kJtfH^Mufl^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^H ^1 THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA RIVERSIDE ^ELECT POEMS OF WILLIAM BARNES CHOSEN AND EDITED WITH A PREFACE AND GLOSSARIAL NOTES BY THOMAS HARDY LONDON HUMPHREY MILFGRD 192^ ?/?y^^^ PREFACE This volume of verse includes, to the best of my judgement, the greater part of that which is of the highest value in the poetry of William Barnes. I have been moved to undertake the selection by a thought that has overridden some immediate objections to such an attempt, — that I chance to be (I believe) one of the few living persons having a practical acquaintance with letters who knew familiarly the Dorset dialect when it was spoken as Barnes writes it, or, perhaps, who know it as it is spoken now. Since his death, education in the west of England as elsewhere has gone on with its silent and inevitable efFacements, reducing the speech of this country to uniformity, and obliterating every year many a fine old local word. The process is always the same : the word is ridiculed by the newly taught ; it gets into disgrace ; it is heard in holes and corners only ; it dies ; and, worst of all, it leaves no synonym. In the villages that one recognizes to be the scenes of these pastorals the poet's nouns, adjectives, and idioms daily cease to be understood by a2 iv PREFACE the younger generation, the luxury of four demon- strative pronouns, of which he was so proud, vanishes by their compression into the two of common English, and the suffix to verbs which marks continuity of action is almost everywhere shorn away. To cull from a dead writer''s whole achievement in verse portions that shall exhibit him is a task of no small difficulty, and of some temerity. There is involved, first of all, the question of right. A selector may say : These are the pieces that please me best ; but he may not be entitled to hold that they are the best in themselves and for everybody. This opens the problem of equating the personality — of adjusting the idiosyncrasy of the chooser to mean pitch. If it can be done in some degree — one may doubt it — there has to be borne in mind the continually chang- ing taste of the times. But, assuming average critical capacity in the compiler, that he represents his own time, and that he finds it no great toil to come to a conclusion on which in his view are the highest levels and the lowest of a poet's execution, the com- plete field of the work examined almost always contains a large intermediate tract where the accom- plishment is of nearly uniform merit throughout, selection from which must be by a process of sampling rather than of gleaning ; many a poem, too, of in- different achievement in its wholeness may contain PREFACE V some line, couplet, or stanza of gi'eat excellence ; and contrariwise, a bad or irrelevant verse may mar the good remainder; in each case the choice is puzzled, and the balance struck by a single mind can hardly escape being questioned here and there. A word may be said on the arrangement of the poems as 'lyrical and elegiac'; 'descriptive and meditative ' ; ' humorous ' ; a classification which has been adopted with this author in the present volume for the first time. It is an old story that such divisions may be open to grave objection, in respect, at least, of the verse of the majority of poets, who write in the accepted language. For one thing, many fine poems that have lyric moments are not entirely lyrical ; many lai'gely narrative poems are not entire- ly narrative ; many personal reflections or meditations in verse hover across the frontiers of lyricism. To this general opinion I would add that the same lines may be lyrical to one temperament and meditative to another ; nay, lyrical and not lyrical to the same reader at different times, according to his mood and circumstance. Gray's Elegy may be instanced as a poem that has almost made itself notorious by claiming to be a lyric in particular humours, situa- tions, and weathers, and waiving the claim in others. One might, to be sure, as a smart impromptu, narrow down the definition of lyric to the safe boun- vi PREFACE dary of poetry that has all its nouns in the vocative case, and so settle the question by the simple touch- stone of the grammar-book, adducing the Benedicite as a shining example. But this qualification would be disconcerting in its stringency, and cause a flutter- ing of the leaves of many an accepted anthology. A story which was told the writer by Mr. Barnes himself may be apposite here. When a pupil of his was announced in the Times as having come out at the top in the Indian Service examination-list of those days, the schoolmaster was overwhelmed with letters from anxious parents requesting him at any price to make their sons come out at the top also. He replied that he willingly would, but that it took two to do it. It depends, in truth, upon the other person, the reader, whether certain numbers shall be raised to lyric pitch or not ; and if he does not bring to the page of these potentially lyric productions a lyrical quality of mind, they must be classed, for him, as non-lyrical. However, to pass the niceties of this question by. In the exceptional instance of a poet like Barnes who writes in a dialect only, a new condition arises to influence considerations of assortment. Lovers of poetry who are but imperfectly acquainted with his vocabulary and idiom may yet be desirous of learning something of his message ;, and the most elementary guidance is of help to such students, for they are PREFACE vii liable to mistake their author on the very threshold. For some reason or none, many persons suppose that when anything is penned in the tongue of the country-side, the primary intent is burlesque or ridicule, and this especially if the speech be one in which the sibilant has the rough sound, and is expressed by Z. Indeed, scores of thriving story- tellers and di'amatists seem to believe that by trans- muting the flattest conversation into a dialect that never existed, and making the talkers say 'be' where they would really say ' is ', a Falstaffian richness is at once imparted to its qualities. But to a person to whom a dialect is native its sounds are as consonant with moods of sorrow as with moods of mirth : there is no grotesqueness in it as such. Nor was there to Barnes. To provide an alien reader with a rough clue to the taste of the kernel that may be expected under the shell of the spelling has seemed to be worth while, and to justify a division into heads that may in some cases appear arbitrary. In respect of the other helps — the glosses and para- phrases given on each page — it may be assumed that they are but a sorry substitute for the full signifi- cance the original words bear to those who read them without translation, and knoAv their delicate ability to express the doings, joys and jests, troubles, sorrows, needs and sicknesses of life in the rural world as viii PREFACE elsewhere. The Dorset dialect being — or having been — a tongue, and not a corruption, it is the old question over again, that of the translation of poetry ; which, to the full, is admittedly impossible. And further; gesture and facial expression figure so largely in the speech of husbandmen as to be speech itself ; hence in the mind's eye of those who know it in its original setting each word of theirs is accompanied by the qualifying face-play which no construing can express. It may appear strange to some, as it did to friends in his lifetime, that a man of insight who had the spirit of poesy in him should have persisted year after year in writing in a fast-perishing language, and on themes which in some not remote time would be familiar to nobody, leaving him pathetically like A ghostly cricket, creaking where a house was burned ; — a language with the added disadvantage by com- parison with other dead tongues that no master or books would be readily available for the acquisition of its finer meanings. He himself simply said that he could not help it, no doubt feeling his idylls to be an extemporization, or impulse, without prevision or power of appraisement on his own part. Yet it seems to the present writer that Barnes, PREFACE ix despite this, really belonged to the literary school of such poets as Tennyson, Gray, and Collins, rather than to that of the old unpremeditating singers in dialect. Primarily spontaneous, he was academic closely after ; and we find him warbling his native wood-notes with a watchful eye on the predetermined score, a far remove from the popular impression of him as the naif and rude bard who sings only because he must, and who submits the uncouth lines of his page to us without knowing how they come there. Goethe never knew better of his ; nor Milton ; nor, in their rhymes, Poe ; nor, in their whimsical allitera- tions here and there, Langland and the versifiers of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. In his aim at closeness of phrase to his vision he strained at times the capacities of dialect, and went wilfully outside the dramatization of peasant talk. Such a lover of the art of expression was this penman of a dialect that had no literature, that on some occasions he would allow art to overpower sponta- neity and to cripple inspiration ; though, be it remembered, he never tampered with the dialect itself. His ingenious internal rhymes, his subtle juxta- position of kindred lippings and vowel-sounds, show a fastidiousness in word-selection that is surprising in verse which professes to represent the habitual modes