Good Meäster Collins! aye, how mild he spoke

Woone day o’ Mercy to zome cruel vo'k. one, folk

“No, no. Have Mercy on a helpless head,

An’ don't be cruel to a zoul,” he zaid.

“When Babylon's king woonce cast 'ithin once

The viery furnace, in his spite, fiery

The vetter'd souls whose only sin

Wer praÿer to the God o’ might,

He vound a fourth, 'ithout a neäme,

A-walkèn wi’ em in the fleäme.

An’ zoo, whenever we mid hurt, so, may

Vrom spite, or vrom disdaïn,

A brother's soul, or meäke en smert him

Wi’ keen an’ needless païn,

Another that we midden know may not

Is always wi’ en in his woe.

Vor you do know our Lord ha’ cried,

‘By faïth my bretheren do bide

In me the livèn vine,

As branches in a livèn tree;

Whatever you've a-done to mine

Is all a-done to me.’

Oh! when the new-born child, the e'th's new guest, earth's

Do lie an’ heave his little breast,

In pillow'd sleep, wi’ sweetest breath

O’ sinless days drough rwosy lips a-drawn; through

Then, if a han’ can smite en in his dawn

O’ life to darksome death,

Oh! where can Pity ever vwold fold

Her wings o’ swiftness vrom their holy flight,

To leäve a heart o’ flesh an’ blood so cwold

At such a touchèn zight?

An’ zoo mid meek-soul'd Pity still so may

Be zent to check our evil will,

An’ keep the helpless soul from woe,

An’ hold the hardened heart vrom sin,

Vor they that can but mercy show

Shall all their Father's mercy win.”

WELL, aye, last evenèn, as I shook

My locks ov haÿ by Leecombe brook,

The yollow zun did weakly glance

Upon the winter meäd askance,

A-castèn out my narrow sheäde shadow

Athirt the brook, an’ on the meäd. across

The while ageän my lwonesome ears

Did russle weatherbeäten spears,

Below the withy's leafless head willow's

That overhung the river's bed;

I there did think o’ days that dried

The new-mow'd grass o’ zummer-tide,

When white-sleev'd mowers’ whetted bleädes

Rung sh'ill along the green-bough'd gleädes, clearly

An’ maïdens gaÿ, wi’ plaÿsome chaps,

A-zot wi’ dinners in their laps, siting down

Did talk wi’ merry words that rung

Around the ring, vrom tongue to tongue;

An’ welcome, when the leaves ha’ died,

Be zummer thoughts in winter-tide.

WHEN I led by zummer streams

The pride o’ Lea, as naïghbours thought her,

While the zun, wi’ evenèn beams,

Did cast our sheädes athirt the water; shadows across

Winds a-blowèn,

Streams a-flowèn,

Skies a-glowèn,

Tokens ov my jaÿ zoo fleetèn, joy so

Heighten'd it, that happy meetèn.

Then, when maïd an’ man took pleäces,

Gaÿ in winter's Chris'mas dances,

Showèn in their merry feäces

Kindly smiles an’ glisnèn glances;

Stars a-winkèn,

Day a-shrinkèn,

Sheädes a-zinkèn,

Brought anew the happy meetèn,

That did meäke the night too fleetèn.

UPZIDES wi’ Polly! no, he'd vind even with

That Poll would soon leäve him behind.

To turn things off! oh! she's too quick

To be a-caught by ev'ry trick.

Woone day our Jimmy stole down steäirs one

On merry Polly unaweäres,

The while her nimble tongue did run

A-tellèn, all alive wi’ fun,

To sister Anne, how Simon Heäre

Did hanker after her at feäir.

