day, do smite his cheäk,

Or while, at noon, the leafy bough

Do cast a sheäde a-thirt his brow, shadow across

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, twigs

Or zwallows in the zummer day

Do cling their little huts o’ clay, attach

'Ithin the raïnless sheädes, below

The steadvast arches’ mossy bow. span

Or when, in Fall, the woak do shed oak

The leaves, a-wither'd, vrom his head,

An’ western win's, a-blowèn cool,

Do dreve em out athirt the pool, drive, across

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, through

An’ never change his size or dress,

Nor overgrow his prettiness.

But, oh! thik child, that we do vind that

In childhood still, do call to mind

A little bwoy a-call'd by death,

Long years agoo, vrom our sad he'th; hearth

An’ I, in thought, can zee en dim him

The seäme in feäce, the seäme in lim’.

My heäir mid whiten as the snow, may

My limbs grow weak, my step wear slow,

My droopèn head mid slowly vall

Above the han’-staff's glossy ball, walking-stick's

An’ yeet, vor all a wid'nèn span yet

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.

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, stile's

Yeet out below the rizèn stars, yet

The dark'nèn day mid leäve behind may

Woone tongue that I shall always vind, one

A-whisperèn kind, when birds be still.

Zoo let the day come on to spread so

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 it

An’ hour to stroll along the gleädes,

Where night do drown the beeches’ sheädes, shadows

On grasses’ bleädes, when birds be still.

Vor when the night do lull the sound

O’ cows a-bleärèn out in ground, bellowing, field

The sh'ill-vaïc'd dog do stan’ an’ bark loud-voiced

'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 so

'Ithin a storm o’ rumblèn sound,

An’ gi'e me vaïces that do speak give

So soft an’ meek, to souls alwone;

The brook a-gurglèn round a stwone,

An’ birds o’ day a-zingèn clear,

An’ leaves, that I mid zit an’ hear may

A-rustlèn near, when birds be still.