of language among the western peasantiy. X PREFACE We do not find in the dialect balladists of the seven- teenth century, or in Burns (with whom he has some- times been measured), such careful finish, such verbal dexterities, such searchings for the most cunning syllables, such satisfaction with the best phrase. Had he not begun with dialect, and seen himself recognized as an adept in it before he had quite found himself as a poet, who knoAvs that he might not have brought upon his muse the disaster that has befallen so many earnest versifiers of recent time, have become a slave to the passion for form, and have wasted all his substance in whittling at its shape. From such, however, he was saved by the conditions of his scene, characters, and vocabulary. It may have been, indeed, that he saw this tendency in himself, and retained the dialect as a corrective to the tendency. Whether or no, by a felicitous instinct he does at times break into sudden irregularities in the midst of his subtle rhythms and measures, as if feeling rebelled against further drill. Then his self-consciousness ends, and his naturalness is saved. But criticism is so easy, and art so hard : criticism so flimsy, and the life-seer"'s voice so lasting. When we consider what such appreciativeness as Arnold's could allow his prejudice to say about the highest- soaring among all our lyricists ; what strange criticism Shelley himself could indulge in now and then ; that PREFACE xi the history of criticism is mainly the history of error, which has not even, as many errors have, quaintness enough to make it interesting, we may well doubt the utility of such writing on the sand. What is the use of saying, as has been said of Barnes, that compound epithets like 'the blue-hilFd worold', *the wide-horn'd cow,' 'the grey-topp'd heights of Paladore,' are a high-handed enlargement of the ordinary ideas of the field-folk into whose mouths they are put ? These things are justified by the art of every age when they can claim to be, as here, singularly precise and beautiful definitions of what is signified ; which in these instances, too, apply with double force to the deeply tinged horizon, to the breed of kine, to the aspect of Shaftesbury Hill, characteristic of the Vale within which most of his revelations are enshrined. Dialect, it may be added, offered another advantage to him as the writer, whatever difficulties it may have for strangers who try to follow it. Even if he often used the dramatic form of peasant speakers as a pretext for the expression of his own mind and experiences — which cannot be doubted — yet he did not always do this, and the assumed character of husbandman or hamleteer enabled him to elude in his verse those dreams and speculations that cannot leave alone the mystery of things, — possibly an unworthy mystery and disappointing if xii PREFACE sol\*ed, though one that has a harrowing fascination for many poets, — and helped him to fall back on dramatic truth, by making his personages express the notions of life prevalent in their sphere. As by the screen of dialect, so by the intense localization aforesaid, much is lost to the outsider who by looking into Barnes''s pages only revives general recollections of country life. Yet many passages may shine into that reader's mind through the veil which partly hides them ; and it is hoped and believed that, even in a superficial reading, something more of this poet's charm will be gathered from the present selection by persons to whom the Wessex R and Z are uncouth misfortunes, and the dying words those of an unlamented language that need leave behind it no grannnar of its secrets and no key to its tomb. T. H. September, 1908. The poems entitled ' The Lost Little Sister ', ' Winter a- comen ', * The Wind at the Door ', ' White an' Bkie ', and ' The Fall ' are printed by permission of the Rev. W. Miles Barnes, son of the poet. The four poems ' Melhill Feast ', ' The Bars on the Landridge ', ' Joy Passing By ', and ' The Morning Moon ' — which are among the few written by Barnes in other than dialect — are taken by the kind permission of Messrs. Macmillan from Poems of Rural Life in Common English published by them in 1868. These permissions are gratefully acknowledged by editor and publisher. CONTENTS Preface PAOE . iii LYRIC AND ELEGIAC The Spring . Tlie AV^oodlands The Blackbird The Milk-maid o' the Farm The Gre't Woak Tree that 's in the Dell May .... Hope in Spring The Shepherd o' the Farm VV'oodley Meaken up a Miff . The Clote Be'mi'ster A Zong ov Harvest Hwome The AVelshnut Tree Jenny out vrom Hwome The Lost Little Sister . A Wold Friend . Jeane .... Jeaue o' Grenley Mill . Blackmwore Maidens My orcha'd in Linden Lea Day's \V^ork a-done Winter a-comen . Ellen Brine ov Allenburn The Motherless Child . The Maid o' Newton Meary's Smile Meary AVedded Fair Emily ov Yarrow Mill Minden House The lovely Maid ov Elwell Meiid The Window fream'd wi' stwone 1 2 3 4 6 8 10 11 12 li 15 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 26 27 28 80 30 32 33 35 36 37 38 40 42 XIV CONTENTS Tlie Water-spring in the Leane The Linden on the Lawn Our Abode in Arby Wood Melhill Feast The Vier-zide Knowlwood . Hallowed Pleaces . When Birds be still Zun-Zet Spring , The Water Crowvoot The Lilac The May-tree Lydlinch Bells Trees be Company . The Winter's Willow Jessie Lee True Love Ivy Hall The Wife a-lost . Angels by the Door Pentridge by the River The Turn o' the Days Moonlight on the Door My Love's Guardian Angel Leeburn Mill . Wooue Smile mwore Naighbour Playmeiites Woak Hill . In the Spring Early Playmeate . Went Hwome Childern's Childern The Bars on the Laudric Linda Deane . Lindenore Times o' Year Zummer an' Winter Tlie Lew o' the Rick The Wind in Woone's Peace Leaves a-vallen The Widow's House I'm out o' door PAOE , 43 . 43 . 45 . 46 . 46 . 48 . 60 , 61 . 62 , 64 , 65 , 66 , 68 , 69 61 . 62 , 64 , 65 , 66 68 , 69 . 70 . 72 73 ■ 74 , 76 76 , 77 80 81 83 84 . 86 . 87 88 . 89 . 90 . 91 . 92 . 93 . 94 . 95 . 97 CONTENTS XT PAGE Lwonesonieness ........ 98 A Snowy Night ........ 99 Shaftesbury Feair ........ 100 My Love is good 101 Heedless o' my Love .... ... 102 Changes . . .... ... 104 The Little Worold . . . . . . .105 The \Vind at the Door ....... 106 White an' Blue 107 Joy Passing By . , 108 II DESCRIPTIVE AND MEDITATIVE Vellen the Tree . Evenen in the Village Jenny's Ribbons Uncle an' Aunt Hay-car re n . Grammer's Shoes . The Weepen Leady Christmas Invitation The Wold Waggon The Vaices that be gone The Hwomestead a-vell into Hand The Girt Wold House o' Mossy Stwone A Father out, an' Mother hwome Childhood . . ... The Stwonen Bwoy upon the Pillar The ^Vold Vo'k dead . Culver Dell and the Squire Our Be'thplace Milken Time . Wayfearen A Pleace in Zight The Bwoat . The Pleace our owi: The Hedger . The Flood in Spring Comen Hwome . 110 . Ill . 112 . 113 . 113 . 115 . 116 . 118 . 119 . 121 . 123 . 125 . 127 . 129 . 129 . 132 . 133 . 136 . 137 . 139 . 140 . 141 . 142 . 143 . 145 . 146 xvi CONTENTS PAGE The Rwose in the Dark 147 The New House a-getten wold . , . . . 148 Zummer Stream . . . . . . . .149 The Child an' the Mowers 160 ITie Love-Child 161 Tome 163 Tokens 165 Tweil 166 Evenen Light 167 Nanny's New Abode 158 Fall Time 169 Went vrom Hwome . . . . . . .160 The Beilten Path 161 The Fall 162 The Morning Moon 163 III HUMOROUS Eclogue : A Bit o' Sly Coorten 165 Eclogue : The Vearies ....... 169 What Dick an' I did 173 The Settle an' the Gre't Wood Virc . . . .175 A ^Vitch 177 Bleake's House in Blackmwore 178 The Shy Man 182 False Friends-like 184 GruflFmoody Grim ...'.... . 186 Gammony Gay ........ 186 The Neame-Letters 189 Praise o' Dorset . . 190 LYRIC AND ELEGIAC THE SPRING When wintry weather's all a-done, An' brooks do sparkle in the zun, An' naisy-builden rooks do vlee Wi*" sticks toward their elem tree; When birds do zing, an' we can zee Upon the boughs the buds o' spring, — Then Fm as happy as a king, A-vield wi' health an' zunshcen. V^or then the cowslip's hangen flow'r A-wetted in the zunny show'r, 10 Do grow wi' vi'lets, sweet o' smell, Bezide the wood-screen'd grjvgle's bell ; Where drushes' aggs, wi' sky-blue shell, Do lie in mossy nests among The thorns, while they do zing their zong At evenen in the zunsheen. 3 naisy] noisy, vlee] fly. 4 elem] elm. 8 A-vleld] afield. 12 gra?gle's] wild hyacinth's. 13 drushes' aggs] thrushes' eggs. BAUNES B % THE WOODLANDS O SPREAD ageJin your leaves an' flow'rs, Lwonesonie woodlands ! zunny woodlands ! Here underneath the dewy show'rs O' warm-air'd spring-time, zunny woodlands ! As when in drong or open ground, Wi' happy bwoyish heart I vound The twitfren birds a-builden round Your high-bo ugh''d hedges, zunny woodlands ! Von gie'd me life, you gie'd me jay, Lwonesonie woodlands ! zunny woodlands ! 10 You gie'd me health, as in my play I rambled through ye, zunny woodlands ! You gie'd me freedom, vor to rove In airy meiid or sheiidy grove ; You gie'd me smilen Fanney's love. The best ov all o't, zunny woodlands ! My vu'st shrill skylark whiver'd high, Lwonesonie woodlands ! zunny woodlands ! To zing below your deep-blue sky An' white spring-clouds, O zunny woodlands! 20 An' boughs o' trees that woonce stood here, Wer glossy green the happy year That gie'd me woone I lov'd so dear. An' now ha' lost, O zunny woodlands ! 