“He left,” cried Polly, “cousin Jeäne,

An’ kept wi’ us all down the leäne,

An’ which waÿ ever we did leäd

He vollow'd over hill an’ meäd;

An’ wi’ his head o’ shaggy heäir,

An’ sleek brown cwoat that he do weäre,

An’ collar that did reach so high

's his two red ears, or perty nigh,

He swung his täil, wi’ steps o’ pride,

Back right an’ left, vrom zide to zide,

A-walkèn on, wi’ heavy strides

A half behind, an’ half upzides.” alongside

“Who's that?” cried Jimmy, all agog;

An’ thought he had her now han’-pat, in his grasp

“That's Simon Heäre,” but no, “Who's that?”

Cried she at woonce, “Why Uncle's dog, once

Wi’ what have you a-been misled

I wonder. Tell me what I zaid.”

Woone evenèn as she zot bezide sat

The wall the ranglèn vine do hide, climbing

A-prattlèn on, as she did zend

Her needle, at her vinger's end,

On drough the work she had in hand, through

Zome bran-new thing that she'd a-plann'd,

Jim overheärd her talk ageän

O’ Robin Hine, ov Ivy Leäne,

“Oh! no, what he!” she cried in scorn,

“I wouldèn gie a penny vor'n; for him

The best ov him's outzide in view;

His cwoat is gaÿ enough, 'tis true,

But then the wold vo'k didden bring old folk didn't

En up to know a single thing, him

An’ as vor zingèn,—what do seem

His zingèn's nothèn but a scream.”

“So ho!” cried Jim, “Who's that, then, Meäry,

That you be now a-talkèn o’?”

He thought to catch her then, but, no,

Cried Polly, “Oh! why Jeäne's caneäry,

Wi’ what have you a-been misled,

I wonder. Tell me what I zaid.”

WHEN weakness now do strive wi’ might

In struggles ov an e'thly trial, earthly

Might mid overcome the right, may

An’ truth be turn'd by might's denial;

Withstanders we ha’ mwost to feär,

If selfishness do wring us here,

Be souls a-holdèn in their hand,

The might an’ riches o’ the land.

But when the wicked, now so strong,

Shall stan’ vor judgment, peäle as ashes,

By the souls that rued their wrong,

Wi’ tears a-hangèn on their lashes—

Then withstanders they shall deäre

The leäst ov all to meet wi’ there,

Mid be the helpless souls that now

Below their wrongvul might mid bow.

Sweet childern o’ the dead, bereft

Ov all their goods by guile an’ forgèn;

Souls o’ driven sleäves that left

Their weäry limbs a-mark'd by scourgèn;

They that God ha’ call'd to die

Vor truth ageän the worold's lie,

An’ they that groan'd an’ cried in vaïn,

A-bound by foes’ unrighteous chaïn.

The maïd that selfish craft led on

To sin, an’ left wi’ hope a-blighted;

Starvèn workmen, thin an’ wan,

Wi’ hopeless leäbour ill requited;

Souls a-wrong'd, an’ call'd to vill

Wi’ dread, the men that us'd em ill.

When might shall yield to right as pliant

As a dwarf avore a giant.

When there, at last, the good shall glow

In starbright bodies lik’ their Seäviour,

Vor all their flesh noo mwore mid show, may

The marks o’ man's unkind beheäviour:

Wi’ speechless tongue, an’ burnèn cheak,

The strong shall bow avore the weäk,

An’ vind that helplessness, wi’ right,

Is strong beyond all e'thly might.

'TIS true I brought noo fortune hwome

Wi’ Jenny, vor her honey-moon,

But still a goodish hansel come wedding present

Behind her perty soon,

Vor stick, an’ dish, an’ spoon, all vell

To Jeäne, vrom Aunt o’ Camwy dell.

Zoo all the lot o’ stuff a-tied so

Upon the plow, a tidy tod, wagon, load

On gravel-crunchèn wheels did ride,

Wi’ ho'ses, iron-shod,

That, as their heads did nod, my whip

Did guide along wi’ lightsome flip.

