THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 WILLIAM GEORGE'S S< < 
 
 BOOKSI 1 1. y RS 
 fS9 PARK STREET, BRISTOL 
 
West" Country Verses 
 
West-Country Verses 
 
 BY 
 
 ARTHUR L. SALMON 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 'WEST-COUNTRY BALLADS AND VERSES,' 'A BOOK OF VERSES,' ETC. 
 
 COLLECTED AND REVISED 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD AND SONS 
 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON 
 
 MCMVIII 
 
 Ail Rights resen'td 
 
6037 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 THE present volume is a collection of the 
 West of England verses published in my 
 ' West - Country Ballads and Verses' (Black- 
 wood, 1899), and 'Lyrics and Verses' (Black- 
 wood, 1902), with some additions that have 
 not yet been issued in volume-form. The 
 dialect is mainly that of Devonshire, but some 
 of the pieces are equally representative of that 
 of Somerset, where the same old Wessex 
 speech lingers. The chief difference between 
 the two counties is in the tone and inflection 
 of the vowel-sounds. There is considerable 
 similarity also in the dialect of Dorset, as 
 will be noted by readers of William Barnes. 
 
 807E 
 
vi Preface. 
 
 The Author owes his best thanks to the 
 Publishers of ' Macmillan's Magazine,' ' Long- 
 mans' Magazine,' 'The Pall Mall Magazine/ 
 and 'The Lady's Realm,' for their consent 
 to the republication of verses from those 
 periodicals. 
 
 A. L. S. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PACE 
 
 A SONG OF DEVON I 
 
 "JAN COO." A RHYME OF THE DARTMOOR BORDERS 5 
 
 WIDDECOMBE ON THE MOOR IO 
 
 THE PARSON AND THE CLERK. A BALLAD OF THE 
 
 DEVON COAST l6 
 
 THE CORNISH WRECKER'S DEATH . . . .21 
 
 THE MOUTH OF THE LYN 25 
 
 SUNSET BY THE EXE 2J 
 
 ILFRACOMBE 29 
 
 A LEGEND OF ST PETROCK 31 
 
 SEA-GULLS (ILFRACOMBE) 34 
 
 DEVON LASSIES 35 
 
 AUTUMN 37 
 
 "IN THE GOLDEN WOOD" 39 
 
 IN THE DIM CITY (BRISTOL) 40 
 
viii Contents. 
 
 PIECES IN DIALECT. 
 
 THE PARISH CLERK 45 
 
 A DEVON WIFE 5 
 
 IN THE D1MPSES 55 
 
 A DISTRICT VISITOR 57 
 
 THE CURATE 63 
 
 THE OLD SCHOOLMASTER 66 
 
 "THE WOOING O'T" 72 
 
 THE OLD WIFE TO THE NEW .... 79 
 
 A FATHER OF TWINS 85 
 
 A VILLAGE CELIBATE 91 
 
 "COMPLICATIONS" 96 
 
 A VILLAGE SPINSTER IOI 
 
 TACKLING THE CURATE Io6 
 
 THE STORY OF ST PIRAN. A CORNISH TRADITION III 
 
 THE OLD SEXTON 117 
 
 JILTED 123 
 
 A MOTHER-SONG 127 
 
 CHILDLESS 129 
 
 A FISHERMAN'S COTTAGE 131 
 
 A WIDOW'S MITE 133 
 
WEST-COUNTRY VERSES. 
 
 A SONG OF DEVON. 
 
 'AND of the tor and torrent, of tillage and of 
 
 wild, 
 Thou most imperial mother of many a noble child. 
 
 Thou haunt of old romances, thou nest of golden 
 
 dreams, 
 Thou hope of hopeless causes, thou land of glorious 
 
 gleams ! 
 
 Give me the grace to sing thee in one exulting song, 
 Through whose impetuous numbers thy pulse beats 
 true and strong. 
 
 A 
 
2 West-Country Verses. 
 
 A song whose breath may echo the legends of thy 
 
 breeze, 
 The magic of thy moorlands, the rapture of thy 
 
 seas. 
 
 I see thy winding rivers in beauty seek the main, 
 Bringing the breath of forest, of pasture, and of 
 plain ; 
 
 The kindly fostering harbours, from whence thy 
 
 children sailed, 
 Who in the need of England might die yet never 
 
 failed ; 
 
 Thy granite-heaving moorlands, whereon we dimly 
 
 trace 
 Traditionary footsteps of many a vanished race : 
 
 A wilderness of heather, a paradise of gold, 
 Where every ancient trackway is strewn with stories 
 old. 
 
 I see thy Faithful City, and many a lovely town, 
 Thy villages and hamlets that lurk 'mid furze and 
 down ; 
 
A Song of Devon. 3 
 
 Thy gaunt and mighty headlands that front the 
 Severn Sea, 
 
 Where in gigantic caverns the waves beat cease- 
 lessly ; 
 
 Thy meadow-lands and orchards that blossom to the 
 
 south ; 
 Thy shelving sand and shingle, thy many a river's 
 
 mouth. 
 
 O Devon, mother Devon, whose heart is warm and 
 
 strong, 
 Give me the grace to sing thee in one triumphant 
 
 song. 
 
 Whene'er the voice of England has echoed to the 
 
 wind, 
 The dauntless sons of Devon have never lagged 
 
 behind. 
 
 They never lost their courage, they never lost their 
 
 love : 
 Behind their faith in Devon lay faith in God above. 
 
4 West-Country Verses. 
 
 For life they lusted keenly, these playmates of the 
 
 sea; 
 They never ceased to labour for England and for 
 
 thee, 
 
 Till worlds of new-born knowledge poured forth 
 
 their wealth untold, 
 For English hands to gather in western lands of 
 
 gold. 
 
"JAN COO." 
 
 A RHYME OF THE DARTMOOR BORDERS. 
 
 r I "*HE air of the lonely moors for ever 
 
 1 Throbs with the pulse of the leaping river, 
 Where over its boulders foamingly 
 The Dart is fain for its haven sea. 
 
 Glorious it is when the summer gold 
 Is scattered widely o'er moor and wold 
 When oaken leaves and ivies quiver 
 Responsive to the rushing river. 
 
 But when the wizard winter reigns 
 O'er Dartmoor wilds and Devon lanes, 
 With deeper tone, with keener shiver, 
 Dashes and dives the tameless river. 
 
6 West-Country Verses. 
 
 The winter sundown had ebbed and died 
 Over the tors and the valleys wide, 
 And through the hush came only the thrill 
 Of the moorland torrent, never still. 
 
 Brief are the toils of the winter day ; 
 The night came fast, a phantom grey ; 
 And round the fire the farm-folk told 
 Tidings and happenings, new and old. 
 
 Sudden the door flew open wide, 
 And the farm-boy entered, eager-eyed : 
 " Out in the dusk and the winter sighing 
 I heard the voice of a something crying." 
 
 The men rose willingly. " Ay, for sure, 
 
 'Tis a body lost out on the moor ; " 
 
 And they shouted loud where the night-time's hush 
 
 Tremulous carried the river's rush. 
 
 No cry at first. Then clear and true 
 Through the air there rang, " Jan Coo, Jan Coo ! " 
 Said they, " An' who may Jan Coo be ever ? 
 ' I'll war'n 'tis a body down by the river." 
 
" Jan Coo." 7 
 
 And they shouted again, but to their crying 
 There came no further voice replying ; 
 And nothing they heard and nothing they found, 
 Save the river's ceaseless leap and bound. 
 
 Next night again, as the shadows grew, 
 
 The same cry sounded, " Jan Coo, Jan Coo ! " 
 
 And to their lusty shouts and crying 
 
 " Jan Coo, Jan Coo ! " came still replying. 
 
 Then a grey-haired man said solemnly, 
 " For sure 'tis the pisgies that it be ; 
 'Tis the pisgies and whatever betide 
 'Tis best for us to let un bide." 
 
 Back to the fire the farm-folk went 
 With chilly dread and wonderment ; 
 And they took no note of the eerie cry 
 And the winter-tide dragged slowly by. 
 
 The winter slackened fast, and earth 
 Was quick with impulses of birth, 
 When through the twilight's hazy blue 
 The same cry came again " Jan Coo ! " 
 
West- Country Verses. 
 
 On the hillside stood the boy and heard, 
 His mind most powerfully stirred ; 
 And he called aloud, " I'll go and see, 
 Pisgy or not, what the cry may be." 
 
 Adown the slope he hotly sped 
 To the dips and crags of the river's bed, 
 While still beyond came clear and true 
 " Jan Coo ! " and yet again " Jan Coo ! " 
 
 The farmer watched his headlong way, 
 And loudly called to him to stay ; 
 But the boy soon disappeared from view 
 Towards the cry" Jan Coo, Jan Coo ! " 
 
 Then sudden through the nightfall chill 
 That lone mysterious cry was still, 
 And only from the gorge as ever 
 Trembled the pulse of the leaping river. 
 
 The night came on with dreamy gloom, 
 O'er tor and torrent, moss and combe : 
 With deeper tone, with keener shiver, 
 Tumbled and tossed the tameless river. 
 
" Jan Coo." 9 
 
 Whether the boy might be or not 
 A pisgy brought to an earthly cot, 
 And whether from their dwellings dim 
 His pixy-folk were calling him, 
 
 Or whether it was the voice of the Dart, 
 That every year will claim a heart 
 Calling the boy to a restless grave 
 In the eddies of its hungering wave 
 
 Is a question we must ask in vain. 
 But the boy was never seen again, 
 Though night and day they sought him wide 
 By bog and bush of the moorland-side. 
 
 And never again the moor-folk knew 
 That lone mysterious cry " Jan Coo ! " 
 Where over its boulders foamingly 
 The Dart is fain for its haven sea. 
 
10 
 
 WIDDECOMBE ON THE MOOR. 
 
 THE devil came to Widdecombe 
 With thunder and with flame ; 
 He left behind at Widdecombe 
 
 A terror and a name ; 
 And this, the moorland voices tell, 
 Is how the devil came. 
 
 The autumn flashed with red and gold 
 
 Along the Devon lanes ; 
 The tangled hedges of the wold 
 
 Were rich with mellow stains, 
 The torrents of the moorland old 
 
 Were turbulent with rains. 
 
Widdecombe on tJie Moor. 1 1 
 
 There came a stranger to the inn 
 And sought to know his way 
 
 To Poundstock on the moor he came 
 In sombre black array ; 
 
 He asked the road to Widdecombe 
 It was the Sabbath-day. 
 
 He shouted loudly for a drink 
 
 His sable steed he stroked ; 
 And when he tossed the liquor down, 
 
 It boiled and hissed and smoked ; 
 Like water on a red-hot iron 
 
 The hissing liquor soaked. 
 
 " Good woman, will you be my guide 
 To Widdecombe on the moor ? " 
 
 With trembling accent she declined 
 She said the road was sure. 
 
 She saw a cloven hoof strike out 
 As he spurred away from the door. 
 
 Low on the massy cleaves and tors 
 
 A boding trouble lay 
 A ceaseless murmur of the streams 
 
 Came through the silent day. 
 
I 
 12 West- Country Verses. 
 
 The stranger rode to Widdecombe,- 
 Full well he found the way. 
 
 The folk were gathered in the church 
 To hear the evening pray'r, 
 
 And if 'twas dark enough without, 
 Twas threefold darker there ; 
 
 And on the gathered people fell 
 A shudder and a scare. 
 
 Now is the time, oh kneeling folk, 
 To pray with fervent fear, 
 
 For the enemy of the soul of man, 
 Devouring fiend, is near, 
 
 And evil thoughts and base desires 
 Unbind his fetters here. 
 
 Sudden upon the moorland kirk 
 The crash of thunder broke 
 
 A noise as of a thousand guns, 
 With many a lightning-stroke, 
 
 A blackness as of blackest night, 
 With fitful fire and smoke. 
 
Widdecombe on the Moor. \ 3 
 
 It seemed the Day of doom had come ; 
 
 The roof was torn and rent, 
 And through the church from end to end 
 
 A fearful flame-ball went. 
 It seemed the dreadful Day had come 
 
 In wild bewilderment. 
 
 The stranger came to Widdecombe 
 
 He tied his horse without ; 
 He rushed into the crashing door 
 
 With fiendish laugh and shout ; 
 Through the door the fiery stranger came, 
 
 Through the shattered roof went out. 
 
 Men prayed with terror and remorse 
 
 In frenzied fear they cried ; 
 And one lay dead with cloven head, 
 
 His blood besprinkled wide 
 And one was struck so dire a stroke 
 
 That of his hurt he died. 
 
 Down through the roof the turret came 
 
 The spire was twisted stark. 
 A beam came crushing down between 
 
 The parson and the clerk, 
 
14 West- Country Verses. 
 
 And fearful was the sudden light, 
 And fearful was the dark. 
 
 Then fell a deep and deathlike hush ; 
 
 And through the silence dead, 
 " Good neighbours, shall we venture out ? " 
 
 A trembling farmer said 
 " I' the name o' God, shall we venture out ? "- 
 
 For the fearsome time seemed sped. 
 
 Then up and spake the minister 
 
 With white yet dauntless face : 
 "Tis best to make an end of prayer, 
 
 Trusting to Christ His grace ; 
 For it were better to die here 
 
 Than in another place." 
 
 So in the kirk at Widdecombe 
 
 They finished evening pray'r ; 
 And then at last they ventured out 
 
 Into the autumn air. 
 Brightly the jagged moorland lay 
 
 In sundown calm and fair. 
 
Widdecombe on the Moor. \ 5 
 
 The devil came to Widdecombe 
 With thunder and with flame, 
 
 He left behind a shattered kirk, 
 A terror, and a fame ; 
 
 And this, the moorland voices tell, 
 Is how the devil came. 
 
i6 
 
 THE PARSON AND THE CLERK. 
 
 A BALLAD OF THE DEVON COAST. 
 
 WHOEVER goes to Dawlish town 
 May see, in dawn or dark, 
 Two rocks that front the dashing sea 
 The Parson and the Clerk. 
 
 And till the sea hath sucked them down, 
 
 Which it haply soon will do, 
 To all the watching Devon coasts 
 
 They tell this legend true. 
 