5 drong] lane. 17 vu'st] first, whiver'd] hovered. THE WOODLANDS 8 O let me rove ageiin unspied, Lwonesome woodlands ! zunny woodlands ! Along your green-bough'd hedges' zide, As then I rambled, zunny woodlands ! An, where the missen trees woonce stood, Or tongues woonce rung among the wood, 30 jNIy memory shall meiike em good, Though you've a-lost em, zunny woodlands ! THE BLACKBIRD Ov all the birds upon the wing Between the zunny showVs o' spring, — Vor all the lark, a-swingen high. Mid zing sweet ditties to the sky, An' sparrows, clusfren roun' the bough, Mid chatter to the men at plough, — The blackbird, whisslen in among The boughs, do zing the gayest zong. • V^or we do hear the blackbird zing His sweetest ditties in the spring, 10 When nippen win's noo mwore do blow Vrom northern skies, wi' sleet or snow, But dreve light doust along between The leane-zide hedges, thick an' green ; An' zoo the blackbird in among The boughs do zing the gayest zong. 3 Vor all] although. 4 Mid] may. 11 win's] winds. 13 dreve] drive, doust] dust. 4 THE BLACKBIRD 'Tis blithe, wi' newly-waken eyes, To zee the mornen's ruddy skies ; Or, out a-haulen frith or lops Vrom nevv-plesh^d hedge or new-velPd copse, 20 To have woone's nammet down below A tree where primrwosen do grow. But there's noo time, the whole diiy long, Lik' evenen wi' the blackbird's zong. THE MII.K-MATD o' THE EAllM O Poll 's the milk-maid o' the farm ! An' Poll's so happy out in groun' Wi' her white pail below her earm As if she wore a gooldcn crown. An' Poll don't zit up half the night. Nor lie vor half the day a-bed : An' zoo her eyes be sparklen bright. An' zoo her cheaks be always red. In zunnner mornens, when the lark Do rouse the early lad an' lass 10 To work, then she's the vu'st to mark Her steps upon the dewy grass. An' in the evenen, when the zun Do sheen upon the western brows O' hills, where bubblen brooks do run, There she do zing bezide her cows. 19 frith or lops] brushwood or boughs. 20 plesh'd] plashed, vell'd] felled. 21 nammet] noon or afternoon meal. THE MILK-MAID O^ THE EAKM 6 An' ev'ry cow of hers do stand, An** never overzet her pail, Nor try to kick her nimble hand, Nor switch her wi' her heavy tail. 20 Noo leady wi' her muff' an"* vail Do walk wi' sich a steateh- tread As she do, wi' her niilken })ail A-balanc'd on her comely head. An' she at mornen an' at niirht Do skim the yollow cream, an' mould An' wring her cheeses red an' white. An' zee the butter vetch'd an' loll'd. Zoo Poll 's the milk-maid o' the farm ! An' Poll's so happy out in groun' so Wi' her white pail below her earm As if she wore a goolden crown. 28 vetch'dj churned. 6 THE GRE't WOAK TREE TPIAT 's IN THE DELL The gre't woak tree that 's in the dell ! There 's noo tree I do love so well ; Vor times an' times when I wer young I there Ve a-climiyd, an"" there've a-zwung, An' picked the eiicorns green, a-shed In wrestlen storms from his broad head, An' down below 's the doty brook Where I did vish with line an' hook, An' beiit, in playsome dips and zwims. The foamy stream, wi' white-skinn'd lim's. 10 An' there my mother nimbly shot Her knitten-needles, as she zot At evenen down below the wide Woak's head, wi' father at her zide. An' I've a-played wi' many a bwoy, That 's now a man an' gone awoy ; Zoo I do like noo tree so well 'S the gre't woak tree that's in the dell. An' there, in leater years, I roved Wi' thik poor maid I fondly lov'd, — 20 The maid too feair to die so soon, — When evenen twilight, or the moon, Cast light enough 'ithin the pleiice To show the smiles upon her feiice, 1 gre't woak] great oak. 7 cloty] water-lilied. 20 Wi' thik] with that. THE GRET WOAK TREE 7 Wi' eyes so dear's the glassy pool, An' lips an' cheaks so soft as wool. There han' in han', wi' bosoms warm Wi' love that burn'd but thought noo liarm, Below the wide-bough'd tree we past The happy hours that went too vast ; 30 An' though she'll never be my wife, She's still my leaden star o' life. She 's gone : an' she've a-left to me Her token in the gre't woak tree ; Zoo I do love noo tree so well 'S the gre't woak tree that's in the dell. An' oh ! mid never ax nor hook Be brought to spweil his steately look ; Nor ever roun' his ribby zides Mid cattle rub ther heiiiry hides; 40 Nor pigs rout up his turf, but keep His Iwonesome sheade vor harmless sheep; An' let en grow, an' let en spread. An' let en live when I be dead. But oh ! if men should come an' veil The gre't woak tree that's in the dell, An' build his planks 'ithin the zide O' zome gre't ship to plough the tide, Then, life or death ! I'd goo to sea, A-sailen wi' the gre't woak tree : 60 An' I upon his planks would stand, An' die a-fighten vor the land, — 32 leaden] leading. 38 spweil] spoil. 43 en] it. 45 veil] fell. 8 THE GRET WOAK TREE The land so dear, — the land so free, — The land that bore the gre't weak tree; Vor I do love noo tree so well 'S the gre't woak tree thafs in the dell. MAY Come out o'' door ; 'tis Spring ! 'tis May ! The trees be green, the vields be gay ; The weather's warm, the winter blast, Wi' all his train o' clouds, is past ; The zun do rise while vo'k do sleep, To teake a higher daily zweep, Wi' cloudless feiice a-flingen down His sparklen light upon the groun\ The air's a-streamen soft,— come drow The windor open ; let it blow in In drough the house, where vire, an' door A-shut, kept out the cwold avore. Come, let the vew dull embers die. An' come below the open sky ; An' wear your best, vor fear the groun' In colours gay mid sheame your gown : An' goo an' rig wi' me a mile Or two up over geate an' stile, Drough zunny parrocks that do lead, Wi' crooked hedges, to the mead, 20 Where elems high, in steiitely ranks. Do rise vrom yollow cowslip-banks, 9 drow] throw. 11 vire] fire. 13 vew] few. 19 par- rocks] paddocks. MAY 9 An' birds do twitter vrom the spray O' bushes deck'd wi' snow-white may ; An' giPcups, Avi' the deaisy bed, Be under ev^ry step you tread. We'll wind up roun' the hill, an' look All down the thickly-timber'd nook. Out where the squier's house do show His grey-waird peaks up drough the row 30 O' sheadv elems, where the rook Do build her nest ; an' where the brook Do creep along the meads, an' lie To catch the brightness o' the sky ; An' cows, in water to their knees, Do stan' a whisken off the vlees. Mother o' blossoms, and ov all That's feiiir a-vield vrom Spring till Fall, The cookoo over white-weiiv'd seas Do come to zing in thy green trees, 40 An' buttervlees, in giddy flight, Do gleam the mwost by thy gay light. Oh ! when, at last, my fleshly eyes Shall shut upon the vields an' skies, Mid zummer's zunny days be gone. An' winter's clouds be comcn on : Nor mid I draw upon the e'th O' thy sweet air my leatest breath ; Alassen I mid want to stay Behind for thee, O flow'ry May ! 60 25 gil'cups] buttercups. Sti vlees] flies. 49 Alassen] lest. 10 HOPE IN SPRING In happy times a while agoo, My lively hope, thafs now a-gone Did stir my heart the whole year drough, But mwost when green-houghVi spring come on ; When I did rove, wi' litty veet, Drough deaisy-beds so white 's a sheet, But still avore I us'd to meet The blushen cheaks that blooui'd vor me ! An' afterward in lightsome youth. When zummer wer a-comen on, 10 An' all the trees wer white wi blooth, An' dippen zwallows skimm'd the pon' ; Sweet hope did vill my heart wi' jay. An' tell me, though thik spring wer gay, There still would come a brighter May, Wi' blushen cheaks to bloom vor me ! An' when, at last, the time come roun"*, An' brought a lofty zun to sheen Upon my smilen Fanny, down Drough nesh young leaves o' yollow green ; 20 How charmen wer the het that glow'd. How charmen wer the sheade a-drow'd. How charmen wer the win' that blow'd Upon her cheaks that bloom'd vor me ! 5 litty veet] light feet. 11 blooth] blossom. 13 jay] joy. 20 nesh] tender. 22 a-drow'd] thrown. 11 THE SHEPHERD O THE FARM Oh ! I be shepherd o' the farm, Wi' tinklen bells an' sheep-dog's bark, An' wi' my crook a-thirt my eiirm, Here I do rove below the lark. An' I do bide all day among The bleiiten sheep, an' pitch their vwokl; An' when the evenen sheiides be long, Do zee em all a-penn'd an' twold. An' I do zee the frisken lam's, Wi' swingen tails an' woolly lags, 10 A-playen roun' their veeden dams. An' pullen o' their milky bags. An' I bezide a hawthorn tree. Do' zit upon the zunny down, While sheades o' zummer clouds do vlee Wi' silent flight along the groun'. An' there, among the many cries O' sheep an' lambs, my dog do pass A zultry hour, wi' blinken eyes, An' nose a-strach'd upon the grass ; 20 But, in a twinklen, at my word, He's all awake, an' up, an' gone Out roun' the sheep lik' any bird, To do what he's a-zent upon. 3 a-thirt] athwart. ESS CHIED The zun'd a-zet liack t'other night. But in the zetten pleace The clouds, a-redden'd by his light. Still glow'd avore my feace. An' I've a lost my Meary's smile, I thought ; but still I have her chile. Zoo like her, that my eyes can treace The mother's in her dauijhter's feiice. O little foiice so near to me. An' like thy mother's gone ; why need I zay 10 Sweet night cloud, Avi' the glow o' my lost day. Thy looks be always dear to me ! The zun 'd a zet another night; But, by the moon on high. He still did zend us back his light Below a cwolder sky. My Meary's in a better land I thought, but still her chile 's at hand, 35 fearens] presents. 1 zun 'd a-zet] sun had set. back] whilom. THE MOTHERLESS CHILD 33 An' in her chile she'll zend me on Her love, though she herself 's a-gone. 20 O little chile so near to me, An' like thy mother gone; why need I zay, Sweet moon, the messenger vrom my lost day, Thy looks be always dear to me. THE MAID O' NEWTON In zummer, when the knaps wer bright In cool-air'd evenen's western liirht. An' hay that had a-dried all day, Did now lie grey, to dewy night ; I went, by happy chance, or doom, Vrom Broadwoak Hill, athirt to Coomb, An' met a maid in all her bloom : The feai'rest maid o' Newton. She bore a basket that did ride So light, she didden leiin azide; 10 Her fence wer oval, an' she smil'd' So sweet's a child, but walk'd wi' pride. I spoke to her, but what I zaid I didden know ; wi' thoughts a-vled, I spoke by heart, an' not by head, Avore the maid o' Newton. 