An’ there it rod 'ithin the rwope, rode

Astraïn'd athirt, an’ straïn'd along, across

Down Thornhay's evenèn-lighted slope

An’ up the beech-tree drong; lane

Where wheels a-bound so strong, cut out

On either zide a deep-zunk rout. rut

An’ when at Fall the trees wer brown,

Above the bennet-bearèn land, grass-stalk

When beech-leaves slowly whiver'd down, fluttered

By evenèn winds a-fann'd;

The routs wer each a band o’ red,

A-vill'd by drifted beech-leaves dead.

An’ when, in Winter's leafless light,

The keener eastern wind did blow,

An’ scatter down, avore my zight,

A chilly cwoat o’ snow;

The routs ageän did show vull bright,

In two long streaks o’ glitt'rèn white.

But when, upon our weddèn night,

The cart's light wheels, a-rollèn round,

Brought Jenny hwome, they run too light

To mark the yieldèn ground;

Or welcome would be vound a peäir

O’ green-vill'd routs a-runnèn there.

Zoo let me never bring 'ithin so

My dwellèn what's a-won by wrong,

An’ can't come in 'ithout a sin;

Vor only zee how long

The waggon marks in drong, did show lane

Wi’ leaves, wi’ grass, wi’ groun’ wi’ snow.

HERE did swäy the eltrot flow'rs, cow-parsley

When the hours o’ night wer vew,

An’ the zun, wi’ eärly beams

Brighten'd streams, an’ dried the dew,

An’ the goocoo there did greet cuckoo

Passers by wi’ dousty veet. dusty

There the milkmaïd hung her brow

By the cow, a-sheenèn red; shining

An’ the dog, wi’ upward looks,

Watch'd the rooks above his head,

An’ the brook, vrom bow to bow, bend

Here went swift, an’ there wer slow.

Now the cwolder-blowèn blast,

Here do cast vrom elems’ heads

Feäded leaves, a-whirlèn round,

Down to ground, in yollow beds,

Ruslèn under milkers’ shoes,

When the day do dry the dews.

Soon shall grass, a-vrosted bright,

Glisten white instead o’ green,

An’ the wind shall smite the cows,

Where the boughs be now their screen.

Things do change as years do vlee; fly

What ha’ years in store vor me?

WHILE down the meäds wound slow,

Water vor green-wheel'd mills,

Over the streams bright bow, arc

Win’ come vrom dark-back'd hills.

Birds on the win’ shot along down steep

Slopes, wi’ a swift-swung zweep.

Dim weän'd the red streak'd west.

Lim’-weary souls “Good-rest.”

Up on the plough'd hill brow,

Still wer the zull's wheel'd beam, plough's

Still wer the red-wheel'd plough, wagon

Free o’ the strong limb'd team,

Still wer the shop that the smith meäde ring,

Dark where the sparks did spring;

Low shot the zun's last beams.

Lim’-weary souls “Good dreams.”

Where I vrom dark bank-sheädes

Turn'd up the west hill road,

Where all the green grass bleädes

Under the zunlight glow'd,

Startled I met, as the zunbeams plaÿ'd

Light, wi’ a zunsmote maïd, gently

Come vor my day's last zight.

Zun-brighten'd maïd “Good night.”

I'M out, when, in the Winter's blast,

The zun, a-runnèn lowly round,

Do mark the sheädes the hedge do cast shadows

At noon, in hoarvrost, on the ground.

I'm out when snow's a-lyèn white

In keen-aïr'd vields that I do pass,

An’ moonbeams, vrom above, do smite

On ice an’ sleeper's window-glass.

I'm out o’ door,

When win’ do zweep,

By hangèn steep, slope

Or hollow deep,

At Lindenore.

O welcome is the lewth a-vound shelter

By rustlèn copse, or ivied bank,

Or by the haÿ-rick, weather-brown'd

By barken-grass, a-springèn rank; farmyard-

Or where the waggon, vrom the team

A-freed, is well a-housed vrom wet,

An’ on the dousty cart-house beam dusty

Do hang the cobweb's white-lin'd net.

While storms do roar,

An’ win’ do zweep,

By hangèn steep,

Or hollow deep,

At Lindenore.