 'Twas from the Faithful City 
 The parson spurred that day, 
 
 And when he came to Haldon 
 He failed to trace his way. 
 
The Parson and the Clerk. 17 
 
 The storms of night were howling, 
 The Wish-hounds yelled and bayed ; 
 
 And the clerk, who swore he knew the track, 
 Still farther from it strayed. 
 
 Their weary horses stumbled 
 
 In ridges deep and wide, 
 And the parson breathed a sinful wish 
 
 That the Fiend might be his guide. 
 
 The parson swore unholy 
 
 And suddenly behind 
 They heard a clanking horse's hoofs 
 
 Come after like the wind. 
 
 It was a peasant mounted. 
 
 " Good e'en to you," he cried ; 
 " You've wandered from the trackway far, 
 
 But I will be your guide." 
 
 With ease and skill unerring 
 
 He led them o'er the down ; 
 And he begged of them to sup with him 
 
 In his house by Dawlish town. 
 
 B 
 
1 8 West- Country Verses. 
 
 " My merry friends are waiting," 
 He cried with laughter loud ; 
 
 " And to have a parson sup with them 
 Will make them mighty proud." 
 
 The house looked old and crazy 
 High dashed the neighbouring sea ; 
 
 And "Thanks, my man," the parson cried- 
 " We'll take pot-luck," said he. 
 
 Merry and high the feasting was, 
 The guests drank deep and free ; 
 
 And the parson sang a stirring song 
 Not from the Liturgy. 
 
 A stirring song the parson sang, 
 And the clerk intoned Amen ; 
 
 And when the chorus had been yelled 
 They begged for it again. 
 
 And the parson shouted gladly, 
 " 'Tis better than droning pray'r 
 
 In the church to the drowsy people, 
 With my foxy clerk in the chair." 
 
The Parson and the Clerk. 19 
 
 Loud laughed the clerk at the jesting, 
 But he stooped to his master's ear : 
 
 " Tis best for us to be going 
 The dawn is drawing near." 
 
 " Good night, my merry masters ; 
 
 The hour is drawing late." 
 And the host cried to the parson, 
 
 " We'll see you from the gate." 
 
 The parson clomb to his saddle, 
 
 To his dragged up the clerk ; 
 Strange flashes from the doorway 
 
 Shone out into the dark. 
 
 The air was blind with sea-spray ; 
 
 And, spite of whip and spur, 
 The beasts of clerk and parson 
 
 Like rocks refused to stir. 
 
 " The Fiend is in the horses," 
 
 Cried the parson furiously ; 
 " But devil or no, we'll make them go ! " 
 
 And the host laughed loud with glee. 
 
2O West-Country Verses. 
 
 Then thicker the foam descended, 
 The waves more closely dashed, 
 
 And there stood at the door a troop of fiends 
 With eyes that wildly flashed. 
 
 The crazy house had vanished 
 
 The breakers surged and ran ; 
 And to the flanks of their horses 
 
 Clung master and clung man. 
 
 Prone on the rocks next morning 
 
 They stretched there, stiff and stark : 
 
 On one rock lay the parson, 
 On one rock lay the clerk. 
 
 Beaten and torn and mangled, 
 They clung with dead-cold hands, 
 
 While their horses wandered harmless 
 On shining Dawlish sands. 
 
21 
 
 THE CORNISH WRECKER'S DEATH. 
 
 "" I ^WAS the time of the barley-harvesting 
 A The wrecker lay on his bed 
 
 With the fire of grievous sin at his heart, 
 Death's chill upon his head. 
 
 There came a storm-cloud from the sea, 
 Thick black with fringe of red. 
 
 By his dying bed the parson stood 
 
 With pow'rful words of pray'r. 
 The trembling fishers stayed without, 
 
 Nor dared to enter there, 
 For they heard the pirate-wrecker's groans 
 
 And the shrieks of his despair. 
 
 There came a fearful crash and flame, 
 
 Then deepest, blackest gloom, 
 And it seemed as though the surging waves 
 
 Were dashing through the room 
 
22 West- Country Verses. 
 
 A fierce alternate dark and light, 
 A thunderous billowing boom. 
 
 Unsteered, it seemed, by earthly hands 
 
 A black ship neared the shore, 
 Of a rig that never Cornishmen 
 
 Had recognised before ; 
 And the fishers crossed themselves with dread 
 
 As they stood around the door. 
 
 To hear the dying wrecker's cries 
 
 Might make the bravest quail. 
 He yelled, "The fiend is tearing me 
 
 With bloody tooth and nail ! 
 His hand is like the claw of a hawk ! " 
 
 And the cry became a wail. 
 
 He shouted, " Put the sailors out ! 
 Their fingers drip with blood ! " 
 
 And the shock that rent the cottage walls 
 Was like the shock of a flood, 
 
 As though the breakers beat within 
 With ceaseless mighty thud. 
 
The Cornish Wrecker's Death. 23 
 
 Above the wrecker's shatt'ring roof 
 Hung full the cloud of night 
 
 The deepest darkness ever known, 
 While all beside was bright. 
 
 Foiled by the fiend, the parson brave 
 Rushed forth into the light. 
 
 His pray'r was baffled by a heart 
 
 Corrupt with constant sin, 
 Whereto no peace of penitence 
 
 Could steal a pathway in ; 
 Remorse and deadly fear alone 
 
 Can never pardon win. 
 
 Sudden the pitchy clinging cloud, 
 
 Raised by resistless force, 
 Rolled from the cottage to the ship, 
 
 And the ship began her course. 
 Behind, a loathsome sight to see, 
 
 Remained the wrecker's corse. 
 
 The storm and trouble passed away 
 
 As strangely as they fell. 
 There came a peace upon the earth, 
 
 As though all things were well ; 
 
24 West- Country Verses. 
 
 And the seaward-lying clouds became 
 A field of asphodel. 
 
 Yet when they raised the wrecker's corse, 
 
 To bury him in dread, 
 Rolled in the pitchy cloud again 
 
 With fringe of lurid red, 
 And a sudden blaze of light caught up 
 
 The coffin and the dead. 
 
 It whirled the coffin fearsomely 
 
 Across the sea in flame ; 
 And to the outer fire he went 
 
 Who from the darkness came ; 
 If there be hope for such an end, 
 
 Such hope we dare not name. 
 
 The earth was lightened of her load- 
 Sweet peace returned once more ; 
 
 The loving touch of sundown lit 
 The church upon the shore. 
 
 Parson and people prayed that night 
 As they never prayed before. 
 
THE MOUTH OF THE LYN. 
 
 1 7*ORTH from the fastness of its moorland home 
 
 F. 
 With ceaseless din 
 
 Cometh the leaping Lyn, 
 
 Seeking the coast with constant fret and foam 
 
 Bringing a wildness of the moors to wed 
 
 The wildness of the sea, from ferny bed 
 
 And mossy boulders breaking, till it meet 
 
 The haven where its fleet 
 
 Disordered pulse shall stay its fitful beat, 
 
 And find a rest 
 
 In the more mighty swell of ocean's breast. 
 
 And when the flood-tide pours 
 
 Into the combe where Lyn first meets the sea 
 
 When all the streamlet-shores 
 
 Are lapped in ocean's calm immensity 
 
26 West-Country Verses. 
 
 There comes a silence, and the restless din 
 
 Of leaping Lyn 
 
 Is swallowed by the hush 
 
 That takes the fever from its moorland rush. 
 
 The force and turmoil of its hastening 
 
 Become a petty thing. 
 
 To listening wood and hill 
 
 Up-breathes an utter peace, and all is still. 
 
 O heart whose pulse with mad impetuous force 
 
 Frets like the moorland river, 
 
 Because the rocks and banks along its course 
 
 Impede its way for ever, 
 
 Leave thou the self that is thy constant woe, 
 
 Let the great flood-tide flow. 
 
 Return to thy true haven and thy source, 
 
 Merging thy wilfulness in heaven's high will. 
 
 Then shalt thou know 
 
 The heat and conflict of thy hastening 
 
 Were but a petty thing. 
 
 Hushing thy tumult and thy murmuring 
 
 Flows in the peace of God, and all is still. 
 
SUNSET BY THE EXE. 
 
 THE flood of light falls lingeringly 
 Where Exe flows out to meet the sea, 
 And through my heart the flood of dream 
 Flows deeper with the deepening gleam. 
 
 The sun hath touched with loving hand 
 The stretch of sea, the bars of sand, 
 And on each crying sea-bird's wing 
 His kisses still are quivering. 
 
 The world of spirits opens wide 
 The sea of soul that hath no tide ; 
 A moment's passport comes to me, 
 Where Exe flows out to meet the sea. 
 
 I pass with sunset's passing gleam 
 Into the life that doth not dream ; 
 The secret guarded gates unfold 
 Unto the self that grows not old. 
 
28 West- Country Verses. 
 
 In moments thus, from youth to eld, 
 Too briefly given, too long withheld, 
 The soul is snatched from time and place 
 To boundless peace, to boundless space. 
 
 The years that come with stain and soil, 
 The years of hope, the years of toil, 
 Pass by and leave no least impress 
 Upon this inmost consciousness. 
 
 Only when life of long offence 
 
 Hath dulled the soul with clouds of sense, 
 
 Rarer or none our moments be 
 
 Of glimpses at eternity ; 
 
 And when the spirit's nobler need 
 Is sold for sordid aims or greed, 
 Its sleep unbroken covets not 
 The glories that it hath forgot. 
 
 Where Exe flows forth to meet the sea 
 This comfort hath been granted me : 
 The soul, though fast asleep it lie, 
 Grows never old, can never die. 
 
ILFRACOMBE. 
 
 BY day thy ways are loud with thronging feet, 
 Thy tors resound with jest and careless cries ; 
 Thy nooks are rifled of that presence sweet 
 
 Reserved for quiet hours and reverent eyes. 
 The voice of him who sells, of him who buys, 
 
 Blend with the sea-gull's call, the wash of sea. 
 Thou art despoiled of beauty's modest guise, 
 And loveliness hath lost her mystery. 
 
 But when the night falls and thy ways are dumb 
 
 There comes a witching change. Upon thy shore 
 With fuller harmony the billows come, 
 
 Bringing their tales of half-forgotten lore. 
 Our Lady of the sea is queen once more. 
 
 Stealeth a spirit from the moorlands grey, 
 Taking the taint from rocky path and tor, 
 
 Cleansing the stains that come of clamorous day. 
 
3O West-Country Verses. 
 
 Night hath a thousand ministers to chase 
 
 The soilures that would mar her purity. 
 Lo, they have passed with no abiding trace, 
 
 Earth reasserts her calm supremacy : 
 So the polluted heart would ask to be, 
 
 Bearing no soil of passions gone before. 
 We love thee better, nursling of the sea, 
 
 When nature claims thee for her own once more. 
 
A LEGEND OF ST PETROCK. 
 
 ST PETROCK trod the craggy shore 
 And gazed at the glowing west, 
 And to his heart there came a dream, 
 A dream of the Isle of the Blest ; 
 
 That isle which never living foot 
 
 With earthly stain has trod, 
 That lies away to the golden west, 
 
 Somewhere in the hand of God. 
 
 There came to his feet a silver boat, 
 Washed by the wave to his reach ; 
 
 Therein the saint put forth, and left 
 Sheepskin and staff on the beach. 
 
 For many days St Petrock sailed, 
 Nor ate nor drank the while ; 
 
 Yet he hungered not and he thirsted not 
 Till he came to the Blessed Isle. 
 
32 West-Country Verses. 
 
 It was a land of peace and flowers, 
 With valleys towards the sea 
 
 A land of streams and singing birds, 
 Where never tempests be : 
 
 Pure as the purest thoughts of heaven 
 In the heart of a saint or a maid. 
 
 St Petrock left his boat by the shore, 
 And trod forth unafraid. 
 
 Seven years he spent, and what he saw 
 
 No tongue of man may say ; 
 But when he had spent seven years it seemed 
 
 That he had but spent a day. 
 
 A single fruit from a tree that sprang 
 
 Out of the verdurous sod 
 Was all St Petrock ate in the isle 
 
 That lies in the hand of God. 
 
 Then he came again to the sloping beach, 
 And there he found once more 
 
 The silver boat that had wafted him 
 Away to this blessed shore. 
 
A Legend of St Petrock. 33 
 
 Back from the island of the Blest 
 
 He came to the western land, 
 And he found his sheepskin and his staff 
 
 Uninjured on the sand. 
 
 A grey old wolf had guarded them 
 
 They showed nor rent nor stain. 
 St Petrock stepped to the shore, and donned 
 
 His hermit-garb again. 
 
 St Petrock sailed to the Blessed Isle ; 
 
 But when the vision broke 
 He found that heaven had guarded still 
 
 His staff and sheepskin cloak. 
 
34 
 
 SEA-GULLS. 
 
 (ILFRACOMBE.) 
 
 AIOVE the misty headlands 
 White sea-gulls soar and scream, 
 And their wings have lured the flashing 
 
 Of the sunset's crimson gleam, 
 O why are those wings so restless, 
 And whence that boding cry ? 
 Do they catch the breath of the tempest 
 And the storm that is coming nigh ? 
 
 Are they the souls of sleepers 
 
 In ocean's restless bed ? 
 And do they speak of the living 
 
 Or do they speak of the dead ? 
 O why do the gulls of the ocean 
 
 So ceaselessly circle and cry ? 
 Do they think of the storm that is coming, 
 
 Or the rest that will come by-and-r 
 
35 
 
 DEVON LASSIES. 
 I. 
 
 FOND glances follow where she goes, 
 Wooed of the wandering breeze ; 
 The sun that 'neath her bonnet glows 
 
 Is lured by what it sees 
 To write upon her blushing cheek 
 The words of love it fain would speak. 
 
 A cloudless gleam of summer light, 
 
 A breath of ocean wind, 
 She brings a dimness to the sight 
 
 And leaves a smile behind. 
 Who sees her pass will turn and bless 
 The God that gave such loveliness. 
 
36 '-Country Verses. 
 
 II. 
 
 Her eyes are like the quiet sea. 
 And in their changeful deeps 
 
 I read the thought that timidly 
 Within its shelter keeps. 
 