1 knaps] hillocks. 6 athirt] across. BARKE8 1^ 34 THE MAID O^ NEWTON I caird her, oh ! I don't know who, Twer by a neame she never knew; An' to the heel she stood upon, She then brought On her hinder shoe, 20 An' stopp'd avore me, where we met, An' wi' a smile woone can't vorget, She zaid, wi' eyes a-zwimmen wet, 'No, I be woone o' Newton.' Then on I rambled to the west, Below the zunny hangen's breast. Where, down athirt the little stream, The brudge's beam did lie at rest: But all the birds, wi' lively glee. Did chirp an' hop vrom tree to tree, 30 As if it wer vrom pride, to zee Goo by the maid o' Newton. By fancy led, at evenen's glov>^, I woonce did goo, a-roven slow, Down where the elems, stem by stem, Do stan' to hem the grove below ; But after that, my veet vorzook The grove, to seek the little brook At Coomb, where I mid zonietimes look, To meet the maid o' Newton. 40 26 hangen's] slope's. 27 athirt] athwart. 28 brudge's] bridge's. 35 meary's smii.e When mornen winds, a-blowen high. Do zweep the clouds vroni all the sky, An' laurel-leaves do glitter bright, The while the newly broken light Do brighten up, avore our view, The vields wi' green, an' hills wi' blue ; What then can highten to my eyes The cheerful feace ov e'th an' skies, But Meary's smile, o'' Morey's Mill, My rwose o' Mowy Lea ! 10 An' when, at last, the evenen dews Do now begin to wet our shoes ; An' night's a-riden to the west, To stop our work, an' gi'e us rest, Oh ! let the candle's ruddy gleiire But brighten up her sheenen heiiir; Or else, as she do walk abroad, Let moonlight show, upon the road, My Meary's smile, o' Morey's Mill, My rwose o' Mowy Lea. 20 An' O ! mid never tears come on. To wash her feace's blushes wan. Nor kill her smiles that now do play Like sparklen weaves in zunny May ; But mid she still, vor all she's gone Vrom souls she now do smile upon, d2 36 MEARY'S SMILE Show others they can vind woone jay To turn the hardest work to play. My Meiiry's smile, o' Morey's Mill, My rwose o' Movvy Lea ! 30 MEARY WEDDED The zun can zink, the stars mid rise, An' woods be green to sheenen skies ; The cock mid crow to mornen light, An' workvo'k zing to vallen night ; The birds mid whissle on the spray, An' childern leap in merry play, But ours is now a lifeless pleace, Vor we've a-lost a smilen feace — Young Meary Mead o' merry mood, Vor she's a-woo'd, an' wedded. lo The dog that woonce wer glad to bear Her fondlen vingers down his heair, Do lean his head ageiin the vloor, To watch, wi' heavy eyes, the door ; An' men she zent so happy hwome O' Zadurdays, do seem to come To door wi' downcast hearts, to miss, Wi' smiles below the clematis. Young Meary Mead o' merry mood, Vor she's a-woo'd an' wedded. 20 27 woone jay] one joy. 1 mid] may. MEAHY WEDDED 37 The day she left her father's he'th, Though sad, wer kept a day o"* me'th, An' dry-wheel'd waggons' empty beds Wer left 'ithin the tree-screen'd sheds; An' all the hosses, at their eiise, Went snorten up the flowVy leiise, But woone, the smartest for the road, That puird away the dearest Iwoad — Young Meiiry Mead o' merry mood, That wer a-woo'd an' wedded. 30 FAIR EMILY OV YARROW MILL Dear Yarrowham, 'twer many miles Vrom thy green meads that, in my walk, I met a maid wi' winnen smiles, That talk'd as vo'k at hwome do talk ; And who at last should she be vound, Ov all the souls the sky do bound. But woone that trod at vu'st thy groun"' — Fair Emily ov Yarrow Mill. But thy wold house an' el my nook. An' wall-screen'd gearden's mossy zides, 10 Thy grassy meiids an' zedgy brook. An' high-bank'd leanes, wi' sheiidy rides, Wer all a-known to me by light Ov eiirly days, a-quench'd by night, Avore they met the younger zight Ov Emily ov Y^arrow Mill, 5 be vound] found to be, 7 at vu'st] in infancy. 12 rides] bushes (usually spelt ' wrides ' by Barnes). 38 FAIR EMILY OV YARROW MILL An' now my heart do leap to think O' times that Tve a-spent in play, Bezide thy river's rushy brink, Upon a deiiizy bed o' May ; 20 I lov'd the friends thy land ha"* bore, An' I do love the paths they wore, An' I do love thee all the nnvore, Vor Emily ov Yarrow Mill. When bright above the e'th below The moon do spread abroad his light, An' air o' zummer nights do blow Athirt the vields in playsome flight, 'Tis then delightsome under all The sheiides o' boughs by path or wall, 30 But mwostly thine when they do vail On Emily ov Yarrow Mill. IMINDEN HOUSE 'Twer when the vo'k wer out to hawl A vield o' hay a day in June, An' when the zun begun to vail Toward the west in afternoon, Woone only wer a-left behind To bide indoors, at hwome, an' mind The house, an' answer vo'k avore The geate or door, — young Fanny Deane. 25 e'th] earth. 28 athirt] across. MINDEN HOUSE 39 The air 'ithin the geiirden wall Wer deadly still, unless the bee 10 Did hummy by, or in the hall The clock did ring a-hetten dree. An' there, wi' busy hands, inside The iron ceasement, open'd wide, Did zit an' pull wi' nimble twitch H^r tiny stitch, young Fanny Deiine. As there she zot she heard two blows A-knock'd upon the rumblen door. An' laid azide her work, an' rose. An' walk'd out feair, athirt the vloor; 20 An' there, a-holden in his hand His bridled meare, a youth did stand, An' mildly twold his neame an' pleace Avore the feace o' Fanny Deiine. He twold her that he had on hand Zome business on his father's zide, But what she didden understand; An' zoo she ax'd en if he'd ride Out where her father mid be vound, Bezide the plow, in Cowslip Ground ; 30 An' there he went, but left his mind Back there behind, wi' Fanny Deiine. 11 hummy] keep up a humming. 12 a-hetten dree] striking three. 20 feair] fully. athirt] across. 30 plow] wagon. 40 MINDEN HOUSE An' oh ! his hwomeward road wer gay In air a-blowen, whiff' by whiff', While sheenen water-weaves did play An"* boughs did sway above the cliff"; Vor Time had now a-show'd en dim The jay it had in store vor him ; An' when he went thik road ageiin His errand then wer Fanny Deiine. 4o THE LOVELY MAID OV ELWELL JMEAD A MAID wi' many gifts o' greiice, • A maid wi' ever-smilen feace, A child o' yours my childhood's pleace, O leanen lawns ov Allen, 'S a-walken where your stream do flow, A-blushen where your flowers do blow, A-smilen where your zun do glow, O leanen lawns ov Allen. An' good, however good's a-waigh'd, 'S the lovely maid ov El well Meiid. 10 An' oh ! if I could teame an' guide The winds above the e'th, an' ride As li^ht as shooten stars do glide, O leanen lawns ov Allen, To you I'd teake my daily flight, Drough dark'nen air in evenen's light, 37 en dim] him dimly. 39 thik] tliat. 9 a-waigh'd] defined. 12 e'th] earth. THE LOVELY INIAID OV ELWELL MEAD 41 An' bid her every night ' Good night ', O letinen lawns ov Allen. Vor good, however good's a-waigh\l, 'S the lovely maid ov El well IMeiid. 20 An' when your hedges' slooes be blue Wi' blackberries o' dark'nen hue, An' spiders' webs be hung wi' dew, O lejinen lawns ov Allen, Avore the winter air's a-chill'd, Avore your winter brook's a-vilFd, Avore your zummer flow'rs be kill'd, O leiinen lawns ov Allen ; I there would meet, in white array'd, The lovely maid ov Elwell ]Mead. 30 For when the zun, as birds do rise, Do cast their sheiides vrom autum' skies A-sparkleji in her dewy eyes, O leanen lawns ov Allen ; Then all your mossy paths below The trees, wi' leaves a-vallen slow Like zinken fleakes o' yollow snow, O leanen lawns ov Allen, Would be mwore teaken where they stray'd The lovely maid ov Elwell Mead. 40 21 slooes] sloes. 39 mwore teaken] more attractive. 42 THE WINDOW P^REAM'd WI' STWONE When Pentridge House wer still the nest O' souls that now ha*' better rest, Avore the vier burnt to ground His beams an' walls, that then wer sound, 'Ithin a nail-bestudded door. An' passage wi' a stwonen vloor. There spread the hall, where zun-light shone In drough a window freani'd wi' stwone. A clavy-beam o"" sheenen woak Did span the he'th wi' twisten smoke, 10 Where fleames did shoot in yollow streaks, Above the brands, their flashen peaks ; An' aunt did pull, as she did stand O'-tip-tooe, wi' her lifted hand, A curtain feaded wi' the zun, Avore the window fream'd wi' stwone. O evenen zun, a-riden drough The sky, vrom Sh'oton Hill o' blue, To leave the night a-brooden dark At Stalbridge, wi' its grey-wall'd park ; 20 Small jay to me the vields do bring, Vor all their zummer birds do zing, Since now thy beams noo mwore do Heiime In drough the window's stwonen freaine ! 9 clavy-beam] mantel. 10 he'th] hearth. 22 Vor all] although. 43 THE WATER-SPRING IN THE I.EANE Oh ! aye ! the spring 'ithin the leiine, A-leaden down to Lyddan Brook ; An' still a-nesslen in his nook, As weeks do pass, an' moons do weiine. Nwone the drier, Nwone the higher, Nwone the nigher to the door Where we did live so long avore. An' oh ! what vo'k his mossy brim Ha' gathered in the rmi o' time ! 10 The wife a-blushen in her prime; The widow wi' her eyezight dim ; Maidens dippen, Childern sippen, Water drippen, at the cool Dark wallen ov the little pool. THE LINDEN ON THE LAWN No ! Jenny, there's noo pleace to charm My mind lik' yours at Woakland farm, A-pearted vrom the busy town By longsome miles ov airy down, Where woonce the meshy wall did gird Your flow'ry geardcn, an' the bird Did zing in zunimer wind that stirr'd The spreaden linden on the lawn. 1 leiine] lane. 5 meshy] mossy. 