An’ when a good day's work 's a-done

An’ I do rest, the while a squall

Do rumble in the hollow tun, chimney

An’ ivy-stems do whip the wall,

Then in the house do sound about

My ears, dear vaïces vull or thin,

A praÿèn vor the souls vur out far

At sea, an’ cry wi’ bibb'rèn chin— shaking with cold

Oh! shut the door.

What soul can sleep,

Upon the deep,

When storms do zweep

At Lindenore.

MY hwome wer on the timber'd ground

O’ Duncombe, wi’ the hills a-bound:

Where vew from other peärts did come,

An’ vew did travel vur from hwome, far

An’ small the worold I did know;

But then, what had it to bestow

But Fanny Deäne so good an’ feäir?

'Twer wide enough if she wer there.

In our deep hollow where the zun

Did eärly leäve the smoky tun, chimney-top

An’ all the meäds a-growèn dim,

Below the hill wi’ zunny rim;

Oh! small the land the hills did bound,

But there did walk upon the ground

Young Fanny Deäne so good an’ feäir:

'Twer wide enough if she wer there.

O’ leäte upon the misty plaïn

I staÿ'd vor shelter vrom the raïn,

Where sharp-leav'd ashes’ heads did twist

In hufflèn wind, an’ driftèn mist, gusty

An’ small the worold I could zee;

But then it had below the tree

My Fanny Deäne so good an’ feäir:

'Twer wide enough if she wer there.

An’ I've a house wi’ thatchen ridge,

Below the elems by the bridge:

Wi’ small-peän'd windows, that do look

Upon a knap, an’ ramblèn brook; hillock

An’ small's my house, my ruf is low, roof

But then who mid it have to show may

But Fanny Deäne so good an’ feäir?

'Tis fine enough if peace is there.

WHEN hillborne Paladore did show

So bright to me down miles below,

As woonce the zun, a-rollèn west, once

Did brighten up his hill's high breast, its

Wi’ walls a-lookèn dazzlèn white,

Or yollow, on the grey-topp'd height

Of Paladore, as peäle day wore

Awaÿ so feäir,

Oh! how I wish'd that I wer there.

The pleäce wer too vur off to spy far

The livèn vo'k a-passèn by; folk

The vo'k too vur vor aïr to bring

The words that they did speak or zing.

All dum’ to me wer each abode,

An’ empty wer the down-hill road

Vrom Paladore, as peäle day wore

Awaÿ so feäir;

But how I wish'd that I wer there.

But when I clomb the lofty ground climbed

Where livèn veet an’ tongues did sound,

At feäir, bezide your bloomèn feäce,

The pertiest in all the pleäce,

As you did look, wi’ eyes as blue

As yonder southern hills in view,

Vrom Paladore—O Polly dear,

Wi’ you up there,

How merry then wer I at feäir.

Since vu'st I trod thik steep hill-zide first, that

My grievèn soul 'v a-been a-tried

Wi’ païn, an’ loss o’ worldly geär,

An’ souls a-gone I wanted near;

But you be here to goo up still,

An’ look to Blackmwore vrom the hill

O’ Paladore. Zoo, Polly dear, so

We'll goo up there,

An’ spend an hour or two at feäir.

The wold brown meäre's a-brought vrom grass, old

An’ rubb'd an’ cwomb'd so bright as glass;

An’ now we'll hitch her in, an’ start

To feäir upon the new green cart,

An’ teäke our little Poll between

Our zides, as proud's a little queen,

To Paladore. Aye, Poll a dear,

Vor now 'tis feäir,

An’ she's a-longèn to goo there.

While Paladore, on watch, do straïn

Her eyes to Blackmwore's blue-hill'd plaïn,

While Duncliffe is the traveller's mark,

Or cloty Stour's a-rollèn dark; yellow water-lilied

Or while our bells do call, vor greäce,

The vo'k avore their Seävior's feäce, folk

Mid Paladore, an’ Poll a dear, may

Vor ever know

O’ peäce an’ plenty down below.