 Like sunny gleams that come and go 
 
 The ripples of her gladness flow. 
 
 The sea-bird cries above her head, 
 
 And at her naked feet 
 The seaweed trembles to her tread 
 
 And feels its pressure sweet 
 The blushes of the sunset skies 
 Have found a refuge in her eyes. 
 
37 
 
 AUTUMN. 
 
 A'JTUMN came across the land, 
 Tangle-haired, barefooted, brown, 
 And the harebells from her hand 
 Quivered as she cast them down. 
 
 Eyes of deep desire and dream, 
 Lips that told a haunting tale 
 
 Cheek and brow an orchard-gleam, 
 Voice, a sunset's hushing gale. 
 
 Ah, the legends that she told 
 
 Turned the leaves to russet red 
 
 Scattered them in showers of gold 
 Over path and forest-bed. 
 
 Fern and bramble glowed with fire, 
 White clematis clustered rife : 
 
 And the heart's untold desire 
 Was for other fields of life. 
 
38 West- Country Verses. 
 
 Autumn came across the wold 
 Tangle-headed, barefoot, wan; 
 
 And her face grew sad and old 
 Darkness coming, gladness gone. 
 
 Suddenly, its madness wreaking, 
 Broke a wind from out the west. 
 
 Autumn, wearied, staggering, shrieking, 
 Tore her hair and beat her breast. 
 
 Woodlands groaning, sobbing, crying 
 Heaven a mass of seething cloud ! 
 
 Autumn, make an end of dying 
 Tattered leaves shall be thy shroud. 
 
39 
 
 "IN THE GOLDEN WOOD." 
 
 I HELD a feasting in the golden wood 
 To which I bade old friends from far away. 
 There in the mossy covert, where the day 
 Wore out its hours in charmed solitude, 
 I called them ancient comrades, tried and good, 
 Dear friends of boyhood, gay when I was gay, 
 Sad in my tears and playful in my play 
 I called them, waiting where alone I stood. 
 
 Alas ! no guest appeared to feast with me, 
 Save timid rabbit peeping from the fern, 
 
 And dove or wood-wren rustling in the tree 
 That overhung my stillness. And I learn 
 
 At last, in tears, that tender memory 
 
 Had called them whence they never may return. 
 
IN THE DIM CITY. 
 
 (BRISTOL.) 
 
 ITY of clanging bells 
 
 And narrow, dingy streets, 
 Where the continuous din of traffic swells, 
 The throb of commerce beats. 
 At times, when sundown over smoky piles 
 Stretches a healing hand, 
 There comes a touch of love that reconciles, 
 A glory that the soul can understand. 
 Round dusky roofs and spires 
 Eddy the driven clouds of sunset fires ; 
 With marvellous mutation 
 Flames the swift mystery of transfiguration. 
 One moment and we deem 
 Thou art the magic city of a dream ; 
 One moment and the gloom 
 Hath foiled the gleam : 
 City of toil, and want, and mortal doom. 
 
In the Dim City. 41 
 
 Close to thine ancient walls 
 
 Come subtle whisperings of the Severn Sea. 
 
 I stand upon thy quay 
 
 Amid the noisy calls, 
 
 The dissonant cries, 
 
 The clash and hurry of thy merchandise : 
 
 And with the tide that creeps 
 
 In stained impurity, 
 
 There comes a legend of far ocean deeps, 
 
 Of cave and crag and seaward mystery. 
 
 I hear the wave that leaps 
 
 In scattered foam : the sea-birds noisily 
 
 Rifle the footprints of the ebbing tide. 
 
 One moment and the dream hath died. 
 
 Sullied and black, the water sleeps 
 
 Forgetful of the sea-fowl's wing ; 
 
 City of sordid stain, and wealth, and hungering. 
 
PIECES IN DIALECT 
 
THE PARISH CLERK. 
 
 ZO they've carried poor ol' passen tii the 
 churchyard, 
 
 An' I reckon that they oughter carry me ; 
 For when passen says the prayers up tii glory 
 'Efll liike for me to vollow, dawntee see ? 
 Twull be strange tii 'en, I warrant, giide ol' passen, 
 
 If I shiidden help'n out wi' my Amen. 
 Uz be vorty year together i 1 the parish, 
 An' tii old tii larn our reckonings agen. 
 
 They'm a-making many changes tii the church now, 
 
 Twid a' broken passen's 'art if J er 'ad zeed, 
 Wi' their frill-de-dills and fantysheeny fashions 
 
 What idden i ! the PrayVBiike, as I read. 
 'Tis vury well for sarvice to be dacent, 
 
 I always 'ad'n 'spectable and vitty ; 
 But now therm faking up the church so fullish, 
 
 They make'n like a play-ouze tii the city. 
 
46 West- Country Verses. 
 
 Our passen, zo they tell us, wuz ol'-fashioned ; 
 
 Then I reckons that I be ol'-fashioned tii. 
 'Er'd ride a bit tii vox-hounds of a morning, 
 
 If zo be 'er 'ad nothen else tii dii. 
 They say that hunting vox beant fit for passen,- 
 
 It midden be, I dii not understan' ; 
 But 'tis a vury 'uman-natur'd practice, 
 
 An' passen wuz an 'uman-natur'd man. 
 
 I mind how wance the Bishop come tii zee un, 
 
 When passen 'ad a-donned 'is hunting red ; 
 An' missis, when 'er zeed the Bishop coming, 
 
 'Er tummilled poor ol' passen intii bed. 
 An' when my lard come axing for the passen 
 
 'Er met un vury zolemnly, tii zay, 
 " My 'usband be laid up wi' scarlet fayver," 
 
 An' Bishop vury quickly drove away. 
 
 Ah, that wuz in his rory-tory saison, 
 
 When 'er wuz but a vorty year or zo ; 
 But passen 'er repented of 'is hunting 
 
 When 'er 'ad got tii faybul for tii go. 
 'Er knew zo much o' vox-hounds an' o' tarriers 
 
 As any man tii all the countryzide ; 
 , They 'lected un tii judge mun tii the dog-show ; 
 
 But passen doffed 'is red avore he died. 
 
The Parish Clerk. 47 
 
 Our passen diied 'is duty tii the gentry ; 
 
 'Er waited till the squire wuz in 'is sayte. 
 'Er praiched that all us men on airth be ekals 
 
 With a differns 'tween the little and the great. 
 I mind how wance a curate tiike the sarvice, 
 
 I reckon 'er wuz but a giisey thing, 
 For when I tell'd un "squire beant in 'is sayte yet," 
 
 'Er zed 'er widden wait for squire or king. 
 
 That beant the way tii taich the people diity, 
 
 But that be how they taiches um to-day. 
 There wunt be any order tii the parish 
 
 When passen an' mysel' be gone away. 
 I suffers zo from tissick an' brownkitty, 
 
 It wunt be vury long avore I go : 
 It didden take um long tii find a passen, 
 
 But where they'll get a clerk tii I dawnt know. 
 
 I zim the Church be gwain tii get a tummil, 
 
 'Tis Pappistry, zo far as I can zee ; 
 An' Pappistry be wurse than Nonconformies, 
 
 Accordin' tii ol' passen an' tii me. 
 I darezay that uz be a bit ol'-fashioned, 
 
 The Bible it must be ol'-fashioned tii. 
 I'd rayther follow vox-hounds wi' the passen 
 
 Than listen tii their fullish fillyloo. 
 
48 West- Country Verses. 
 
 It beant for want of charutty an' kindness, 
 
 Our passen wuz zo kind's a man can be ; 
 Uz jogged along wi' Methody and Baptiss, 
 
 Zo long's they didden interfere wi' we. 
 Uz kep the Christen customs right and proper, 
 
 But I warrant now the divel 'ull come home. 
 There's a proper place for everything, zed passen, 
 
 An' the proper place of Romans is tii Rome. 
 
 Yii shiide 'a heard the singing and the hanthems 
 
 Uz giv'um tii the church o' Sabbath-days ; 
 With clarinet and viddle and with 'cheller, 
 
 Uz taught'n how tii sing an 'ymn o' praise. 
 But passen 'er got doiled and tiike an organ 
 
 Zims totally unscripteral tii me ; 
 There beant a word o' organs where the Scripter 
 
 Zes "zackbut, vliite, and 'arp an' psalterie." 
 
 An' zo I've zeed the end o' poor ol' passen ; 
 
 'Er tottled, last I zaw'm upon 'is legs. 
 I reckerlecks a varmer tii a dinner, 
 
 As prayed for fewer passens and more pegs. 1 
 'Tis true that pegs be vury handy crayters, 
 
 An' iisefuller than passens when they'm dead 
 But yii might zay the same o' clerks, I reckon, 
 
 An' sartainly I widden 'ave it zed. 
 1 Pigs. 
 
The Parish Clerk. 49 
 
 It idden that I undervally pegs now, 
 
 I widden be zo thankless tii the Lard ; 
 But zomehow clerks an' passens goes together, 
 
 An' passen he be gone tii his reward. 
 An' when 'er gets tii praying, up tii glory, 
 
 'E'll liike tii me tii vollow up 'is pray'r ; 
 When Scripter miived 'im in zundry plazes, 
 
 I wuz always purty sartain tii be there. 
 
A DEVON WIFE. 
 
 WHATIVER dii 'er kep on vor ? 'Er niver 
 be 'appy, 'er baint, 
 Unless 'er can bullyrag zomebody ; an' I be zo meek 
 
 as a zaint ! 
 I've always a-bin a gude 'usband, a proper gude 
 
 'usband to she, 
 
 But 'er be a rampaging, drabitted, fussocky body, 
 'er be. 
 
 I can't a-zay 'er be lazy, vor that baint axackly true ; 
 Yii niver did zee anybody rout about 'ouze as 'er 
 
 dii; 
 But Zolomon 'as zed, an' I reckon et's true as my 
 
 life- 
 Better an 'ouze unvitty than a clapper-clawing wife. 
 
A Devon Wife. 51 
 
 What wi' 'er crinkum-crankums, dang my ole wig 
 
 vor me, 
 
 Ef 'er idden a wapsy wife as iver a man could zee ! 
 'Er 'oppeth about the 'ouze like a cat upon 'ot 
 
 bricks, 
 Wi' niver an end to 'er craking an' fanty-sheeny 
 
 tricks. 
 
 But yet 'er be my missis, the chillern's mawther 
 
 too ; 
 'Er's wan of the right zort, 'er is, at bottom, that be 
 
 true; 
 An' what I 'ave zed, I'll zay et I'll stand by what 
 
 I 'ave zed 
 But ef any one else should zay et, I'll vetch'n a 
 
 clout'n tha head. 
 
 Diiee think I don't remember that Satterday in 
 
 June ? 
 Us stiide in the daffadowndillies, us liiked up at the 
 
 miine; 
 Us hadn't a deal to zay, but I'll warrant us thought 
 
 the moar, 
 An' a purtier little maid there niver was zeen avore. 
 
52 West-Country Verses. 
 
 Us liiked up at the miine as ef us niver had 
 
 zeed 'er, 
 An' then I liiked in 'er eyes as though my liike cud 
 
 read 'er. 
 Zed I, " Et's a biitiful night " ; 'er answered an' zed 
 
 " Zo et is " ; 
 An' zomehow I seed no rayson why I shudden 
 
 make vor a kiss. 
 
 Fegs ! I wuz only a bwoy ; an' I zed, " There is 
 
 pisgies 1 here," 
 I knew 'er wuz feared o' pisgies, an I drii a bit 
 
 more near. 
 
 I tellee I niver feared the pisgies in the laist, 
 But I thort et a gude excuse to vetch my arm roun' 
 
 'er waist. 
 
 I didn't zee 'er then a rampaging, drabitted zoul 
 'Er wuz a purty maid, wi' eyes zo black as a coal ; 
 'Er wuz a purty maid, an' I wuz only a bwoy, 
 An' I liked 'er all the moar that 'er was a trifle 
 coy. 
 
 1 Pixies. 
 
A Devon Wife. 53 
 
 An' zomehow et come about, what wi' the pisgies 
 
 an' miine, 
 I axed 'er tu be my missis, et couldn't be too 
 
 ziine. 
 
 I dunno what 'er answered et wasn't No 'er zed 
 An' as 'er lived til Kirton, 1 tii Kirton us wuz wed. 
 
 'Er beant the zame azackly as 'er appeared that 
 
 day; 
 It beant no gude to argyfy, 'er's bound tu get 'er 
 
 way. 
 I've always bin a gude 'usband, a rare gude 'usband 
 
 to she, 
 An' 'er's bin gude at the vittles, whativer 'er temper 
 
 be. 
 
 A rare un at the vittles, an' everything be nayte ; 
 'Er knows to manage vitty tha tatties an' the mayte. 
 A little short tii temper I'll stand tii what I've 
 
 zed 
 But ef any one else should zay et, I'll vetch'n a 
 
 clout'n tha head. 
 
 1 Crediton. 
 
54 West- Country Verses. 
 
 I beant a bwoy no longer, tii be takken wi' a show ; 
 
 I wants a busy missis tii make the vittles go. 
 
 Let 'er be vretful zometimes, and clapper-claw a 
 
 gude un 
 In a' the countryzide there beant 'er equal at ogs- 
 
 pudden. 
 
 A purty vace wur zummut, but when I marriet, ziine 
 
 I vound there's zomething else to dii than Hiking at 
 tha miine ; 
 
 An' when the chillern come to us tha coortin' days 
 wuz done, 
 
 There's zummut more to thenk of now than ninny- 
 hammer vun. 
 
 Whativer dii 'er kep on vor ? But if et pleases she 
 I can't azackly reckon that it does much hurt to me ; 
 An' if the Almighty tiike 'er, as wuz a purty maid, 
 I warrant I'd want to vollow an' lie whur she be laid. 
 
55 
 
 IN THE DIMPSES. 
 
 I LOVE tii zit i' the dimpses, 1 
 When the night begins tii vail, 
 An' zee the dear ol' vaces 
 An' yer the voices call. 
 In daytime I be lonezome 
 The volks keep far away ; 
 But they come tii me i' the dimpses, 
 At the end o' the long long day. 
 