44 THE LINDEN ON THE LAWN An' now ov all the trees wi' sheades A-wheelen round in Blackmwore gleades, 10 There's noo tall poplar by the brook. Nor elem that do rock the rook, Nor ash upon the shelven ledge, Nor lovv-bough'd vvoak bezide the hedge, Nor withy up above the zedge, So dear's thik linden on the lawn. Vor there, o' zummer nights, below The wall, we zot when air did blow, An' sheake the dewy rwose a-tied Up roun' the window's stwonen zide; 20 An' while the carter rod' along A-zingen, down the dusky drong, There you did zing a sweeter zong Below the lindeii on the lawn. An' while your warbled ditty wound Drough playsome flights o' mellow sound. The nightengeale's sh'ill zong, that broke The stillness ov the dewy woak, Rung clear along the grove, an' smote To sudden stillness ev'ry droat ; 30 As we did zit, an' hear it float Below the linden on the lawn. 16 's thik] as that. 22 drong] lane. 30 droat] throat. THE LINDEN ON THE LAWN 45 But now, as Dobbin, wi' a nod Vor evVy heavy step he trod, Did bring me on, to-night, avore The geabled house's pworched door, Noo laushen child a-clothYl in wliite, Looked drough the stwonen window's light. An' noo vaice zung, in dusky night, Below the linden on the lawn. 40 OUR ABODE IN ARBY WOOD Though ice do hang upon the willows Out bezide the vrozen brook, An' storms do roar above our pillows, Drough the night, 'ithin our nook ; Our evenen he'th's a-glowen warm, Drough wringen vrost, an' roaren storm. Though winds mid meake the wold beams sheake, In our abode in Arby Wood. An' there, though we mid hear the timber Creake avore the windy rain ; 10 An' climen ivy quiver, limber. Up agean the window peane; Our merry vaices then do sound. In rollen glee, or dree-va'ice round ; Though Avind mid roar, 'ithout the door, Ov our abode in Arby Wood. 5 he'th] hearth. 7 mid] may. 11 Umber] Hmp. It dree-vaice] three-voice. 46 MELHILL FEAST Aye, up at the feast, by Melhill's brow. So softly below the clouds in flight. There swept on the wood, the shade and light, Tree after tree, and bough by bough. And there, among girls on left and right, On one with a winsome smile I set My looks; and the more, the more we met Glance upon glance, and sight by sight. The road she had come by then was soon The one of my paths that best I knew, 10 By glittering gossamer and dew. Evening by evening, moon by moon. Sweet were the hopes I found to cheer My heart as I thought on time to come. With one that would bless my happy home, Moon upon moon, and year by year. THE VIER-ZIDE 'Tis zome vo'ks jay to teake the road, An"" goo abro'd, a-wandVen wide, Vrom shere to shere, vrom pleace to pleiice, The swiftest peace that vo'k can ride. But IVe a jay 'ithin the door, Wi' friends avore tlie vier-zide. THE VIER-ZIDE 47 An' zoo, when winter skies do lour, An' when the Stour's a-rollen wide, Drough bridge-voot rails, a-pamted white. To be at night the traveller's guide, 10 Gi'e me a pleace that's warm an' dry, A-zitten nigh my vier-zide. If, when a friend ha' left the land, I shook his hand a-most wet-eyed, I velt too well the op'nen door Would lead noo mwore where he did bide. An' where I heard his vaice's sound. In me'th around the vier-zide. As I've a-zeed how vast do vail The mwold'ren hall, the wold vo'ks pride, 20 Where merry hearts wer woonce a-ved Wi' daily bread, why, I've a-sigh'd To zee the wall so green wi' mwold, An' vind so cwold the vier-zide. An' Chris'mas still mid bring his me'th To ouer he'th, but if we tried To gather all that woonce did wear Gay feaces there ! Ah ! zome ha' died. An' zome be gone to leave wi' gaps O' missen laps, the vier-zide. 30 15 op'nen] opening. 18 me'th] mirth. 25 mid] may. 26 he'tli] hearth. 48 THE VIER-ZIDE But come now, bring us in your hand A heavy brand o' woak a-dried, To cheer us wi' his het an' hght, While vrosty night, so starry-slvied, Do gather souls that time do speare To zit an' sheiire our vier-zide. KNOWI.WOOD I don't want to sleep abrode, John, I do like my hwomevvard road, John ; An' like the sound o' Knowlwood bells the best. Zome would rove vrom pleace to pleace, John, Zome would goo vrom feace to feace, John, But I be happy in my hwomely nest ; An' slight's the hope vor any pleace bezide', To leiive the plain abode where love do bide. Where the shelven knap do vail, John, Under trees a-springen tall, John ; 10 'Tis there my house do show his sheenen zide, Wi' his walls vor ever green, John, Under ivy that's a screen, John, Vrom wet an' het, an' ev'ry changen tide. An' I do little ho vor goold or pride. To leiive the plain abode where love do bide. 33 het] heat. 9 knap] hillock, do vail] declines. 15 ho] wish. KNOWLWOOD 49 There the bendeii stream do flow, John, By the mossy bridge's bow, John ; An' there the road do wind below the hill ; There the miller, white wi' meal, John, 20 Deafened wi' his foamy wheel, John, Do stan' o' times a-looken out o' mill : The while 'ithin his lightly-sheaken door, His whcaten flour do whiten all his floor. By a winder in the west, John, There upon my fiddle's breast, John, The strings do sound below my bow's white heair; While a zingen drush do sway, John, Up an' down upon a spray, John, An' east his sheiide upon the window square ; 30 Vor birds do know their friends, an' build their nest. An' love to roost, where they can live at rest. Out o' town the win' do bring, John, Peals o' bells when they do ring, John, An' roun' me here, at hand, my ear can catch The maid a-zingen by the stream, John, Or carter whislen wi' his team, John, Or zingen birds, or water at the hatch ; An' zoo wi' sounds o' vaice, an' bird an' bell, Noo hour is dull 'ithin our rwosy dell. 40 28 drush] thrush. BARNES E 50 KNOWLWOOD An"" when the darksome night do hide, John, Land an' wood on ev''ry zide, John ; An' when the light's a-burnen on my bwoard, Then vor pleasures out o' door, John, Fve enough upon my vloor, John : My Jenny's loven deed, an' look, an' word. An' we be Iwoth, lik' culvers zide by zide. To leiive the plain abode where love do bide. HALLOWED PLEACES At Woodcombe farm, wi' ground an' tree Hallow'd by times o' youthvul glee. At Chris'mas time I spent a night Wi' feaces dearest to my zight ; An' took my wife, to tread, woonce mwore, Her maiden hwome's vorseaken vloor, An' under stars that slowly wheel'd Aloft, above the keen-air'd vield. While night bedimm'd the rus'len copse. An' darken'd all the ridges' tops,- 10 The hall, a-hung wi' holly, rung Wi' many a tongue o' wold an' young. There, on the he'th's well-hetted ground, Hallow'd by times a' zitten round. The brimvul mug o' cider stood An' hiss'd avore the bleazen wood ; 44 vor] in lieu of. 47 culvers] woodpigeons. 13 he'th's] hearth's, hetted] heated. HALLOWED PLEACES 51 An'' zome, a-zitten knee by knee, Did tell their teiiles wi' hearty glee. An' others ganiboird in a roar O' laughter on the stwonen vloor; 20 An' while the moss o' winter-tide Clung chilly roun' the house's zide, The hall, a-hung wi' holly, rung Wi' many a tongue o' wold an' young. There at the geate that woonee wer blue, Hallowed by times o' passen drough. Light strawmotes rose in flaggen flight, A-floated by the winds o' night. Where leafy ivy-stems did crawl In moonlight on the wind-blown wall, 30 An' merry maidens' voices vied In echoes sh'ill, vrom wall to shed, As shivren in their frocks o' white They come to bid us there 'Good night', Vrom hall, a-hung wi' holm, that rung Wi' many a tongue o' wold an' young. WHEN BIRDS BE STILL VoR all the zun do leave the sky, An' all the zounds o' day do die, An' noo mwore veet do walk the dim Vield-path to dim' the stiel's bars, Yet out below the rizen stars, 34 come] came. 4 stiel's bars] stile-rails. e2 52 WHEN BIRDS BE STILL The dark'nen day mid leave behind Woone tongue that I shall always vind, A-whisperen kind, when birds be still. Zoo let the day come on to spread His kindly light above my head, 10 Wi' zights to zee, an' sounds to hear. That still do cheer my thoughtvul mind ; Or let en goo, an' leave behind An' hour to stroll along the gleades, Where night do drown the beeches' sheadcs, On grasses' bleades, when birds be still. Vor when the night do lull the sound O' cows a-blearen out in ground, The sh'ill-vaYc'd dog do stan' an' bark 'Ithin the dark, bezide the road ; 20 An' when noo cracklen waggon's Iwoad Is in the leiine, the wind do bring The merry peals that bells do ring, O ding-dong-ding, when birds be still. ZUX-ZET Where the western zun, unclouded. Up above the grey hill-tops. Did sheen drough ashes, lofty sh'ouded, On the turf bezide the copse, 6 mid] may. 18 in ground] in the field. 3 sh'ouded] boughed. ZUN-ZET 63 In zummer weather, We together, Sorrow-slighten, work-vorgetten, Gambord \vi^ the zun a-zetten. There, by flow'ry bows o' bramble. Under hedge, in ash-tree sheades, 10 The dun-heaird ho'se did slowly ramble On the grasses' dewy bleades, Zet free o' Iwoads, An** stwony rwoads, Vorgetvul o"" the lashes fretten, Grazen wi' the zun a-zetten. There wer rooks a-beaten by us Drough the air, in a vlock. An' there the lively blackbird, nigh us. On the meiiple bough did rock, 20 Wi' ringen droat, Where zunlight smote The yollow boughs o' zunny hedges Over western hills' blue edges. Waters, drough the meads a-purlen, Glissen'd in the evenen's light. An' smoke, above the town a-curlen, Melted slowly out o' zight ; An' there, in glooms Ov unzunn'd rooms, SO To zome, wi' idle sorrows fretten, Zuns did set avore their zetten. 