AH! when our wedded life begun,

Theäse cleän-wall'd house of ours wer new; this

Wi’ thatch as yollor as the zun yellow

Avore the cloudless sky o’ blue;

The sky o’ blue that then did bound

The blue-hilled worold's flow'ry ground.

An’ we've a-vound it weather-brown'd,

As Spring-tide blossoms oben'd white,

Or Fall did shed, on zunburnt ground,

Red apples from their leafy height:

Their leafy height, that Winter soon

Left leafless to the cool-feäced moon.

An’ raïn-bred moss ha’ staïn'd wi’ green

The smooth-feäced wall's white-morter'd streaks,

The while our childern zot between sat

Our seats avore the fleäme's red peaks:

The fleäme's red peaks, till axan white ashes

Did quench em vor the long-sleep'd night.

The bloom that woonce did overspread once

Your rounded cheäk, as time went by,

A-shrinkèn to a patch o’ red,

Did feäde so soft's the evenèn sky:

The evenèn sky, my faithful wife,

O’ days as feäir's our happy life.

IN zummer, leäte at evenèn tide,

I zot to spend a moonless hour sat

‘Ithin the window, wi’ the zide

A-bound wi’ rwoses out in flow'r,

Bezide the bow'r, vorsook o’ birds,

An’ listen'd to my true-love's words.

A-risèn to her comely height,

She push'd the swingèn ceäsement round;

And I could hear, beyond my zight,

The win’-blow'd beech-tree softly sound,

On higher ground, a-swaÿèn slow,

On drough my happy hour below. through

An’ tho’ the darkness then did hide

The dewy rwose's blushèn bloom,

He still did cast sweet aïr inside it

To Jeäne, a-chattèn in the room;

An’ though the gloom did hide her feäce,

Her words did bind me to the pleäce.

An’ there, while she, wi’ runnèn tongue,

Did talk unzeen ‘ithin the hall,

I thought her like the rwose that flung

His sweetness vrom his darken'd ball,

‘Ithout the wall, an’ sweet's the zight

Ov her bright feäce by mornèn light.

IN zummer, when the sheädes do creep shadows

Below the Zunday steeple, round

The mossy stwones, that love cut deep

Wi’ neämes that tongues noo mwore do sound,

The leäne do lose the stalkèn team,

An’ dry-rimm'd waggon-wheels be still,

An’ hills do roll their down-shot stream

Below the restèn wheel at mill.

O holy day, when tweil do ceäse, toil

Sweet day o’ rest an’ greäce an’ peäce!

The eegrass, vor a while unwrung grass regrown after mowing

By hoof or shoe, 's a sheenèn bright, shining

An’ clover flowers be a-sprung

On new-mow'd knaps in beds o’ white, hillocks

An’ sweet wild rwoses, up among

The hedge-row boughs, do yield their smells,

To aïer that do bear along

The loud-rung peals o’ Zunday bells,

Upon the day o’ days the best,

The day o’ greäce an’ peäce an’ rest.

By brightshod veet, in peäir an’ peäir,

Wi’ comely steps the road's a-took

To church, an’ work-free han's do beär

Woone's walkèn stick or sister's book; one's

An’ there the bloomèn niece do come

To zee her aunt, in all her best;

Or married daughter do bring hwome

Her vu'st sweet child upon her breast, first

As she do seek the holy pleäce,

The day o’ rest an’ peäce an’ greäce.

As I do zew, wi’ nimble hand,

In here avore the window's light,

How still do all the housegear stand

Around my lwonesome zight.

How still do all the housegear stand

Since Willie now 've a-left the land.

The rwose-tree's window-sheädèn bow arch

Do hang in leaf, an’ win’-blow'd flow'rs,

Avore my lwonesome eyes do show

Theäse bright November hours. these

Avore my lwonesome eyes do show

Wi’ nwone but I to zee em blow.

The sheädes o’ leafy buds, avore shadows

The peänes, do sheäke upon the glass,

An’ stir in light upon the vloor,

Where now vew veet do pass,

An’ stir in light upon the vloor,

Where there's a-stirrèn nothèn mwore.