 I don't a-mean the chillern, 
 
 Though they be giide, I know, 
 But I dii mean the missis, 
 
 Whii died a year ago, 
 An' I dii mean my mawther 
 
 'Er's long bin gone away ; 
 They come to me i' the dimpses, 
 
 Though they midden come tii stay. 
 1 Twilight. 
 
56 West- Country Verses. 
 
 I zit i' the chimbly cornder 
 
 An' watch the virelight dance, 
 An' fill my ol' churchwardin, 
 
 The missis filled it wance. 
 It almost zimmeth zometimes 
 
 'Er lights my pipe agen ; 
 An' I smokes my ol' churchwardin 
 
 As I used to smoke'n then. 
 
 I beant zo chuckle-headed 
 
 As yii may think I be, 
 But the wits of my ol' missis 
 
 Wuz enough for 'er and me ; 
 An' now 'er beant a-nigh me 
 
 I'm awkard-like, no doubt, 
 But I beant zo doiled i' the dimpses, 
 
 When I thinks 'er be about. 
 
 If yii come to me i' the dimpses 
 
 To tell o' craps an' weather, 
 Yii'll think I've bin a-draming 
 
 An' my wits beant pulled together. 
 I'll ax 'ee tii excuse it 
 
 That I should treat 'ee zo ; 
 I wuz talking wi' the missis 
 
 As died a bit ago. 
 
57 
 
 A DISTRICT VISITOR. 
 
 kind of 'ee tii come and lave yer tracks tii 
 J- tha door, 
 But all tha same, I'll ax 'ee not dii et any moar. 
 
 I beant a forrin haythen, nur yet be I a saint, 
 
 Nor yet be I a pauper ; I dawnt mak no complaint. 
 
 When things be right and vitty, I goes tii church 
 
 an' prays ; 
 Accordin' tii my knawledge I liike tii men' my 
 
 ways. 
 
 Accordin' tii my knawledge, 'tes much as wan 
 
 can dii; 
 Tha Lard wunt ax no moar o' me nor yet o' yii. 
 
 But what then dii 'ee offer ef I read them tracks 
 
 tii-day ? 
 Be it tha loan o' a blanket, or 'arf a pun' o' tay ? 
 
58 West-Country Verses. 
 
 An' ef I comes tii yer maytings vor tha benefit o' 
 
 my soul, 
 Of course yii'll gie me a ticket vor 'arf an underd 
 
 o' coal ? 
 
 Aw 'ess ! There's Sally Skedger ain't 'tickular wher 
 
 'er goes, 
 So long as et brings a passel o' vittels an' winter 
 
 clothes. 
 
 Yu bids vor tha biggest nummer, an' course yii 'as 
 
 tii pay ; 
 Ther's a power o' competition vor tha savin' o' souls 
 
 tii-day. 
 
 A power o' competition, an' yii heads tha list, na 
 
 doubt, 
 But dawnt yii think that tha Lard may be strikin' 
 
 a few names out ? 
 
 And dawntee think, ma cheel, 'twid be better tii 
 
 stay away 
 Than tii go tii wuship awnly vor tha sake o' a pun' 
 
 o' tay ? 
 
A District Visitor. 59 
 
 Church or chapel or both, I reckon et's just tha 
 
 same : 
 A thing ain't any tha better 'cause two can play at 
 
 tha game. 
 
 But ef et's a matter o' barter, I warrant a body's 
 
 soul 
 Ain't tii be bought wi' a ticket vor 'arf an underd o' 
 
 coal. 
 
 You'm like tha 'totallers tii, they argifies just tha 
 
 same; 
 Ef a body '11 tak tha pledge they thinks un tha crap 
 
 o' tha crame. 
 
 They'm right tii be down on tha drink, but ther's 
 
 many I knaws tii-day 
 Pledges a dizzen times vor tha sake o' tha buns an' 
 
 tay. 
 
 Ther's some tii 'onest tii promise moar'n they thinks 
 
 they'll du ; 
 Ther's some as '11 promise ought, an' niver a word 
 
 o' et true. 
 
60 West-Country Verses. 
 
 'Tes kind 'o yii tii come and lave yer tracks tii tha 
 
 door, 
 But I dawnt fin' time tii read um, I guess I've 
 
 told 'ee avore. 
 
 Ther's wan gude lady come i' tha marnin', t'other 
 
 day, 
 When I wuz tearin' wi' work, an' wanted tii zit an' 
 
 pray. 
 
 Tha 'ouse wuz all in a jakes, an' tha vittels 'ad all tii 
 
 be ciiked ; 
 When tha vokes cam 'ome tii dinner a purty drab 
 
 I'd a-liiked. 
 
 Sed I, "I'll ax 'ee tii 'scuse et; I beant in a vitty 
 
 state. 
 Tha vokes '11 be comin' siine, an' ther's nothin' vor 
 
 mun tii ayte ; 
 
 An' tha rooms must all be clayn'd, an' I can't 
 
 fin' time, no fay ! 
 But ef yii come i' tha dimmets, you'm welcome tii 
 
 zit an' tii pray." 
 
A District Visitor. 61 
 
 'Er give me an anger'd llike, an' "Wumman," 'er 
 
 stiffly sed, 
 " Yii prizes tha food o' airth more than tha Living 
 
 Bread." 
 
 Then up I got an' spake. " Tha Lard 'ath gi'en us 
 
 mayte, 
 An' 'tes a wumman's duty tii mak'n vit tii ayte. 
 
 I 'aves my duty tii 'ome, et mid be tha same wi' 
 
 thee; 
 But dawnt be comin' yer wi' texes an' tracks tii 
 
 me." 
 
 I knaw I wuz wrong tii spake in sich a wapsy 
 
 way, 
 But I thort that tha wumman 'ad sed what 'er 'adn't 
 
 no right tii say. 
 
 'Er niver '11 come agen I can't say I'm sorry o' 
 
 that; 
 But yii be so welcome as Spring tii come i' tha 
 
 dimmets an' chat. 
 
62 West-Country Verses. 
 
 But dawnt be bringin' yer tracks. I knaw you'm 
 
 a proper zort, 
 Though yii belongs tii tha chapel an' I be church 
 
 up-brort. 
 
 I'll niver begurge tii listen after tha work o' tha 
 
 day, 
 But marnin's, my dear sawl ! ther beant no time tii 
 
 pray. 
 
THE CURATE. 
 
 PASSEN 'ad a bran'-nii cureit 
 Mannyfacter'd tii tha town ; 
 'E wuz licensed by tha Bisshop 
 Tii wear red upon 'es gown. 
 
 Passen's beard be long and vuzzy, 
 Jist a maze o' tuzzled 'air ; 
 
 Cureit's tattie-trap an' muzzle, 
 
 Like a bwoy's, be smooth an' bare. 
 
 Passen be o' rid complaxion, 
 Varmer-like an' gert an' strong ; 
 
 Cureit liiketh pale and pittice, 
 An' 'es vace be thin an' long. 
 
 Passen pracheth straight an' manly, 
 Like er spaketh tii our vace ; 
 
 Cureit pracheth vine an' screechy, 
 Wi' a deal o' airs an' grace. 
 
64 West-Country Verses. 
 
 All tha maids wuz mad on cureit 
 Thoat'n sic a purty thing, 
 
 Quite a tiddivated angel, 
 
 Special brand for wushipping. 
 
 Cureit Hiked upon tha maidens 
 
 An' tha widders, ca'm an' zwate, 
 
 Voided 'ands an' zed zo zaintlike, 
 " Vrends, I be a sellybate." 
 
 " Sellybate ! An' what be that now ? " 
 
 All tha zilly giises ax, 
 An' they rinned, zo mad as 'alters, 
 
 Tii ther biikes o' words an' facks. 
 
 Drii tha printed biikes they rampaged 
 Little ciide they understan' ; 
 
 An' they zes, tha wan til t'other, 
 " Sellybate be zingle man." 
 
 " Cureit tells us 'e be zingle 
 Course 'er be, tha purty dear ! 
 
 What 'er manes es that 'er's waiting 
 Till tha proper maid appear." 
 
The Curate. 65 
 
 Ivery maiden luked 'er naytest, 
 Like a badge o' viewers in May ; 
 
 Ivery widder liiked 'er slyest, 
 Thrawin' shape's-eyes in 'es way. 
 
 Then tha cureit prached a zarmun, 
 
 An' wuz careful tii egsplain 
 " Sellybate manes vargin-zingle ; 
 
 Zo I be, an' zo remain." 
 
 All tha maidens an' tha widders 
 Tossed ther 'eads, zo mad's mid be, 
 
 An' they zed tha cureit's zarmun 
 Wuz tha plainest Pappistry. 
 
 " 'Er be doiled an 'er be dotty," 
 
 An' a power o' other things ; 
 " Zilly, dawy, beardless napper ! " 
 
 Cureit 'ath a-doffed 'es wings. 
 
66 
 
 THE OLD SCHOOLMASTER. 
 
 "THIS written in tha giide ol' Biike, "There's 
 
 A. nothing nil beneath tha sun"; 
 An't ain't for me to conterdick tha cunning words 
 
 o' Zolomon. 
 But if yii axes me my mind, I think 'twould be 
 
 more truly told, 
 Not zackly that there's nothing nil, but that they'm 
 
 leaving nothing old. 
 
 They'm leaving nothing old, excep a fii ol' men the 
 
 like o' me, 
 And us be feeling out o' place in a' this jimcrack 
 
 company. 
 Us be forgot and unbeknawn ; ther's nothing left 
 
 for us to dii 
 B % ut get away tii Kingdom come, and let um make 
 
 tha world anil. 
 
The Old Schoolmaster. 67 
 
 They think us proper natterals ; it midden be polite 
 
 to say 
 In raisonable language what us sometimes comes to 
 
 think of they. 
 Tha maidens and the nappers what I eddicated tii 
 
 tha skiile, 
 They think their oP skiilemaister now na better than 
 
 a knaw-nort fiile. 
 
 They've got a gert nii school-'ouse now, an' taich a 
 
 mighty lot o' truck, 
 Wi' algybries and chimistries tii babbies hardly left 
 
 tii suck. 
 They gives a deal o' skiiling there they chuck'm 
 
 full o' facks, na doubt, 
 But eddication is a thing they dawnt a-zim tii know 
 
 about. 
 
 There's many a napper shiide a' helped his father tii 
 tha farming-work, 
 
 As thinks 'eeself tii giide for that, and must be what 
 they calls a dark ; 
 
 But what the giide o' skiiling is I nivver could pre- 
 tend tii see, 
 
 Unless it fits a bwoy to full the corner where his 
 duty be. 
 
68 West- Country Verses. 
 
 An' for tha maids, they taiches them tha matty- 
 
 matics an' planner, 
 I reckon vittels beant a-ciiked no longer in the giide 
 
 ol' manner ; 
 Tha ninny-hammer giises now just turn wi' mimpsy- 
 
 pimsy scorn 
 An' proudness from tha wholesome lives their poor 
 
 ol' mawthers lived avore'n. 
 
 Avore they had tha Boord-skiile built, when I wuz 
 
 maister tii tha skiile, 
 I taiched um how to read an' write, and 'rithmetic 
 
 by simple rule ; 
 No jomettries and algybries I taiched according 
 
 tii my light, 
 Tii worship God and shame tha dowl, tii spake tha 
 
 truth and dii tha right. 
 
 They didden larn for ornament they larned for use 
 
 and daily toil ; 
 They larned that hands be made for work and feet 
 
 must sometimes take a soil. 
 Tii train tha 'art is giider far than simply eddicate 
 
 tha mind ; 
 Tve nort against tha Skiile-boord if it makes tha 
 
 chillern giide an' kind. 
 
The Old Schoolmaster. 69 
 
 There wuz a terrubul storm one day the sea wuz 
 
 shouting tii tha land ; 
 An' on tha shore, a six mile off, they found a bwoy 
 
 upon tha sand 
 A little bwoy tha sea had dashed an' brought tii 
 
 shore an' laid un there, 
 A little bwoy his mawther wance had kissed an' 
 
 folded back his hair. 
 
 Down on tha coast, six mile away, they'm used tii 
 
 wrecks an' death, they be ; 
 But hearing o' this little lad, I'll own it quite come 
 
 over me ; 
 An' when tha passen buried un, I tiike tha chillern 
 
 tu an' tu 
 Tii follow sorrowful behind tha little bwoy whom 
 
 no one knew. 
 
 Tii talk about that little bwoy was better for tha 
 
 chillern far 
 Than all their chimistries and truck, and all their 
 
 'zamminations are ; 
 For all tha nappers an' tha maids ay, an' tha grey 
 
 ol' maister tii 
 Wuz none ashamed tii cry about tha little bwoy 
 
 whom no one knew. 
 
7O West- Country Verses. 
 
 God bless tha little bwoys an' maids ! I wuz a father 
 
 tii um all ; 
 I often sits an' thinks o' mun, what time tha dimpsy- 
 
 shadows fall ; 
 I beant a married man, yii see, and now that I be 
 
 old an' grey 
 I miss tha rowstering bwoys an' girls I miss um 
 
 more than I can say. 
 
 I often sits an' thinks o' mun. Tii me they'm always 
 
 girls an' bwoys, 
 Wi' cheeks so red as quarrenders, an' purty liikes 
 
 an' merry noise. 
 They'm all grown men an' women now, and some be 
 
 gone across tha sea, 
 An' some be in their churchyard - beds ; they'm 
 
 always bwoys an' girls tii me. 
 
 They tell me if I tried tii pass tha 'zamminations tii 
 
 tha skiile 
 I'd just be in tha hinfants' class an' sit upon tha 
 
 dunce's stiile. 
 Ah, well, I nivver did profess such power o' intel- 
 
 lecks as some, 
 An' jommettries wunt be no use when I be gone tii 
 
 Kingdom come. 
 
The Old ScJwolmaster. 7 1 
 
 Yii'll think I be a doting fiile, a-glumping 'cause I'm 
 
 left alone ; 
 But I'm no longer maister now, and I've no chillern 
 
 o' me own. 
 'Tis time for going home -along. There's nothing 
 
 left for me tii dii 
 In this desaytful wheedling world, where they be 
 
 making all things nil. 
 
"THE WOOING O'T.' 
 