64 ZUN-ZET We were out in geiimes and reaces, Loud a-laughen, wild in me''th, Wi' windblown heiiir, an' zunbrown''d feaces, Leiipen on the high-sky'd e'th, Avore the lights Wer tin'd o"" nights, An' while the gossamer's light netten Sparkled to the zun a-zetten. 40 SPRING Now the zunny air's a-blowen Softly over flowers a-growen ; An' the sparklen light do quiver On the ivy-bough an' river; Bleaten lambs, wi' woolly feaces, Now do play, a-runnen reaces ; An' the springen Lark's a-zingen, Lik' a dot avore the cloud, High above the ash's sh'oud. 10 Zoo come along, noo longer heedvul Ov the vier, leiitely needvul. Over grass o' slopen leazes, Zingen zongs in zimny breazes ; 34 me'th] mirth. 36 Leiipen] leaping, e'th] earth. 38 Wer tin'd] Were Ht. 10 sh'oud] boughs. 13 leazes] pastures. SPRING 55 Out to work in copse, a-mooten, Where the primrwose is a-shooten, An' in gladness, Free o' sadness, In the warmth o' spring vorget Leafless winter s cwold an wet. 20 THE WATER CIIOWVOOT O small-feac'd flowV that now dost bloom To stud wi' white the shallow Frome, An' leave the clote to spread his flow'r On darksome pools o"" stwoneless Stour, When soFly-rizen airs do cool The water in the sheenen pool. Thy beds o' snow-white buds do gleam So feiiir upon the sky-blue stream As whitest clouds a-hangen high Avore the blueness o"" the sky ; 10 An' there, at hand, the thin-heiiird cows, In airy sheades o' withy boughs, Or up bezide the mossy rails. Do stan' an' zwing their heavy tails. The while the ripplen stream do flow Below the dousty bridge's bow ; An' quiv'ren water-gleams do mock The weaves, upon the sheaded rock; 15 a-mooten] hacking out roots of felled trees or bushes. 3 clote] water-lily. 56 THE WATER CROWVOOT An"" up athirt the copen stwone The laitren bwoy do lean alwone, 20 A-watchen, wi' a stedvast look, The vallen waters in the brook, The while the zand o' time do run An' leave his errand still undone. A^i oh ! as long's thy buds would gleam Above the softly-sliden stream. While sparklen zummer-brooks do run Below the lofty-climen zun, I only wish that thou could'st stay Vor noo man's harm, art* all men's jay. 30 But no, the waterman 'ull weiide Thy water wi' his deadly bleade, To slay thee even in thy bloom, Fair small-feaced flower o' the Frome ! THE LILAC Dkar lilac-tree, a-spreaden wide Thy purple blooth on ev'ry zide, As if the hollow sky did shed Its blue upon thy fiow'ry head ; Oh ! whether I mid sheiire wi' thee Thy open air, my bloomen tree, Or zee thy blossoms vrom the gloom, 'Itliin my zunless worken-room, 19 athirtj across, copen] coping. 20 laitren] loitering. THE LILAC 57 My heart do leap, but leap wi' sighs, At zight o' thee avore my eyes, 10 For when thy grey- blue head do sway In cloudless light, 'tis Spring, "'tis May. Tis Spring, 'tis May, as May woonce shed His glowen light above my head — When thy green boughs, wi' bloomy tips. Did sheiide my childern's laughen lips ; A-screenen vrom the noonday gleiire Their rwosy cheiiks an' glossy heJiir; The while their mother's needle sped. Too quick vor zight, the snow-white thread, 20 Unless her han', wi' loven ceiire, Did smooth their little heads o' heair ; Or wi' a sheake, tie up anew Vor zome wild voot, a slippen shoe ; An' I did lean bezide thy mound Agean the deasy-dappled ground, The while the woaken clock did tick My hour o' rest away too quick, An' call me off to work anew, Wi' slowly-ringen strokes, woone, two. 30 Zoo let me zee noo darksome cloud Bedim to-day thy flow'ry sh'oud. But let en bloom on ev'ry spray, Drough all the days o' zunny May 32 sh'oud] branches. 58 THE MAY-TREE FvE a-conie by the May-tree all times o' the year, When leaves wer a-springen, When vrost wer a-stingen, When cool-winded mornen did show the hills clear, When niffht wer bedimmen the vields vur an' near. •&' When, in zummer, his head wer as white as a sheet, AVi' white buds a-zwellen, An' blossom, sweet-smellen. While leaves wi' green leaves on his boughzides did meet, ^ A-sheaden the deaisies down under our veet. 10 When the zun, in the Fall, wer a-wanderen wan. An' haws on his head Did sprinkle en red. Or bright drops o' rain wer a-hung loosely on To the tips o' the sprigs when the scud wer a-gone. An' when, in the winter, the zun did goo low. An' keen win' did huffle. But never could ruffle The hard vrozen feiice o' the water below. His limbs wer a-fringed wi' the vrost or the snow. 20 17 huffle] bluster. 69 LYDl.INCH BEIJ.S When skies wer peiile wi' twinklen stars, An' whislen air a-risen keen ; An' birds did leave the icy bars To vind, in woods, their mossy screen ; When vrozen grass, as white's a sheet, Did scrunchy sharp below our veet, An' water, that did sparkle red At zun-zet, wer a-vrozen dead ; The ringers then did spend an hour A-ringen changes up in tow'r ; 10 Vor Lydlinch bells be good vor sound, An' liked by all the naighbours round. An' while along the leafless boughs O' ruslen hedges, win's did pass, An' orts ov hay, a-lef't by cows, Did russle on the vrozen grass. An' maidens' pails, wi' all their work A-done, did hang upon their vurk. An' they, avore the fleiimen brand, Did teake their needle-work in hand, 20 The men did cheer their heart an hour A-ringen changes up in tow'r ; Vor Lydlinch bells be good vor sound, An' liked by all the naighbours round. 1 peale] pale. 3 bars] railings. 6 scrunchy] crunch. 15 orts] remains. 18 vurk] fork (of a pail-stand). 60 LYDLINCH BELLS There sons did pull the bells that rung Their mothers"' wedden peals avore, The while their fathers led em young An' blushen vrom the church's door, An' still did cheem, wi' happy sound, As time did bring the Zundays round, 30 An' call em to the holy pleace Vor heav'nly gifts o' peace an' greace ; An' vo'k did come, a-streamen slow Along below the trees in row, While they, in merry peals, did sound The bells vor all the naighbours round. An' when the bells, wi' changen peal, Did smite their own vo'ks' window-peanes. Their soFen'd sound did often steal Wi' west winds drough the Bagber leiines ; 40 Or, as the win' did shift, mid goo Where woody Stock do nessle lew. Or Avhere the risen moon did light The walls o' Thornhill on the height; An' zoo, whatever time mid bring To meake their vive clear vaices zing. Still Lydlinch bells wer good vor sound, An' liked by all the naighbours round. 29 cheem] chime. 38 own vo'ks] people of the same parish. 41 mid goo] even went. 42 lew] in shelter. 61 TREES BE COMPANY When zummer's burnen het's a-shed Upon the droopen grasses head, A-dreven under sheady leaves The workvo'k in their snow-white sleeves, We then mid yearn to dim' the height, Where thorns be white, above the vern ; An' air do turn the zunsheen's might To softer light too weak to burn — On woodless downs we mid be free, But lowland trees be company. 10 Though downs mid show a wider view O' green a-reachen into blue Than roads a-winden in the glen. An' ringen wi' the sounds o' men ; The thissle's crown o' red an' blue In Fall's cwold dew do wither brown, An' larks come down 'ithin the lew. As storms do brew, an' skies do frown — An' though the down do let us free. The lowland trees be company. 20 Where birds do zing, below the zun. In trees above the blue-smok'd tun, An' sheades o' stems do overstratch The mossy path 'ithin the hatch ; 4 workvo'k] field-labourers as distinguished from artisans, &c. 5 mid] may. 17 lew] shelter. 22 tun] chimney. 23 over- stratch] stretch across. 24 hatch] garden-gate. 62 TREES BE COMPANY If leaves be bright up over head, When May do shed its gHtt'ren light ; Or, in the blight o"" Fall, do spread A yollow bed avore our zight — - Whatever season it mid be, The trees be always company. 30 When dusky night do nearly hide The path along the hedge's zide, An' dailight's hwomely sounds be still But sounds o' water at the mill ; Then if noo feace we long'd to greet Could come to meet our Iwonesome treace; Or if noo peace o"" weary veet, However fleet, could reach its pleace — However Iwonesome we mid be. The trees would still be company. 40 THE winter's WII-LOW There Liddy zot bezide her cow, Upon her lowly seat, O ; A hood did overhang her brow, Her pail wer at her veet, O ; An' she wer kind, an' she wer feair, An' she wer young, an' free o' ceil re : Vew winters had a-blown her heiiir, Bezide the Winter's Willow. 27 Fall] autumn. 34 But] except. 37 peace] pace. THE WINTER'S WILLOW 63 Above the coach-wheels' rollen rims She never rose to ride, O, 10 Though she do zet her comely limb's Above the mare's white zide, O ; But don't become too proud to stoop An' scrub her milken-paiTs white hoop, Or zit a-milken where do droop The wet-stemm'd Winter's Willow. An' I've a cow or two in leiize, Along the river-zide, O, An' pails to zet avore her knees, At dawn, an' evenen-tide, O ; 20 An' there she still mid zit, an' look Athirt upon the woody nook Where vu'st I zeed her by the brook Bezide the Winter's Willow. Zoo, who would heed the treeless down, A-beiit by all the storms, O, Or who would heed the busy town. Where vo'k do goo in zwarms, O, If he wer in my house below The elems, where the vire did glow 30 In Liddy's feace, though winds did blow Aoeiin the Winter's Willow? O" 17 in lejize] at pasture. 21 mid zit] may sit. 22 athirt] across. 32 Ageiin] against. 