This win’ mid dreve upon the maïn, may drive

My brother's ship, a-plowèn foam,

But not bring mother, cwold, nor raïn,

At her now happy hwome.

But not bring mother, cwold, nor raïn,

Where she is out o’ païn.

Zoo now that I'm a-mwopèn dumb, so

A-keepèn father's house, do you

Come of'en wi’ your work vrom hwome,

Vor company. Now do.

Come of'en wi’ your work vrom hwome,

Up here a-while. Do come.

No, no, why you've noo wife at hwome

Abidèn up till you do come,

Zoo leäve your hat upon the pin, so, peg

Vor I'm your waïter. Here's your inn,

Wi’ chair to rest, an’ bed to roost;

You have but little work to do

This vrosty time at hwome in mill,

Your vrozen wheel's a-stannèn still,

The sleepèn ice woont grind vor you.

No, no, you woont goo hwome to-night,

Good Robin White, o’ Craglin mill.

As I come by, to-day, where stood

Wi’ neäked trees, the purple wood,

The scarlet hunter's ho'ses veet

Tore up the sheäkèn ground, wind-fleet, as swift as wind

Wi’ reachèn heads, an’ pankèn hides; panting

The while the flat-wing'd rooks in vlock,

Did zwim a-sheenèn at their height; shining

But your good river, since last night,

Wer all a-vroze so still's a rock.

No, no, you woont goo hwome to-night,

Good Robin White, o’ Craglin mill.

Zee how the hufflèn win’ do blow, gusty

A-whirlèn down the giddy snow:

Zee how the sky's a-weärèn dim,

Behind the elem's neäked lim’

That there do leän above the leäne;

Zoo teäke your pleäce bezide the dogs, so, fire-dogs

An’ sip a drop o’ hwome-brew'd eäle, ale

An’ zing your zong or tell your teäle,

While I do baït the vier wi’ logs. stoke, fire

No, no, you woont goo hwome to-night,

Good Robin White, o’ Craglin mill.

Your meäre's in steäble wi’ her hocks

In straw above her vetterlocks,

A-reachèn up her meäney neck, covered with mane

An’ pullèn down good haÿ vrom reck, rack

A-meäkèn slight o’ snow an’ sleet;

She don't want you upon her back,

To vall upon the slippery stwones

On Hollyhill, an’ break your bwones,

Or miss, in snow, her hidden track.

No, no, you woont goo hwome to-night,

Good Robin White, o’ Craglin mill.

Here, Jenny, come pull out your key

An’ hansel, wi’ zome tidy tea, wedding present

The zilver pot that we do owe

To your prize butter at the show,

An’ put zome bread upon the bwoard.

Ah! he do smile; now that 'ull do,

He'll staÿ. Here, Polly, bring a light,

We'll have a happy hour to-night,

I'm thankvul we be in the lew. shelter

No, no, he woont goo hwome to-night,

Not Robin White, o’ Craglin mill.

THE zun, O Jessie, while his feäce do rise

In vi'ry skies, a-sheddèn out his light fiery

On yollow corn a-weävèn down below

His yollow glow, is gaÿ avore the zight.

By two an’ two,

How goodly things do goo,

A-matchèn woone another to fulvill one

The goodness ov their Meäkèr's will.

How bright the spreadèn water in the lew shelter

Do catch the blue, a-sheenèn vrom the sky; shining

How true the grass do teäke the dewy bead

That it do need, while dousty roads be dry. dusty

By peäir an’ peäir

Each thing's a-meäde to sheäre share

The good another can bestow,

In wisdom's work down here below.

The lowest lim's o’ trees do seldom grow

A-spread too low to gi'e the cows a sheäde; give

The aïr's to bear the bird, the bird's to rise;

Vor light the eyes, vor eyes the light's a-meäde.