 IZAYS to 'er, " Marnin' ! marnin' ! " an' she zays 
 " Marnin' ! " to me ; 
 There wadden no more to zay vor all that I could 
 
 zee 
 Leastways, there wadden no more 'at come to my 
 
 mind just then, 
 
 An' I cudden thenk o' a word, 'cept just to zay 
 " Marnin' ! " agen. 
 
 'Tidden a lot to zay, but et means a mighty deal 
 When et comes vrom one who veels azackly as I did 
 
 veel; 
 An' I knaw my vace wuz red, an' I twiddled about 
 
 \vi' my cap, 
 An' she zat there on the stile wi' tha roses in 'er 
 
 lap. 
 
" The wooing ot." 73 
 
 There's times she'll talk a deal, she'll chackle and 
 
 chatter away, 
 But now she wuz mum as a mouse, an' 'adden a 
 
 word to zay; 
 An' she luked zo beautivul, too, with 'er tisty-tosty 
 
 hair 
 A-blowin' about 'er cheeks 'twuz more than I 
 
 could bear. 
 
 An' I turned zo red as vire, an' I luked vrom zide 
 
 to zide, 
 An' I cudden stan' there steady, vor all that I up 
 
 an' tried ; 
 'Twuz like the pins-an'-needles, but in a different 
 
 part, 
 Not i' ma voot azackly, but suthin' to do wi' my 
 
 'eart. 
 
 I longed to be zayin' a deal, but a word o' et 
 
 wudden come ; 
 I longed to be doin" a deal, i'stead o' stannin' there 
 
 dumb. 
 I longed for a suthin' to kill an' lay et along at 'er 
 
 veet; 
 There's nothin' I wudden 'a' done, 'er lukin' zo 
 
 purty an' zweet. 
 
74 West- Country Verses. 
 
 Ef a regiment o' sogers 'ad passed, I'd 'a' tackled 
 
 'em all like a bird ; 
 I'd 'a' scattered 'em all or died, just vor tha sake 
 
 of a word. 
 But there wasn't a foe within zight, not a reptile 
 
 or baist cude I zee 
 Zo I 'ad to zay " Marnin' ! " agen, zo sheepish as 
 
 sheepish mid be. 
 
 Then she dropped a rose to tha groun', an' I veil 
 
 on tha grass wi' joy, 
 An' give et to 'er agen, wi' a blush like a zilly gert 
 
 bwoy. 
 In coorse I can zee et now, that she meant et vor 
 
 me to teake 
 An' kiss et and squeeze to my 'eart, an' cuddle et 
 
 just vor 'er seake. 
 
 An' I knew when et wuz too late, vor she luked a 
 
 little bit cross, 
 An' she got vrom off tha stile, a-givin' 'er 'ead a 
 
 toss; 
 An' tha viewers all fell to tha ground, an' I gathered 
 
 'em all to my breast, 
 Close to tha vire o' my love that burned in under 
 
 my vest. 
 
" The wooing o'f." 75 
 
 An' I zaid, " I shall keep 'em all till the days when 
 I be old," 
 
 Vor my spirit 'ad come of a sudden, an' I velt un- 
 common bold. 
 
 Zaid she, " You'm quare to plaise." Zaid I, "What 
 I wanted is 
 
 That you would take tha rose an' gi' et back with 
 a kiss." 
 
 Zaid she, " You've lamed to speake vor I thought 
 
 you wuz stricken dumb." 
 Zays I, " 'Twuz awnly my love that kept me stannin' 
 
 mum." 
 Zays she, " Et zims that love es blind an' spacheless 
 
 too." 
 Zays I, " Et well mid be, a-lukin' an' wushippin' 
 
 you." 
 
 I vancy she liked tha words I thought they wuz 
 good mysel' 
 
 An' 'ow I come to zay 'em es more than I can tell. 
 
 Zays she, " I'm goin' home, an' zo I'll wishee good- 
 day." 
 
 Zaid I, " 'Tes zort of strange, but I'm goin' tha very 
 zame way." 
 
76 West- Country Verses. 
 
 11 Mighten' you wait to be axed ? " she zays, \vi' a 
 
 toss o' tha 'ead. 
 " I'm feared I mid wait too long, an' niver be axed," 
 
 I zaid. 
 " Well, tidden vor me to choose," she zaid, " but a 
 
 zims to me 
 You'm always hangin' about, wheriver I mid be." 
 
 " 'Tes zort of comical, zure," I zays, " but 'tes gospel 
 
 true 
 
 Either you vollers me or I be a-vollerin' you." 
 That made 'er mad i' a trice, an' 'er eyes wuz vlashin' 
 
 vlame ; 
 " Ef I vollers a man an inch," she zaid, " may I die 
 
 o' shame ! 
 
 " An' of all the men alive do 'ee thenk 'tes you I 
 
 would choose? 
 You may thenk et, zure, ef 'ee like, but to me et is 
 
 wunnerful news." 
 Zaid I, " My awnly zweet dawn't 'ee knaw 'at I 
 
 lov' 'ee, dear, 
 Of all tha girls i' tha world ? " an' I zidled a bit more 
 
 near. 
 
" The wooing o't" 77 
 
 " Voller a man ! " she cried ; " I darezay you vancy 
 
 et, now ; 
 But vancy goes a long way, as the girl zaid who 
 
 kiss'd tha cow. 
 Now dawn't be comin' zo close with your 'sinnivatin' 
 
 zmile ; 
 You hadden' zo much to say when I zat there upo' 
 
 tha stile." 
 
 'Twuz kind of mockin' she was, an' I got a li'l bit 
 
 mad ; 
 An' I zays to 'er, "As you plaise there's plenty 
 
 o' girls to be 'ad." 
 'Er zays to me, " Marnin' ! " zo zly but 'er luked 
 
 as zweet as a rose 
 An' I meant to be kissin' 'er lips, but I awnly could 
 
 get at 'er nose. 
 
 Zaid she, " You'm a clumsy ol' vule " ; but I answer'd 
 
 'er hotly, " Aw well, 
 'Tes awnly tha practice I want you must taich me 
 
 to do et yoursel' ; 
 An' when shall tha lessons begin ? " But she gi' me 
 
 a zlap o' tha vace, 
 An' she runs like a vox vrom the 'ounds, an' yoicks ; 
 
 but I voller'd i' chase ! 
 
78 West- Country Verses. 
 
 In coorse I 'adden a chance, wi' 'er start an' 'er veet 
 
 like tha wind ; 
 She got to 'er vather's geate an' zlamm'd et zo 
 
 vicious behind. 
 But I knaw et's as right as can be 'tes awnly tha 
 
 vixing a day ; 
 You'm always quite zure o' your girl when 'er starts 
 
 to be runnin' away. 
 
79 
 
 THE OLD WIFE TO THE NEW. 
 
 AT zo you're gwaine to marry, an' et's natteral, 
 na doubt ; 
 Ye dawn't know much about et, but ye'll very zune 
 
 vind out. 
 There's zum thengs I can tellee, just as an auld 
 
 wife shude ; 
 
 There's zum thengs you must larn, dear, just vor 
 your proper gude. 
 
 I awnly hope exparience wunt be too heavy paid, 
 Vor when all's zed an' done, dear, true wives are 
 
 born, not made. 
 And wan theng at the startin' I'd have 'ee 
 
 unnerstan', 
 The very best o' husbands es nothing but a man. 
 
8o West-Country Verses. 
 
 'E has to be coaxed an' cuddled, an' humoured to 
 
 'es mind ; 
 Do what a wants bevore 'im, get what you want 
 
 behind. 
 You be the waker vessel, at laist, bevore 'es 
 
 zight, 
 But a wife as knows her business does what she 
 
 thenks is right. 
 
 A man beant like a wumman, dawnt iver thenk 
 
 a be; 
 There's just a power o' differ'nce, you'll very quickly 
 
 zee; 
 He'll go 'es awn way straightly, he'll ponder and 
 
 he'll pore, 
 While a wumman cuts the corner an' gets there 
 
 long avore. 
 
 I wudden have 'ee vule en an' blind en to 'es 
 
 ill; 
 
 He'll like to thenk he's rulin' azackly to 'es will. 
 Zo long as 'e thenks 'e's master, dawn't naggle an' 
 
 dawn't vret ; 
 Ef you yield to en tha inches, there's many an ell 
 
 you'll get. 
 
The Old Wife to the New. 81 
 
 Dawn't talk too much. Wi' a wumman there's often 
 
 too much spoke ; 
 A man can't unnerstan' et, 'twill do wi' tha wumman- 
 
 voke. 
 A man takes all zo sayrous, a's terrible matter-o'- 
 
 vact; 
 When a wumman's tongue gets waggin', 'er idden 
 
 always azact. 
 
 Zumtimes a man be glumpin' and zour tha whole 
 
 day long ; 
 He down't knaw why whotiver, most likely 'es 
 
 liver's wrong : 
 Just lave 'im to himself; dawn't tease and ax en 
 
 why, 
 But kape a zivil tongue ; a'll come round by-an'-bye. 
 
 Beware o' words an' lukes that can lead 'ee into 
 
 strife : 
 Be ready to give an' take, vor remember et is vor 
 
 life; 
 An' dawn't be too much set on zayin' out your 
 
 zay : 
 What matter who spakes tha last zo long as you get 
 
 your way ? 
 
 F 
 
82 West-Country Verses. 
 
 He may not zay a lot, but be sure a thenks a 
 
 deal; 
 An' a man beant like a wumman for showin' what 'e 
 
 veel. 
 
 A may zim chuff and glum an' savage as a bear, 
 But a'll givee a word o' love wance in a while, ma 
 
 dear. 
 
 An' when tha chillern come, as zune, plase God, 
 
 they will, 
 An' you be doiled an' moiled wi' 'ungry mouths to 
 
 vill, 
 There'll be a thousan' thengs a pair o' arms must 
 
 do; 
 But dawn't vorget your man 'as claims upon 'ee 
 
 too. 
 
 There's zorrow comes to us all, an' zum will come 
 
 to thee, 
 An' zum will be God's doing, an' zum your awn, 
 
 may be ; 
 But tha griefs that God'll zend 'ee He'll help 'ee to 
 
 endure : 
 'Tes tha ills of our awn makin' that be zo hard to 
 
 cure. 
 
The Old Wife to the New. 83 
 
 But dawntee go to meet your trouble an' grief 
 
 halfway ; 
 We awnly live by minutes, an' a day is enough vor 
 
 a day. 
 Zee that your 'usband's clothes be always clane an' 
 
 nate. 
 An' as often as you can gie'en pudden to 'es mate. 
 
 Tidden a heaven upon 'arth, this married life, you'll 
 
 vind, 
 But et needen' be t'other place zo long as you're 
 
 both of a mind. 
 I'm trying to advise 'ee as an aulder wumman 
 
 can : 
 Dawn't thenk to marry a zaint when you awnly 
 
 marry a man. 
 
 Tha dreams must go, my dear, bevore you get to 
 
 rights. 
 You wawn't stan' out at the geat together o' vrosty 
 
 nights ; 
 He wawn't be scratchin' 'es 'ands to gather viewers 
 
 vor you ; 
 But there's score o' other thengs that ef 'e's a man 
 
 'e'll do. 
 
84 West-Country Verses. 
 
 An' zo you're gwaine to marry, an' sure I wishee joy ; 
 Zims awnly a year agone that you wuz girl an' bwoy. 
 I reckon you're come to tha end o' your vancies an' 
 
 your plays ; 
 An' now 'tes tha time vor work : God blessee vor 
 
 all your days. 
 
A FATHER OF TWINS. 
 
 ZO tha Lord 'ath zent us twins, an' ef us must 
 'ave 'em us must ; 
 But I'd a' takken et kind ef tha Lard 'ad axed us 
 
 fust. 
 Ef tha Lard 'ad axed us fust, I guess I'd 'ave 
 
 answered flat 
 
 " Wan at a time, ef 'ee plaze, an' none tii many at 
 that." 
 
 'T'as kind o' takken us sudden an' jilted us un- 
 awares 
 
 More nor us zort o' bargained, vor tha babbies to 
 come in pairs. 
 
 The neighbours zmile zo cunnin', but us dawn't see 
 the joke ; 
 
 I'd like to be zendin' back tha babe that wuzn't 
 bespoke. 
 
86 West- Country Verses. 
 
 'Tes pity tha babbies beant zent to them as properly 
 needs 'em ; 
 
 My missis thenks that Him as zends tha mouths 'ill 
 veed 'em. 
 
 Et mid be that 'E du, but I 'ave zometimes thort, 
 
 Ef et beant tu bold to zay, that 'E keeps 'em un- 
 common short. 
 
 Ef them as comes unaxed wid bring purvisions wi' 
 
 'em, 
 An' vitted out wi' clothes, we'd be more plazed to 
 
 zee 'em ; 
 
 But 'tes a differ'nt theng, accordin' to my mind, 
 When um comes wi'out a stitch, and vittles all 
 
 to vind. 
 
 And ther be til to clothe, and likewise tii to veed, 
 An' tu when um be growed to taich to write an' read. 
 When tha babes du come in drees tha King du zend 
 
 'em gold ; 
 But nought be given to them as awnly 'as twins, 
 
 I'm told. 
 
 The passen ses to me, " Well, Jan, and beant 'ee 
 
 proud 
 O' tii such biitivul babes, wi' voices strong an' loud ? " 
 
A Father of Twins. 87 
 
 I scratches my poor 'ead, an' ses, ses I, "Why, zur, 
 Ef 'twuzn't for tha pride I'd wish um wuzn't yer. 
 
 " The pride wawnt gi' 'em vittles, nor clothe 'em, as 
 
 I zee 
 Nor when they both be yalling, the pride wawnt 
 
 comfort me ; 
 An' when tha holler'n's wustest, an' I du seek to 
 
 lose et 
 By goin' to tha public, tha pride wawnt mak'ee 
 
 'scuse et." 
 
 Er dawnt know much o' babbies, vor tha Lard ain't 
 
 zent un none; 
 Er thenks 'em beer an' skittles, but I dawnt zee the 
 
 vun. 
 Ses 'e, "'Tes a preshus charge, Jan; an' now I 
 
 thenks of it, 
 Be sure to bring 'em to church when the missus be 
 
 quite vit." 
 