64 JESSIE LEE Above the timber's benden sh'oiids, The western wind did softly blow ; An' up avore the knap, the clouds Did ride as white as driven snow. Vrom west to east the clouds did zwim, Wi' wind that plied the elem's lim"' ; Vrom west to east the stream did glide, A-sheenen wide, wi' winden brim. How feair, I thought, avore the sky The slowly-zwimmen clouds do look ; 10 How soft the win 's a-streamen by ; How bright do roll the weavy brook : When there, a-passen on my right, A-walken slow, an' treaden light, Young Jessie Lee come by, an' there Took all my ceiire, an' all my zight. Vor lovely wer the looks her feace Held up avore the western sky: An' comely wer the steps her peace Did meiike a-walken slowly by : 20 But I went east, wi' beaten breast, Wi' wind, an' cloud, an' brook, vor rest, Wi' rest a-lost, vor Jessie gone So lovely on, toward the west. 1 sh'ouds] branches. 3 knap] rising ground. 6 plied] bent. 11 win] wind. 19 peace] pace. 23 vor] on accoimt of. JESSIE LEE 65 Blow on, O winds, athirt the hill ; Zwim on, O clouds ; O waters vail, Down maeshy rocks, vrom mill to mill ! I now can overlook ye all. But roll, O zun, an' bring to me My day, if such a day there be, 30 When zome dear path to my abode Shall be the road o' Jessie Lee. TRUE LOVE As evenen aYr, in green-treed spring, Do sheake the new-sprung pa'sley bed, An' wither'd ash-tree keys do swing An' vail a-flutt'ren roun' our head : There, while the birds do zing their zong In bushes down the ash-tree drong, Come Jessie Lee, vor sweet's the pleace Your vaice an' feace can meiike vor me ! Below the budden ashes' height We there can linger in the lew, 10 While boughs, a-gilded by the light, Do sheen avore the sky o' blue : But there by zetten zun, or moon A-risen, time will vice too soon Wi' Jessie Lee, vor sweet's the pleace Her vaice an' feace can meake vor me. 2.5 atliiit] across. 27 maeshyl mossy. BARNES F 66 TRUE LOVE Down where the darksome brook do flow, Below the bridge's arched wall, Wi' alders dark, a-leanen low, Above the gloomy watervall ; 20 There Tve a-led ye hwome at night, Wi' noo feace else 'ithin my zight But yours so feiiir, an' sweet 's the pleiice Your va'ice an' feace ha' meade nie there. An' oh ! when other years do come, An' zetten zuns, wi' yollow gleiire, Drough western window-peanes, at hwome, Do light upon my evenen chair : ^^^lile day do weJine, an' dew do vail, Be wi' me then, or else in call, 30 As time do vlee, vor sweet's the pleace Your vaice an' feiice do meake vor me ! IVY HAIX If I've a-stream'd below a storm, An' not a-velt the rain, An' if I ever velt me warm In snow upon the plain, 'Twer when, as evenen skies wer dim, An' vields below my eyes wer dim, I went alwone at evenen-fall, Athirt the vields to Ivy Hall. 8 Athirt] across. IVY HAIX 67 I voim*' the wind upon the hill, Last night, a-roaren loud, 10 An' rubben boughs a-creaken sh'ill Upon the ashes' sh'oud ; But oh ! the reelen copse mid groan, An' timber's lofty tops mid groan; The hufflen winds be music all, Bezide my road to Ivy Hall. A sheady grove o' ribbed woaks Is Wootton's shelter'd nest, An' woaks do keep the winter's strokes Vi'om Knapton's evenen rest. 20 An' woaks agean wi' bossy stems. An' elems wi' their mossy stems. Do rise to screen the leafy wall An' stwonen ruf ov Ivy Hall. The darksome clouds mid fling their sleet, An' vrost mid pinch me blue, Or snow mid cling below my veet, An' hide my road vrom view. The winter's only jay ov heart. An' storms do meake me gay ov heart, 30 When I do rest, at evenen-fall, Bezide the he'th ov Ivy Hall. 11 sh'ill] shrill}'. 12 sh'oud] branches. 13 mid] may. 15 hufflfen] blustering. 24 ruf] roof. 32 he'th] hearth. F 2 68 IVY HALL There leafy stems do dim' around The mossy stwonen eaves ; An' there be window-zides a-boimd Wi"* quivVen ivy-leaves. But though the sky is dim 'ithout, An' feiiees mid be grim 'ithout, Still I ha' smiles when I do call, At evenen-tide, at Ivy Hall. 40 THE WIFE A-LOST Since I noo mwore do zee your feace, Up steairs or down below, ril zit me in the Iwonesome pleiice Where flat-bough'd beech do grow: Below the beeches' bough, my love, Where you did never come, An' I don't look to meet ye now, As I do look at hwome. Since you noo mwore be at my zide. In walks in zummer het, lo I'll goo alwone where mist do ride, Drough trees a-drippcn wet: Below the rain-wet bough, my love, Where you did never come, An' I don't grieve to miss ye now, As I do grieve at hwome. THE WIFE A-LOST 69 Since nov/ bezide iny dinner-bwoard Your vai'ce do never sound, ni eat the bit I can avword A-vield upon the ground; 20 BeloAv the darksome bough, my love, Where you did never dine, An' I don't grieve to miss ye now, As I at hwome do pine. Since I do miss your vaice an' feace In prayer at eventide, I'll pray wi' woone sad vaice vor greace To goo where you do bide ; Above the tree an' bough, my love. Where you be gone avore, 30 An' be a waiten vor me now, To come vor e verm wore. ANGELS BY THE DOOR Oh ! there be angels evermwore, A-passen onward by the door, A-zcnt to teiike our jays, or come To bring us zome — O Mearianne. Though doors be shut, an' bars be stout, Noo bolted door can keep em out; But they wull leave us ev'ry thing They have to bring — My Mearianne. 19 avword] afford. 3 teiike our jays] take our joys. 70 ANGELS BY THE DOOR An' zoo the days a-stealen by, Wr zuns a-riden drough the sky, 10 Do bring us things to leave us sad, Or meake us glad — O Meiirianne. The day that's mild, the day that's stern, Do teake, in stillness, each his turn ; An' evils at their worst mid mend, Or even end — My Mearianne. PENTRIDGE BY THE IIIVER Pentridge ! — oh ! my heart 's a-zwellen Vull o' jay wi' vo'k a-tellen Any news o' thik wold pleace, An' the boughy hedges round it. An' the river that do bound it Wi' his dark but glis'nen feace. Vor there's noo land, on either hand. To me lik' Pentridge by the river. Be there any leaves to quiver On the aspen by the river? 10 Doo he shcade the water still, Where the rushes be a-growen. Where the sullen Stour's a-flowen Drough the meads vrom mill to mill? Vor if a tree wer dear to me. Oh ! 'twer thik aspen by the river. 10 H-riden drough] riding tlirough. 15 mid] may. 3 thik wold] that old. TENTRIDGE BY THE RIVER 71 There, in eegrass new a-shooten, I did run on even vooten, Happy, over new mown land ; Or did zing wi' zingen drushes 20 While I plaited, out o"" rushes, Little baskets vor my hand ; Bezide the clote that there did float, Wi' yollow blossoms, on the river. When the western zun's a vallen, What shrill vaice is now a-callen Hwome the deairy to the pails ; Who do dreve em on, a-flingen Wide-bow\l horns, or slowly zwingen Right an' left their tufty tails? 30 As they do goo a-huddled drough The geiite a-leaden up vrom river. Bleaded grass is now a-shooten Where the vloor wer woonce our vooten, While the hall wer still in pleace. Stwones be looser in the wallen ; Hollow trees be nearer vallen ; Ev'ry thing ha' changed its feace. But still the neame do bide the seame — 'Tis Pentridge — Pentridge by the river. 40 17 eegrass] the aftermath. 20 drushes] thrushes. 23 clote] water-lily. 27 the deairy] the dairy-cows. 33 Bleaded] bladed. 72 THE TURN O THE DAYS O, THE wings o' the rook wer a-glitteren bright, As he wheeled on above, in the zun's evenen light. An' noo snow wer a-left, but in patches o' white. On, the hill at the turn o' the days. An' along on the slope wer the beare-ti inhered copse, Wi"" the dry wood a-sheiiken, wi' red-twigged tops. Vor the dry-flowen wind had a-blown off the drops 0** the rain, at the turn o' the days. There the stream did run on, in the sheade o' the hill, So smooth in his flowen, as if he stood still, lo An' bright wi' the sky light, did slide to the mill, By the meads, at the turn o' the days. An' up by the copse, down along the hill brow, Wer vurrows a-cut down, by men out at plough. So straight as the zunbeams, a-shot drough the bough O' the tree at the turn o' the days. Then the boomen wold clock in the tower did mark His vive hours, avore the cool evenen wer dark, An' ivy did glitter a-clung round the bark O' the tree, at the turn o' tlie days. 20 An' women a-fraid o' the road in the night, Wer a-heasteiien on to reach hwome by the light, A-casten long sheiides on the road, a-dried white, Down the hill, at the turn o' the days. THE TURN O' THE DAYS 73 The father an' mother did walk out to view The moss-bedded snow-drop, a-sprung in the lew, An' hear if the birds wer a-zingen anew, In the boughs, at the turn o' the days. An' young vo'k a-laughen wi' smooth glossy feace, Did hie over vields, wi' a light-vooted peace, 30 To friends where the tow'r did betoken a pleace Among trees, at the turn o' the days. MOONLIGHT ON THE DOOR A-swAYEN slow, the poplar's head Above the slopen thatch did ply, The while the midnight moon did shed His light below the spangled sky. An' there the road did reach avore The hatch, all vootless down the hill ; An' hands, a-tired by day, wer still, Wi' moonlight on the door. A-boomen deep, did slowly sound The bell, a-tellen middle night; 10 The while the quiv'ren ivy, round The tree, did sheake in softest light. But vootless were the stwone avore The house where I, the maiden's guest, At evenen, woonce did zit at rest By moonlight on the door. 26 lew] shelter. 30 peace] pace. 6 hatch] gate, all vootless] untrodden. 74 MY LOVE S GUARDIAN ANGEL As in the cool-air'd road I come by, — in the night, Under the moon-dim'd height o'' the sky, — in the night, There by the lime's broad lim's I did stay, While in the air dark sheades wer at play Up on the window-glass, that did keep Lew vrom the wind my true love asleep, — in the night. While in the grey-wall'd height o' the tow'r, 10 — in the night, Sounded the midnight bell wi' the hour, — in the night. There come a bright-heiiir'd angel that shed Light vrom her white robe's zilvery thread, Wi' her vore-vinger held up to meiike Silence around lest sleepers mid weiike, — in the night. ' Oh ! then,' I whisper'd, * do I behold — in the night, 20 Linda, my true-love, here in the cwold, — in the night ? '' 'No,' she meiide answer, 'you do misteiike: She is asleep, but I that do weake Here be on watch, an' angel a-blest. Over her slumber while she do rest, — in the night.'' 