'Tis gi'e an’ teäke,

An’ woone vor others’ seäke;

In peäirs a-workèn out their ends,

Though men be foes that should be friends.

WULL ye come in eärly Spring,

Come at Easter, or in Maÿ?

Or when Whitsuntide mid bring may

Longer light to show your waÿ?

Wull ye come, if you be true,

Vor to quicken love anew?

Wull ye call in Spring or Fall?

Come now soon by zun or moon?

Wull ye come?

Come wi’ vaïce to vaïce the while

All their words be sweet to hear;

Come that feäce to feäce mid smile,

While their smiles do seem so dear;

Come within the year to seek

Woone you have sought woonce a week? one, once

Come while flow'rs be on the bow'rs,

And the bird o’ zong's a-heärd.

Wull ye come?

Ees come to ye, an’ come vor ye, is my word, yes

I wull come.

“THE zunny copse ha’ birds to zing,

The leäze ha’ cows to low, meadow

The elem trees ha’ rooks on wing,

The meäds a brook to flow,

But I can walk noo mwore, to pass

The drashel out abrode, threshold, (to go) outside

To wear a path in theäse year's grass this

Or tread the wheelworn road,”

Cried Grammer, “then adieu,

O runnèn brooks,

An’ vleèn rooks, flying

I can't come out to you.

If ‘tis God's will, why then ‘tis well,

That I should bide ‘ithin a wall.”

An’ then the childern, wild wi’ fun,

An’ loud wi’ jaÿvul sounds, joyful

Sprung in an’ cried, “We had a run,

A-plaÿèn heäre an’ hounds;

But oh! the cowslips where we stopt

In Maÿcreech, on the knap!” hillock

An’ vrom their little han's each dropt

Some cowslips in her lap.

Cried Grammer, “Only zee!

I can't teäke strolls,

An’ little souls

Would bring the vields to me.

Since ‘tis God's will, an’ mus’ be well

That I should bide ‘ithin a wall. ”

“Oh! there be prison walls to hold

The han's o’ lawless crimes,

An’ there be walls arear'd vor wold raised, old

An’ zick in tryèn times;

But oh! though low mid slant my ruf, may, roof

Though hard my lot mid be,

Though dry mid come my daily lwoaf,

Mid mercy leäve me free!”

Cried Grammer, “Or adieu

To jaÿ; O grounds, joy, fields

An’ birds’ gaÿ sounds

If I mus’ gi'e up you, give

Although ‘tis well, in God's good will,

That I should bide ‘ithin a wall.”

“Oh! then,” we answer'd, “never fret,

If we shall be a-blest,

We'll work vull hard drough het an’ wet through heat

To keep your heart at rest:

The woaken chair's vor you to vill, oak

For you shall glow the coal,

An’ when the win’ do whissle sh'ill shrilly

We'll screen it vrom your poll.” head

Cried Grammer, “God is true.

I can't but feel

He smote to heal

My wounded heart in you;

An’ zoo ‘tis well, if ‘tis His will, so

That I be here ‘ithin a wall.

O LIZZIE is so mild o’ mind,

Vor ever kind, an’ ever true;

A-smilèn, while her lids do rise

To show her eyes as bright as dew.

An’ comely do she look at night,

A-dancèn in her skirt o’ white,

An’ blushèn wi’ a rwose o’ red

Bezide her glossy head.

Feäir is the rwose o’ blushèn hue,

Behung wi’ dew, in mornèn's hour,

Feäir is the rwose, so sweet below

The noontide glow, bezide the bow'r.

Vull feäir, an’ eet I'd rather zee yet

The rwose a-gather'd off the tree,

An’ bloomèn still with blossom red,

By Lizzie's glossy head.

Mid peace droughout her e'thly day, may, throughout, earthly

Betide her waÿ, to happy rest,

An’ mid she, all her weanèn life, waning

Or maïd or wife, be loved and blest.

Though I mid never zing anew

To neäme the maïd so feäir an’ true,

A-blushèn, wi’ a rwose o’ red,

Bezide her glossy head.