 But then tha tall young Baptiss comes yer a-tarkin' 
 
 tuj 
 'Twixt Baptissy an' passen us dawnt knaw what 
 
 to du; 
 
88 West- Country Verses. 
 
 Vor the Baptiss man comes roun' to my missis, an' 
 
 ses, ses 'e, 
 "Ther beant no use in chris'nin' as iver a zoul 
 
 did zee. 
 
 "Wait till the chillern's older they'm now a deal 
 
 tii small 
 An' then give me tha doin' et, I'll duck 'em aich 
 
 and all." 
 An' 'twixt they tii direxions tha missus zims 'clined 
 
 to stick, 
 But ses I, " Ef they'm got to be drownded, they 
 
 better be drownded quick." 
 
 But then I ses to the missis, " Tha passen be gude 
 
 to we, 
 Zo let 'em be chris'n'd now, an' when they'm older 
 
 we'll zee. 
 Tes better to plaize 'em both, ef zo be as us 
 
 can." 
 "But Baptiss," ses the missis, "be such a nice 
 
 young man." 
 
A FatJier of Twins. 89 
 
 Now, passen an' tha Baptiss be vury civil to other, 
 An' passen zometimes calls'n " My dear young 
 
 Christen brother." 
 But zometimes passen 'ints that 'es taichin' beant 
 
 quite trii, 
 An' the Baptiss liikes, zo to say, " I'm quite zo 
 
 gude as yii." 
 
 Et ain't vor us poar vokes to say who'm right an' 
 
 who ain't. 
 Vather 'e stuck to the Church, but vather er wuzn't 
 
 a zaint ; 
 An' mawther wuz zwate on tha Methodies, zo I've 
 
 a-yer'd 'er zay ; 
 An' 'er wuz tha gudest wumman yii'd zee in a long, 
 
 long day. 
 
 I vancies the Church mysel' not as I often goes, 
 Vor I'm sure to vail aslape right under tha passen's 
 
 nose. 
 'Tes a rare gude place vor slape, an' I beant a 
 
 lamed man, 
 An' tha passen's sarmon I widlR persume to 
 
 understan'. 
 
9O West- Country Verses. 
 
 But as vor they blessed twins, I reckon et zims 
 
 to me 
 
 They be tii young to know what trii religion be ; 
 An' takkin* 'em to passen be the properest thing 
 
 to dii, 
 But when they be growed, ef 'em like, the Baptiss 
 
 mid duck 'em tii. 
 
A VILLAGE CELIBATE. 
 
 IBEANT a-g\vaine to marry, zo dawntee thenk 
 I be; 
 Ther's zum be made vor marriage, but marryin' 
 
 beant vor me. 
 
 The passen he dii tell me I be a " zilly-bait " 
 I guess I beant zo zilly as vor to change my ztate. 
 
 Et aint no iise, I tellee, to name a power o' names ; 
 I beant a bwoy no longer, to be takken wi' maygames. 
 Thee go an' coort thee widder 'er'll givee marriage 
 
 enough ; 
 I be tu old a bird to be caught wi' a pinch o' snuff. 
 
 Sint Paul, the passen tells uz, 'ad a thorn in 'es vlesh 
 
 vor life, 
 Some zay 'twuz this an' t'other I reckon et wuz 'es 
 
 wife ; 
 An' what beant gude vor a zaint I knaw beant gude 
 
 vor me ; 
 Thee go an' marry thee widder, I'm better as I be. 
 
9 2 West-Country Verses. 
 
 An' passen 'e tells o' another gert man to Greace or 
 
 to Rome 
 'Tes Sockertes or zummut 'er wuzn't zo gert to 
 
 home; 
 'Es words wuz cunning an' zwete, but 'ers \vuz zharp 
 
 as a knife, 
 'E got zo bald as a badger, a-quarling wi' 'es wife. 
 
 Ther's many a theng i' tha warld complately mazes 
 
 me, 
 
 But wumman, by my fegs, be tha gertest mystery ! 
 Thee'll niver get upzides wi' a wumman, I tellee 
 
 true; 
 'Er'll givee tha first word, an' 'er'll givee tha last 
 
 word tu. 
 
 Ther's gude an' bad an' middling they'm passelled 
 
 out like we 
 But a wumman be always a wumman, whativer else 
 
 'er be ; 
 'Er may be a drabbitted twoad, or 'er may be win- 
 
 zome an' kind, 
 But a man always liikes at a wumman wi' an eye 
 
 that be partways blind. 
 
A Village Celibate. 93 
 
 Thee go an' marry thee widder, an' I du make na 
 
 doubt 
 'Er'll twiddle 'ee round 'er thumb avore a week be 
 
 out. 
 Thee thenks thee's zly as a vox, an' firm as a rock 
 
 thee'll be, 
 I guess thee'll find tha widder a zlyer ol' vox than 
 
 thee. 
 
 Ef any zingle wumman's a match vor a man an' 
 
 moar, 
 A widder's a double match, because 'er 'as tried 
 
 avore. 
 I warrant 'er wits be dapper, an' tha tongue within 
 
 'er 'ead 
 'Ave 'ad a power o* practice on the poar man that 
 
 be dead. 
 
 I reckon that wumman be made to be luked at a 
 
 long ways off, 
 A gude bit o' mayte to tha eye, but to ate it thee'll 
 
 vind'n tough. 
 
 I likes mun well enough as a purty picter to zee, 
 But I midden go tu near, an' tha picter's enough 
 
 vor me. 
 
94 West-Country Verses. 
 
 Ther's this yer widder o' thine, wi 'er lackadaisy eye 
 A-liikin' round tha cornder like a duck that be 
 
 gwaine to die, 
 'Er mid be gude to luke at I dawnt a-zay 'er 
 
 beant 
 But what ef 'er 'air be valse, lad, an' what ef 'er skin 
 
 be paint? 
 
 Ther beant a wumman alive what knaws 'er awn 
 
 mind a day 
 Ther beant a wumman alive but'll manage tu 'ave 
 
 'er way ; 
 A man mid be tha better ef et come to clouts an' 
 
 jits, 1 
 But show me tha living man that can better a 
 
 wumman's wits. 
 
 What a wumman liketh wan day mayhap 'er'll hate 
 
 tha next, 
 An' when thee thenks to plaze 'er more likely 'er'll 
 
 be vexed. 
 
 An' iverything thee du, lad, an' iverything thee zay 
 Be just tha wrong azackly, an' then tha dowl's to 
 
 pay. 
 
 1 Blows. 
 
A Village Celibate. 95 
 
 Hast watched a cat an' a dawg I dawnt mean them 
 
 as fights, 
 But them as is best o' vrends? 'Twid put thee 
 
 notions to rights. 
 They mid be tha gertest o' vrends, but zometimes 
 
 tha cat comes nigh 
 An' takking tha dawg unawares, 'er'll giv'n a sclum 
 
 i' tha eye. 
 
 Wan moment 'er's playsome an' kind next minnit 
 
 as vicious can be 
 An' tha dawg dawnt knaw 'ow to take 'er, 'e niver 
 
 can get awver she. 
 I warrant 'er's like a wumman, an' tha dawg be liker 
 
 a man, 
 An' a cat an' a wumman be things that us niver can 
 
 understan'. 
 
 Dawnt thenk I means to vex 'ee I'm awnly spaking 
 
 my mind, 
 An' I beant a-zaying that marriage beant gude for 
 
 yumman-kind. 
 Thee go an' marry thee widder, and 'appy mid thee 
 
 be- 
 But I beant made vor marriage an' marrying beant 
 
 vor me. 
 
" COMPLICATIONS." 
 
 DAWXT 'ee give nought to 'er, doctor 'er's 
 well as a wumman can be; 
 
 Yu niver knew a missis wi' half the ailments o' she. 
 'Er's always sniffling o' zummut one day it be 
 
 palpitations ; 
 
 Tes all me eye, I be zartain, ; er ses it be com- 
 plications. 
 
 I used to be terrabul scared, and running to vetch 
 
 'ee o' nights ; 
 I thort 'er wus dying for sure, an' it giv me no end 
 
 o' affrights. 
 'Er'd wakken me out o' me slape to gi' me a word 
 
 o' goodbye 
 But blessee, 'er's dapper as iver 'er's niver the 
 
 wumman to die. 
 
" Complications" 97 
 
 'Tes wunnerful how 'er thrives, an' et just gets 
 
 awver me ; 
 Tha wusser tha complications, tha more delighted 
 
 'er be. 
 'Er vancies 'erself a deal, an' 'er's just chuckvull o' 
 
 pride 
 To be tha most suffering zoul in all tha country- 
 
 zide. 
 
 I yiimmers 'er to 'er will, vor sake o' a quiet life. 
 Zo long as 'er's downright bad 'er's a cabbical zort 
 
 o' wife ; 
 But my dear sawl ! ef I ses " You'm luking better 
 
 to-day," 
 'Er's rough as a badger to-wance, and then ther's 
 
 the divel to pay. 
 
 When 'er an' tha gossipy vokes gets cacklin' aroun' 
 
 tha door, 
 A-boastin' of all the disaises yu iver 'ave yer'd of an 
 
 more 
 They chitters 'till all is blue, yu'd thenk they niver 
 
 wid stop 
 An' though I ses it as shudden, ma wife comes out 
 
 on top. 
 
 G 
 
98 West-Country Verses. 
 
 Wi' proper powerful words ('er gets um out of a 
 
 buke), 
 Er makes um zour as a crab to find umselves 
 
 o'ertuke. 
 Aw fegs, 'er's a wunnerful zoul; an' et makes um 
 
 ready to cuss, 
 For whativer they'm got tha matter, my missis 'ave 
 
 got et wuss. 
 
 'Tes tha power o' tha gab, zo I ses, as makes 'er get 
 
 awver um zo ; 
 But then 'er gets 'agging at me, an' I finds et is best 
 
 to lie low. 
 Zo I leaves um to fix et umselves ; but I'm proud 
 
 in me way, zo I be, 
 When none o' um knaws how to brag of such 
 
 terrabul ailments as she. 
 
 Zome days the minister comes, to twiddle 'es vingers 
 an' zay 
 
 "Tha top o' tha marnin', an' be-'ee a leetle better 
 tu-day ? " 
 
 Ses she, "I'm middlin' bad"; ses 'e "Tes a dis- 
 pensation." 
 
 Ses she, " O' coorse ye knaws best, zur I thort 
 'twuz a complication." 
 
" Complications'' 99 
 
 Ses 'e, "These things be zent to mind us o' our 
 
 end 
 To 'monish us o' sins an' taich us how to 
 
 mend." 
 Ses I, " I s'pose er's wusser than us be, an' that's 
 
 why 
 'Er gets these complications 'er needs 'um more," 
 
 ses I. 
 
 'Er wuzn't zo plaised at that, an' 'er tried to priive 
 
 to me, 
 Ef sufferin' went by merit, I'd suffer more than 
 
 she. 
 I chuckled, and minister sed 'er 'adn't quite under- 
 
 stude'n ; 
 But 'er got upzides wi' un later, in sarvin' out tha 
 
 pudden. 
 
 'E's powerful at tha vittels, and consequent, dawntee 
 zee, 
 
 'E honeys to tha missis more than 'e does to me. 
 
 'Er's fine at viggy puddens 'er's gert at jun- 
 kets tii ; 
 
 Ef 'twuzn't for the wummin, what wid tha passens 
 dii? 
 
IOO West-Country Verses. 
 
 Come in an' zee tha missus, an' ax 'er what's tha 
 
 cheer ; 
 I've got zum prime nil zider, zum lickin' gude ol' 
 
 beer, 
 An' a crumb of burd an' cheese 'ill du'ee gude 
 
 inzide, 
 While missis be gettin' dinner, ef so be as ye'll 
 
 bide. 
 
 tell'ee a stramming tale o' sorrows an' aches 
 
 an' ills ; 
 Just yiimmer 'er down to tha groun' but dawn't be 
 
 givin' 'er pills ; 
 Though I reckon it mid' be as well to colour some 
 
 waiter, an' zay, 
 " When tha 'gestion and liver be bad, just swaller tii 
 
 spiinevulls a-day." 
 
101 
 
 A VILLAGE SPINSTER. 
 
 LESSEE, cheel, I didden want to, I wuz better 
 JD as I be ; 
 
 Marriages be made to heaven, but ther's none wuz 
 made vur me. 
 
 Them as diies tha marriage bizniss thort et best to 
 
 lave me out, 
 'Cause ther wuz no application siitable vur me, na 
 
 doubt. 
 
 Not a man wuz waitin' 'andy silted to my special 
 zort; 
 
 I required pertickler traytement an' a power o' care- 
 ful thort. 
 
 Men be vules, ther's no denying tes as well to be 
 exact, 
 
 An' a viile I might 'ave borne with, ef er'd recog- 
 nised the vact ; 
 
IO2 West-Country Verses. 
 
 I'd 'ave holp to beer 'es burden, 'cording to tha 
 
 Scripter tex, 
 Ef 'e'd awnly veel complately that 'e wuz tha weaker 
 
 sex. 
 
 But tha men, they be sich gawkims they'm as 
 
 blind as blind can be 
 To urn's awn infarior merit, an' our better qualitee. 
 
 'Twuzn't likely I'd be willing 'thout a struggle long 
 
 an' 'ard, 
 To be awnin' any mortal vur my maister an' my lard. 
 
 Ther'd a-bin a dale o' quarlin', I wid 'ave 'ee under- 
 
 stan' 
 An' tes likely that tha wumman wid 'a priived tha 
 
 better man. 
 
 I wuz niver sich a gladdie as so many maidens be, 
 Paying vur tha joys o' coortship with a life o' 
 slavery. 
 
 Zo 'twuz right I shiidden marry liikee-zee, I'm 
 
 sure 'twuz best 
 Vur tha proper man weren't ready, an' I widden 
 
 tak tha rest. 
 
A Village Spinster. 103 
 
 I be difficul' to manage, an' I wished a better fate 
 Than to men' an 'usband's breeches an' be fakin'- 
 up 'es mayte. 
 
 "What an 'usband wants azackly be a sarvint as can 
 
 ciike, 
 Whu can vill 'es mouth wi' vittels when 'e 'as an 
 
 'ungry Kike ; 
 
 \\hen er's glowrin' an' er's glumpin', take a long 
 
 loblolly spiine 
 Chuck'n vull o' mayte an' tatties erll be mild as 
 
 butter siine. 
 
 'les a differ'nt thing wi' wumman. Man be of a 
 
 brutish mind ; 
 Vhen er's empty chuff an' zour, when er's vull er's 
 
 zoft an' kind. 
 
 \ v ait a bit, an' when you'm married yu'll agree I 
 
 spake tha truth; 
 \u be vull o' vulish vancies that be natteral to 
 
 youth. 
 
 "o yu thenk I 'as a story buried in my 'art away 
 Somethin' zwete and zentimental from my gallivant- 
 ing day ; 
 
IO4 West-Country Verses. 
 
 Yu expecks to see me tremmil an' a tear come to 
 
 my eye 
 Wi' a power o' recollection blessee, cheel, theie 
 
 beant a zigh ! 
 
 Bidden some despairin' mortal go away across the 
 
 zea, 
 An' be niver yer'd of after, all because o' lore 
 
 vur me ? 
 
 Didden some poar dotty lover marry some-un elst 
 
 i' spite ? 
 No, er didden no sich lover iver come avore mi 
 
 sight. 
 
 An' I niver zed a no, cheel, when I 'tended zayin 
 
 'ess ; 
 You've a-got thease zilly notions somewher out o 
 
 biikes, I guess. 
 
 I'm an ol' maid born, they tells me, an' I reckon 
 
 , zo I be, 
 
 Vor I niver zought tha men-voke an' they niver 
 voller'd me. 
 
A Village Spinster. 105 
 
 Be um curates, sodgers, sailors, or tha men-voke 
 
 to tha varm, 
 I wuz niver tiike wi' breeches, an' I niver come tu 
 
 harm ; 
 
 An' I didden want to marry 'less tha right man 
 
 came my way, 
 An' 'e niver came whativer, an' I'm zingle to this 
 
 day. 
 
 'E'd a-bin a viile, vur sartin, but I might a' come 
 
 to chiise'n 
 Ef er'd awn'd to 'es zhortcomin's an' 'ad axed me 
 
 to exciise'n. 
 
 Blessee, cheel, et didden matter; I've bin better 
 
 as I be. 
 Marriages be made to heaven. Thank tha Lard, 
 
 ther's none vor me ! 
 
io6 
 
 TACKLING THE CURATE. 
 
 [Many of the cottagers in Devon and Cornwall are 
 Methodists, or Bryanites, or Plymouth Brethren.] 
 
 YU'M a vury nice young man, as they make 
 young men to-day 
 
 I've nothen to say against 'ee, in whotsomever way ; 
 But this be what I dii say, and I dii mean et weel 
 Thee knaws no moar o' religion than any nil-born 
 cheel. 
 
 'Taint given to tha larned, but to them o' little wit, 
 I dawnt say that's a reason thee shudden knaw a 
 
 bit; 
 
 Taint given to eddication and colleges and skiiles 
 'Tes given to tha simple and yet us be no fules. 
 
 Yii'm quite a decent napper I dawnt mean no 
 
 offence 
 But what be trii religion to men o' warldly sense ? 
 
Tackling the Curate. 107 
 
 Tha Bishop 'ath a-larned 'ee, and says that thee 
 
 will dii, 
 But tha Bishop 'issel' is a reed that's broken dru 
 
 and dru. 
 
 Yu be all in tha bonds o' darkness, and Satan 'olds 
 
 'ee tight; 
 'Tes awnly given to few, lad, to read tha message 
 
 aright. 
 I'm auld enough vor thee muther, and thee midden 
 
 think to see 
 Me settin' at thy feet, lad, to larn religion o' thee. 
 
 And zo thee be a passen or diiee call et priest ? 
 Whativer thee du call et dawnt sinnify i' tha least ; 
 And if 'ee reads tha Bible thee'lt vury quickly zee 
 All Christen vokes be priests, lad, as much and 
 more'n thee. 
 
 Tes thee, as I du yer, with a' thy new-come ways, 
 'Ath turned old passen's 'ead, and set tha church 
 
 in a maze. 
 Though church be naught to me, as reckons it's 
 
 none o' it right, 
 I beant 'alf-pleased to see un i' sich a terrubal plight. 
 
io8 West-Country Verses. 
 
 I went to church mysel' when my poor eyes were 
 
 sealed ; 
 And though I left tha dark when light 'ad been 
 
 revealed, 
 I feels a kindness still after tha flesh, thee must 
 
 know, 
 Vor tha pleasant darksome ways I walked in long 
 
 ago. 
 
 But naw tha church be changed, and thee be part 
 
 to blame; 
 'Tes gone fro' bad to wurse and dawntee feel no 
 
 shame ? 
 Tha fiddlin' chaps be gone, the flutes, the stram- 
 
 ming bass, 
 And now yii'm got a passel o' sniggerin' bwoys i' 
 
 their place. 
 
 Thee calls et a surplus choir, and na doubt thee 
 thinks et fine 
 
 Vor tha little thieves in their bed-goons to zing tha 
 praise divine. 
 
 I knaw tha little rascals, an' hear tha vokes' com- 
 plaints 
 
 Et takes a deal o' whitewash to turn 'em into saints. 
 
Tackling the Curate. 109 
 
 Et idden tha bwoys I blame they dii as they be 
 
 taught ; 
 But surely thee an' tha passen knaw better at 
 
 least, ye ought. 
 
 Idden et terrabul sad ? 'tes terrabul wicked to me, 
 Laying tha Bishop's 'ands on bwoys as bad as 
 
 can be. 
 
 Mysteries deeper far than can ever be fathomed by 
 
 man 
 Diiee think that tha rosy-cheeked bwoys can properly 
 
 unnerstan' ? 
 O man, may God forgive 'ee ! Thee'rt doing a 
 
 terrabul thing, 
 An' I widden stan' i' your shoon vor tha treasury 
 
 o' tha king. 
 
 Now dawnt be goin' away zo niffed as a body 
 
 mid be ; 
 Thee likes 'em to come to confession, an' I been 
 
 confessin' to thee; 
 An' ef what I've been an' said 'ave properly driv'n 
 
 'ee mad, 
 Thee be a priest now, beant 'ee? zo give me a 
 
 penance, me lad. 
 
no West-Country Verses. 
 
 I be a chitterin' soul, and I likes to 'ave my say ; 
 Thee canst cackle thee full in pii'pit o' Sabbath day. 
 I'm auld enough vor thee muther, and sure I'm 
 
 proud as can be 
 To 'ave a real live passen zittin' an' listenin' tu me. 
 
 Wance in a way 'tes gude tu 'ear a body's mind, 
 An ef thee'rt much o' a man, thee wissent take et 
 
 unkind. 
 Yii'm a vury nice young man, as they makes young 
 
 men tu-day 
 I likes 'ee well as a lad but not as a passen, no 
 
 fey! 
 
Ill 
 
 T 
 
 THE STORY OF ST PIRAN. 
 
 A CORNISH TRADITION. 
 
 IS the legend of old Perranzabuloe, 
 
 On the Cornish coast where the sand-storms 
 blow. 
 
 In those good times of myth and of dream, 
 Of giant and pixy and Cornish cream, 
 
 The beautiful Duchy, I'm much afraid, 
 
 Had not many saints that were quite home-made. 
 
 St Piran himself, of blessed fame, 
 Sure 'twas from County Cork he came. 
 
 He lived in a time when the Irish folk 
 Thought breaking of heads was a capital joke. 
 
 Now Piran hadn't a word to say 
 'Gainst breaking a head in a casual way ; 
 
U2 West- Country Verses. 
 
 But at last things grew to a pass so bad 
 
 That he cried, " Be aisy now stop it, bedad ! " 
 
 Said they, " Begorra, an' what are ye sayin' ? 
 Och, but a saint should be afther his prayin'. 
 
 But sure if it's marthyrdom ye would be at, 
 We are the bhoys to obleege ye in that." 
 
 So they tied the saint to a millstone strong ; 
 To the top of a hill they dragged him along. 
 
 " Ye'll be wishing bad luck to the dhrop," said they ; 
 " Go on wid your praichin' now out in the say." 
 
 They rolled the stone over the cliff so steep, 
 Down where the waters were cruel and deep ; 
 
 But as soon as it touched on the top of the sea 
 It steadied and floated as nice as could be. 
 
 Said Piran, " I'm shaking your dust from me shoes " 
 (Though never a shoe did the good man use). 
 
The Story of St Piran. 1 1 3 
 
 " It's demaning to spake to sich blackguards," he 
 
 said; 
 So he turned to a drop of the crayter instead. 
 
 (For he'd wisely concealed in a fold of his vest 
 A choice little flask of the Irish best.) 
 
 "And sure 'tis to Cornwall I'm going to-day, 
 And wanting a something for sich a long way." 
 
 Now when the crowd saw that the saint wasn't 
 
 drowned, 
 But sailed on the millstone quite happy and sound, 
 
 Said they, " 'Tis the howly man floats on a stone," 
 And were straightway converted with many a groan. 
 
 But Piran sailed on till he came to that bay 
 Where the sand-heaps are drifting about to this day. 
 
 And with such little Latin as Piran did know 
 He said, " This is Piran-in-sabulo? 
 
 He got off his millstone and murmured a grace ; 
 And " arrah," he said, " 'tis an illigant place. 
 H 
 
H4 West- Country Verses. 
 
 A little too much o' the sand, maybe, 
 And a little too much o' the wet," said he. 
 
 " 'Tis murther thrying to find one's way ; 
 I'm almost wishing I'd stopped at say." 
 
 And so he walked and wandered and ran, 
 Till he came to a hermit Cornishman. 
 
 He wished him most kindly the top of the day : 
 " Troth, I'm St Piran from over the way. 
 
 You're a dacent bhoy," said the saint most sweetly, 
 " And a howly man," he added discreetly. 
 
 " I'm only axing a sup and a bite, 
 
 And a shake of straw for me bed the night." 
 
 So the pair of saints hobnobbed together, 
 And grumbled a bit at the Cornish weather. 
 
 Said Piran, " I've something to kape out the wet ; 
 'Tis a dhrop of the Oirish best, me pet." 
 
The Story of St Piran. 1 1 5 
 
 But the Cornish saint looked a little awry 
 Out of the corner of his eye ; 
 
 So he added, afraid of a wrong solution, 
 " I'm ordered a dhrop for me constitution ; 
 
 Tis not as a biverage, sure, that I take, 
 But arrah, me health is so mortial wake." 
 
 The Cornishman coughed, and then murmured, 
 
 " Aw well, 
 I reckon I'll try just a li'l bit mysel', 
 
 For I get the rheumatic so terrible bad ; " 
 Said Piran, " Rheumatic's the divel, me lad ! " 
 
 They swallowed in turns, so that by-and-bye 
 The neat little flagon was quite drained dry. 
 
 The saint held it lovingly up to his lip ; 
 
 " Bad cess to it thin, but I've had the last dhrip. 
 
 " Niver mind, me riverend friend," he said, 
 " It's me that knows how the crayter is made." 
 
Il6 West-Country Verses. 
 
 They piled the stones that lay within reach, 
 And gathered the driftwood from off the beach 
 
 And Piran said, " If the powers be willin', 
 We'll do a nate little bit o' distillin'." 
 
 The fire was lit and the barley was brought, 
 And St Piran did all that he had been taught. 
 
 But lo and behold, when the stones grew hot 
 A stream of white metal ran out on the spot. 
 
 Cried Piran, " By all the powers, Amin ! 
 Bedad if we haven't discovered Tin ! 
 
 " Whirrish and whirroo ! me riverend brother, 
 How one good thing may lead to another ! " 
 
 And that is why Piran, the truth to say, 
 Is the miners' saint to this very day. 
 
THE OLD SEXTON. 
 
 WHY, 'ess, I be the saxton, but uz doan't 
 want tha kay ; 
 Uz lave tha chu'ch - doar awpen the hull o' a 
 
 zummer's day, 
 
 An' I can teake 'ee round as well as tha passen do ; 
 'Tes zort o' bone o' my bone, I knows un droo 
 an droo. 
 
 I knaw tha graves that reache fro' tha poorch-way 
 
 to tha geate, 
 'Cept zum o' the older voke az come avore my 
 
 deate, 
 Or yer an' there a babby, too young to 'ave a 
 
 neame, 
 That tha passen buried Christen i' spite o' tha 
 
 mother's sheame. 
 
u8 West-Country Verses. 
 
 In coorse I knaws about 'en, vor I buried 'em all 
 
 mysel', 
 An' I knaw wan theng vor zartin they be all o'm 
 
 buried well ; 
 An' zum 'ave blocks above 'em, an' zum 'ave grass 
 
 to their bones, 
 But 'twill teake a power o' raisin' to loosen tha 
 
 grass or the stwones. 
 
 Tha faith as can move a mountain, as passen do 
 
 zumtimes zay, 
 
 111 raise 'em up quite aisy upon tha proper day ; 
 An' zo I showls upon 'em and rams 'em down'ard 
 
 hard, 
 But 'taint tha like o' my speade as 'ill sarcumwent 
 
 tha Lard. 
 
 I'm like to be yer mysel' avore many a year 'ave 
 
 passed, 
 An' 111 go to rest wi' ma work, as is vittin' at tha 
 
 last. 
 There's wan theng I wud like avore I drops ma 
 
 speade 
 I'd like to dig my awn grave and knaw 'at it's 
 
 proper meade. 
 
The Old Sexton. 119 
 
 Will 'ee come i'side tha chu'ch ? They zay 'tis 
 a No'man door, 
 
 An' tha vont within 'ave stude vor a thousan' year 
 an' more ; 
 
 I veels a kin' o' love vor't, I wuz kirsen'd in't, 'tis 
 true, 
 
 But I thenk ef I wuz passen I'd like to 'ave some- 
 thing new. 
 
 But passen wun't be twold, an' all ma words be 
 
 weaste ; 
 
 'Tis a pity, zims to me, 'e 'assen't a better teaste, 
 Tho' it ain't vor me to tell'n what a shude 'a 
 
 larned at school, 
 An' I reckon that a thenks I be awnly a gert ol' 
 
 vule. 
 
 There's zum dawn't thenk a dale o' passen, vor you 
 
 zee 
 
 'Es zarmons be as zimple an' natteral as can be. 
 Et mazes us complately that a larned college man 
 Shude speake a common lang'age that uz all can 
 
 unnerstan'. 
 
120 U'tst-Country Verses. 
 
 What be tha use of larnin', of Latin, an' of 
 
 Greake, 
 Ef a speakes to uz azackly as we oursels do 
 
 speake ? 
 'Tes a tidy livin', too, but passen's mode of 
 
 speache 
 Do bring 'es sacred teachin's too much within our 
 
 reache. 
 
 A speakes to uz too hwomely, a dawn't get out o' 
 
 zight, 
 Which, 'cordin' to our notions, ain't riverent or 
 
 right. 
 A's a good man whatsomiver, but vor knawin' what 
 
 a do zay 
 Uz might as well be list'nin' to tha Methodies awver 
 
 tha way. 
 
 I dawn't speake ill about 'em, or of how they 
 
 wuships there ; 
 
 Boath mysel' an' passen do always speake 'em vair. 
 Let aich man zay 'es prayers whativer way a 
 
 pleease ; 
 But they chop an' change tha Scripter as tho' 'twuz 
 
 bread an' cheease. 
 
The Old Sexton. 1 2 1 
 
 Et may be that they draws a vew more voke than 
 
 we, 
 But they chiefly get tha drash, uz gets tha 
 
 qualitee ; 
 An' sure tha gerter tha zin, they zay, tha gerter tha 
 
 greace : 
 My zins be awnly sech as they thenk be common- 
 
 pleace. 
 
 They'd male' me veel quite zmall an' shamed to be 
 
 no wuss ; 
 Taint awver sech as me that their Lard 'ud male' a 
 
 vuss. 
 I'm quite a 'spectable man, leastwise, I've tried 
 
 to be, 
 An' o' coorse there ain't no glory to be got o' 
 
 savin' me. 
 
 Our passen teaches us to be honest as can be ; 
 They zay a teaches warks, an' warks be devilry. 
 'Tes vaith an' vaith an' vaith all warks be just 
 
 decaivin' ; 
 Nawthen' to do at all but awnly just belaivin'. 
 
122 West-Country Verses. 
 
 An' they 'oilers to tha Lard as tho' A lived next 
 
 door; 
 Ef they want a theng pertikler they shouts an' 
 
 'oilers tha more. 
 My notion o' tha Lard, ef you've anytheng to 
 
 tell, 
 Es to speake to Un as riv'rent as tho' 'twuz tha 
 
 king 'issel'. 
 
 An' passen i' tha prayers is as riverent as can 
 
 be 
 
 'Tes awnly i' tha pu'pit that a speakes zo or'nary ; 
 But I dawn't listen much 'tain't properly wu'th 
 
 tha while 
 When not a word a zays wud puzzle a zimple 
 
 chile. 
 
 A thank 'ee kindly, zir, an' I've twold 'ee all that I 
 
 can ; 
 Not much o' tha 'tiquities, p'raps, which I niver can 
 
 unnerstan', 
 But passen 'ill tellee more, an' a lives just awver 
 
 , tha way; 
 You'll vind en a dacent man vor all that I do zay. 
 
123 
 
 JILTED. 
 
 DAWNT take on so, mawther, 
 An' spake such ill o' she ; 
 'Er had 'ersel' tii yiimmer 
 An' 'er didden vancy me. 
 
 Zit still and dawnt zay nawthen. 
 
 My droat is 'ard an' dry ; 
 I'm gwaine to bear et man-like 
 
 'Tes babbyish to cry. 
 
 I beant agwaine to cry now 
 Et mid be well I ciide ; 
 
 A-sniv'lin' and a-snulin' 
 Mid du a power o' giide. 
 
124 West-Country Verses. 
 
 Dawnt take on so, mawther, 
 An' dawntee go to think 
 
 'At I shall drawn ma trouble 
 In tosticatin' drink. 
 
 Diiee remember, mawther 
 I call-it 'ome full weel 
 
 When 'er wuz but a maidie 
 An' I wuz but a cheel ? 
 
 Wance when I 'ad an apple 
 I bargained vor a kiss, 
 
 " Wan purty leetle kiss now, 
 An' then I'll givee this." 
 
 'Er 'eld 'er rosy lips up ; 
 
 I kissed um wance an' twice ; 
 I zed, " 'Taint worth tha apple 
 
 'Tes awnly rather nice." 
 
 O' course I kep ma bargain, 
 But ded'n like et weel ; 
 
 I awnly wuz a napper, 
 An' 'er wuz but a cheel. 
 
Jilted. 125 
 
 A bwoy liked apples better, 
 
 An' 'twuzn't no disgrace ; 
 But now I'd give a fortin 
 
 To kiss that rosy vace. 
 
 No fey, us ded'n trouble 
 
 To play wi' maidens then ; 
 They awnly cude be wimmen, 
 
 An' uz wuz proper men. 
 
 Dawnt take on zo, mawther, 
 
 An' spake such ill o' she 
 That, now 'er be a wumman, 
 
 Wawnt come an' play wi' me. 
 
 I'm gwaine to bear et man-like 
 Leastwise, I'm gwaine to try. 
 
 Dawnt ask me to vorget 'er, 
 Not yet a bit, by'm-bye. 
 
 Yet when I wuz a napper 
 'Er gave what now I miss, 
 
 An' acres vull o' apples 
 
 Wunt buy vrom 'er wan kiss. 
 
126 West-Country Verses. 
 
 'Er awnly wuz a maidie, 
 An' I wuz but a bwoy ; 
 
 An' what I ded'n care vor 
 Zims now a world o' joy. 
 
 Zit still an' dawnt zay nawthen. 
 
 An' mawther, dawntee cry ; 
 Et makes me choke to yer 'ee ;- 
 
 I'll talk a bit by'm-bye. 
 
127 
 
 A MOTHER-SONG. 
 
 TIME wuz I 'ad a nest o' little chillern ; 
 They chitter'd an' they chatter'd a' tha day ; 
 An' what with a' tha feedin' an' tha mendin' 
 'Twuz li'l enough o' leisure come my way 
 
 Sure 'nuff, 
 'Twuz li'l but toil an' moilin' come my way. 
 
 At marnin' 'twuz tha washin' chubby vaces ; 
 
 At night 'twuz teachin' little 'earts to pray. 
 'Twuz fillin' 'ungry mouths \vi' fitty vittels, 
 
 An' scoldin' 'em an' blessin' 'em a' day 
 
 My word ! 
 
 'Twuz frettin' with an' blessin' 'em a' day. 
 
 'Twuz combin' 'em an' tidyin' an' brushin', 
 An' sendin' 'em to school-'ouse ivery morn ; 
 
 An' settin' up o' nights when they wuz sleepin', 
 A-patchin' and a-mendin' what wuz torn 
 
 My fey ! 
 Tha tiny tummilled clothes that 'ad been torn. 
 
128 West-Country Verses. 
 
 But now tha chillern's left me, an' I wants 'em ; 
 
 Tes lonezome an' so quiet, dawntee zee ; 
 My man is settin' smokin' or a-noddin', 
 
 But 'e can't fill tha chillern's place for me 
 
 No fey ! 
 
 'Ell niver fill tha chillern's place for me. 
 
 They a' be gone away, grown men an' women 
 They'm gone into tha town to make their bread 
 
 The awnly one that bides a cheel for iver 
 Be yon poar little maidie that be dead 
 
 Aw fey ! 
 Tha awnly one that's wi' me is tha dead. 
 
129 
 
 CHILDLESS. 
 
 DAWNTEE be comin' an' tellin' me tales o' 'em, 
 Wonderfu' tales o' 'em, there's a dear sawl. 
 Sure, 'tis too often I cry vor tha lack o' 'em, 
 
 I that have niver a childie at all ; 
 Often I cry vor 'em, often I pray vor 'em, 
 I that have niver a childie at all. 
 
 Niver a child vor tha trouble an' joy o' me 
 Niver a child, o' tha thousands I zee ; 
 
 Niver a child i' tha next warld to run to me, 
 Dawnt'ee be tellin' o' chillern to me ! 
 
 God 'ill vorgive me vor frettin' an' wonderin' 
 Why He has trusted na chillern to me. 
 i 
 
130 West-Country Verses. 
 
 See, i' tha corner there dawnt'ee be tellin' it 
 Wee little clothes that have niver been worn ; 
 
 Socks that I knitted vvi' hands that had love in 'em, 
 Sweet little gowns vor tha child to be born. 
 
 Dawnt'ee be tellin' it ! often I'm huggin' 'em, 
 Clothes of tha child that has niver been born. 
 
 Often I sit i' tha dimmits and dream of 'im, 
 Talk to 'im, sing to 'im, rock 'im to rest ; 
 
 Coaxin' mysel' till I vancy tha feel of 'im 
 Dear little hands of 'im pressin' my breast ; 
 
 Mockin' mysel' wi' tha softness and warmth of 'im, 
 Dear little lips of 'im, pressing my breast. 
 
 Sometimes I vancy small feet that are patterin', 
 Lips sayin' " Mother," small hands at my knees ; 
 
 Then I awake vrom tha maze of my foolishness, 
 Hearin' tha wind as it cries through tha trees, 
 
 Just like tha wail of a babe that is motherless, 
 Awnly tha wind as it cries i' tha trees. 
 
A FISHERMAN'S COTTAGE. 
 
 WHEN all the house be still as death, 
 And I lie wakin', 
 
 There comes a rattlin' at the door, 
 A vancied step upo' the floor ; 
 I lie an' scarce can draw my breath, 
 Wakin', wakin'. 
 
 Es et the ghosts, that come an' go 
 
 When voke es zleepin', 
 Of those who toiled an' zorrowed here 
 Long zince ? or es et you, ma dear, 
 Come home to me ? I do not know 
 Weepin', weepin'. 
 
 Zumtimes I watch upo' the shore 
 
 The boats come home'ard. 
 I count 'em as they come to view : 
 O God, there's always wan too few ! 
 Wan boat that cometh nivermore 
 Home'ard, home'ard. 
 
132 West-Country Verses. 
 
 I veel zo lonezome dru the day, 
 
 Zo weary waitin' ; 
 But night-times i' my little room, 
 There i' the zilence an' the gloom 
 You dawn't zim quite zo far away, 
 Waitin', waitin'. 
 
 When all the house es dumb an' drear, 
 
 And I lie wakin', 
 Es et a callin' o' the sea, 
 Or es et you that calls to me ? 
 The door is on the latch, ma dear, 
 
 And I lie wakin'. 
 
133 
 
 A WIDOW'S MITE. 
 
 I 'AD awnly wan li'l bwoy, 
 An' 'es vather wuz dead. 
 Aw, ma dear sawl tha cheel 
 Wi' 'es touzled head ! 
 
 'Twern't much that I cude du ; 
 
 But me 'eart wuz glad 
 To toil tha long day dru 
 
 Vor ma li'l lad. 
 
 I 'ad awnly wan thing left 
 
 Ma barefoot bwoy ; 
 He 'ad a thousand things 
 
 To give 'im joy : 
 
134 I rest- Country Verses. 
 
 Tha sea, tha weeds an' shells, 
 An' tha boats a-fishin' ; 
 
 An' still to be a man 
 Tha cheel wuz wishin'. 
 
 Wan day they brought 'im 'ome- 
 Wet touzled 'ead ! 
 
 An' they never spake a word 
 An' tha bwoy wuz dead. 
 
 Dawn't talk to me, ma dear, 
 
 But let me be. 
 I can hear my laddie call 
 
 In tha cry o' tha sea. 
 
 PRINTED BY WILLIAM DLACKWOOD AND SONS. 
 
Press Notices of the 
 
 WEST-COUNTRY VERSES 
 
 (As previously published in ' West-Country Ballads ' and in 
 ' Lyrics and Verses'). 
 
 Times. 
 
 " The verses in Devon dialect are admirable, worthy to stand 
 beside Barnes, full of humour and pathos." 
 
 Daily News. 
 
 "In his dialect poems he strikes the bed-rock of human 
 nature." 
 
 Literary World. 
 "The humour of ' A Father of Twins ' is not to be resisted." 
 
 Observer. 
 
 "Mr Salmon has no superior among living exponents in verse 
 of the spirit of the West Country." 
 
 Mr John Davidson in 'The Speaker.' 
 
 " His ' Devon Wife' and ' The Curate ' may even be read after 
 Tennyson's dialect poems." 
 
 Sunday Sun. 
 " ' A Devon Wife' is quite a triumph." 
 
 Star. 
 " Both humour and poetry." 
 
 Examiner. 
 
 "Perhaps the most perfect verse in the book is 'A Mother's 
 Song.' With its pathos, tenderness, and simplicity it is a fitting 
 conclusion to the whole, and will be one of the poems by which 
 its author will ever be remembered." 
 
BY THE SAME AUTHOR. 
 
 A BOOK OF VERSES, 
 
 Crown 8vo, boards, gilt, ss. 6d. net. 
 
 Daily Telegraph. 
 
 "Mr Salmon is a poet of such undoubted gifts, he has such 
 richness of thought, such mastery of melodious verse, that a new 
 book from his pen should reach the hands of all poetry-lovers. " 
 
 Westminster Keview. 
 " Distinguished by spiritual insight and subtle craftsmanship." 
 
 Morning Leader. 
 " The whole book is that rare thing, a product of individuality." 
 
 Academy. 
 
 " Mr Salmon's is, and quite deservedly, a name that stands out 
 amongst the names of present-day poets." 
 
 Bookman. 
 
 " We like the plain restrained music of Mr Salmon's verse, the 
 easy prestissimo of his quicker measures, the workmanship, the 
 unobtrusive beauty." 
 
 Great Thoughts. 
 
 "To me it has already brought a wealth of thought and con- 
 solation and incitement to good living that I cannot well repay." 
 
 WILLIAM BLACKWOOD & SONS, 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON. 
 
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 Form L9-100m-9.'52(A3105)444 
 
PR 
 
 6037 
 
 3l66w 
 
 1908