8 Lew] sheltered. 17 mid weake] might wake. MY LOVKS GUARDIAN ANGEL 75 * Zee how the winds, while brisk by the bough, ■ — in the night, They do pass on, don't smite on her brow, 30 — in the night ; Zee how the cloud-sheiides naiseless do zweep Over the house-top where she 's asleep. Vou, too, goo by, though times mid be near, When you, wV me, mid speak to her ear — in the night.' LEEBURN MILL Ov all the meads wi' shoals an' pools, Where streams did sheiike the limber zedge, An' milken vo'k did teiike their stools, In evenen zun-light under hedge : Ov all the wears the brooks did vill, Or all the hatches where a sheet O' foam did leap below woone's veet, The pleace vor me wer Leeburn Mill. An' while below the mossy Avheel All day the foamen stream did roar, 10 An' up in mill the floaten meal Did pitch upon the sheiiken vloor. We then could vind but vew ban's still, Or veet a-resten off the ground. An' seldom hear the merry sound O' geiimes a-play'd at Leeburn Mill. ^j 2 limber] limp. 3 milken vo'k] milking-folk. 76 LEEBUllN MILL But when they let the stream goo free, Bezide the drippen wheel at rest. An"* leaves upon the poplar-tree Wer' dark avore the glowen west ; 20 An' when the clock, a-ringen sh'ill. Did slowly beat zome evenen hour, Oh ! then 'ithin the leafy bowV Our tongues did run at Leeburn Mill. An' when November's win' did blow, Wi' hufflen storms along the plain, An' blacken'd leaves did lie below The neaked tree, a-zoak'd wi' rain, I werden at a loss to vill The darkest hour o' rainy skies, 30 If I did vind avore my eyes The feaces down at Leeburn Mill. WOONE SMILE MWORE O ! Meary, when the zun went down, AVoone night in spring, wi' vi'ry rim. Behind the knap wi' woody crown. An' left your smilen feace so dim ; Your little sister there, inside, Wi' bellows on her little knee. Did blow the vire, a-glearen wide Drough window-peanes, that I could zee, — As you did stan' wi' me, avore The house, a-peiirten, — woone smile mwore. 10 81 sh'ill] shrill. 26 hufflen] gusty. 29 werden] was not. 2 vi'ry] fiery. 3 knap] hillock. 10 a-petirten] in parting. WOONE SMILE MWORE 77 The chatt'ren birds, a-risen higli An' zinken low, did swiftly vice Vrom shrinken moss, a-growen dry Upon the leanen apple tree. An' there the dog, a-whippen wide His low-bow'd tail, an' comen near, Did fondly lay agean your zide His coal-black nose an' russet ear : To win what I'd a-won avore, Vrom your gay feace, his woone smile mwore. 20 Now you that wer the daughter there, Be mother on a husband's vloor, An' mid ye meet wi' less o' ceare Than what your hearty mother bore; An' if abroad I have to rue The bitter tongue, or wrongvul deed, Mid I come hwome to shelire wi' you What's needvul free o' pinchen need: An' vind that you ha' still in store, My evenen meal, an' woone smile mwore. NAIGHBOUR PLAYMEATES O JAY betide the dear wold mill. My naighbour playmeates' happy hwome, Wi' rollen wheel, an' leiipen foam. Below the overhangcn hill, Where, wide an' slow. The stream did flow, 23 mid] may. 30 78 NAIGHBOUR PLAYMEATES An' flags did grow, an' lig-htly vlee Below the grey-leav'd withy tree, While clack, clack, clack, vrom hour to hour, Wi' whirlen stwone, an' streamen flour, 10 Did goo the mill by cloty Stour. An' there in geames by evenen skies, When Meiiry zot her down to rest, The broach upon her panken breast Did lightly vail an' quickly rise. While swans did zwim In high-neck'd trim. An' zwallows skim the water, bright Wi' whirlen froth, in western light ; An' clack, clack, clack, that happy hour, 20 Wi' whirlen stwone, an' streamen flour, Did goo the mill by cloty Stour. Now mortery jeints, in streaks o' white, Along the gejirden wall do show In May, an' cherry boughs do blow, Wi' bloomen tutties, snowy white, Where rollen round, Wi' rumblen sound. The wheel woonce drown'd the vaice so dear To me. I fain would goo to hear 30 The clack, clack, clack, vor woone short hour, Wi' whirlen stwone, an' ,streamen flour, Bezide the mill on cloty Stour. 11 cloty] water-lilied. I'l panken] panting. 26 bloomen tutties] bunches of flowers. NAIGHBOUR PLAYMEATES 79 But should I viud a-heaven now Her breast wi' air o' thik dear pleiice? Or zee dark locks by such a brow, Or het o' play on such a fejice? No ! She 's now staid, An' where she play'd There's noo such maid that now ha' took 40 The pleace that she ha' long vorsook. Though clack, clack, clack, vrom hour to hour, Wr whirlen stwone an' stream en flour. Do goo the mill by cloty Stour. An' still the pulley rwope do heist The wheat vrom red-wheel'd waggon beds, An' ho'ses there wi' Iwoads o' grist, Do stand an' toss their heavy heads ; But on the vloor. Or at the door, 50 Do show noo mwore the kindly feace Her father show'd about the pleace. As clack, clack, clack, vrom hour to hour, Wi' whirlen stwone, an' streamen flour, Did goo his mill by cloty Stour. 34 a-heaven] heaving. 35 thik] that. 37 het o' play] heat of play. 38 staid] elderly. 45 heist] hoist. 80 WOAK HILL When sycamore leaves wer a-spreaden Green-ruddy in hedges, Bezide the red doust o' the ridges, A-dried at Woak Hill ; I pack'd up my goods, all a-sheenen Wi' long years o' handlen, On dousty red wheels ov a waggon, To ride at Woak Hill. The brown thatchen rwof o' the dwellen I then wer a-leaven, 10 Had sheltered the sleek head o' Meiiry, My bride at Woak Hill. But now vor zome years, her light voot-vall 'S a-lost vrom the vlooren. Too soon vor my jay an' my childern She died at Woak Hill. But still I do think that, in soul, She do hover about us; To ho vor her motherless childern. Her pride at Woak Hill. 20 Zoo — lest she should tell me hereafter I stole off 'ithout her. An' left her, uncalled at house-ridden, To bide at Woak Hill— Woak] oak. 3 doust] dust. 1.5 jay] joy. 19 To ho vor] in anxious care for. 23 house-ridden] moving house. WOAK HILL 81 I caird her so fondly, wi' lippens All soundless to others, An' took her wi' air-reachen hand To my zide at Woak Hill. On the road I did look round, a-talken To light at my shoulder, 30 An' then led her in at the doorway, Miles wide vrom Woak Hill. An"" that's why vo'k thought, vor a season, My mind wer a-wandren Wi' sorrow, when I wer so sorely A-tried at Woak Hill. But no ; that my Meiiry mid never Behold herzelf slighted, I wanted to think that I guided My guide vrom Woak Hill. 40 IN THE SPRING My love is the maid ov all maidens, Though all mid be comely. Her skin's lik' the jessamy blossom A-spread in the Spring. Her smile is so sweet as a beaby's Young smile on his mother. Her eyes be as bright as the dew drop A-shed in the Spring. 25 lippens] lip-movements. 30 To light] to vacancy. 37 mid] might. 2 mid] may. BAKNK8 a. 82 IN THE SPRING O grey-leafy pinks o"" the geiirden, Now bear her sweet blossoms; lo Now deck wi' a rwose bud, O briar, Her head in the Spring. O light-rollen wind, blow me hither The vaice ov her talken, O bring vrom her veet the light doust She do tread in the Spring. O zun, meake the giPcups all glitter In goold all around her. An' meake o'' the deaisys' white flowers A bed in the Spring. 20 O whissle, gay birds, up bezide her, In drong-way an' woodlands, O zing, swingen lark, now the clouds Be a- vied in the Spring! 14 vaicej voice. 15 dowst] dust. 22 drong-way] hedged track. 24 Be a-vlcd] have flown. 83 EAUT.Y PLAYMKATE AVer many long years had a-run, The while I wer a-gone vrom the pleiiee, I come back to the vields, where the zun Ov her childhood did show me her feace. There her father, years wolder, did stoop. An' her brother wer now a-grown staid, An' the apple tree lower did droop Out in orcha'd where we had a-play'd. There wer zome things a-seenien the seame, But Meary's a-married away. 10 There wer two little childern a-zent Wi' a message to me, oh ! so feair As the mother that they did zoo ment When in childhood she play'd wi' me there. Zoo they twold me that if I would come Down to Coomb, I should zee a wold friend, Vor a playmeJite o' mine wer at hwome. An' would stay till another week's end. At the dear pworched door, could I dare, To zee Meary a-married away ! 20 On the flower-not, now all a-trod Stwony hard, the green grass wer a-spread, An' the long-slighted woodbine did nod Vrom the wall, wi' a loose-hangen head. 6 staid] grave and elderly, 13 zoo ment] so resemble. g2 84 EARLY PLAYMEATE An"* the martin's clay nest war a-hung Up below the brown oves in the dry, An"* the rooks had a-rock\l broods o' young On the elems below the May sky ; But the bud on the bed coulden bide, Wi' young Meiiry a-niarried away. 30 There the copse-wood, a-grown to a height, Wer a-veird, an' the primrwose in blooth, Among chips on the ground a-turu'd white, Wer a quiv'ren, all beare o' their lewth. The green moss wer a-spread on the thatch That I left yollow reed, an' avore The small green there did swing a new hatch, Vor to let me walk in to the door. Oh ! the rook did still rock o'er the rick, But wi' Meiiry a-married away. 40 WENT HWOME Upon the slope the hedge did bound The vield wi' blossom-whited zide. An' charlock patches, yollow-dyed, Did reach along the white-soil'd ground ; fc> 26 oves] eaves. 32 blooth] bloom. 34 beare o' their lewth] deprived of their shelter. 36 yollow reed] new-drawn straw. 37 hatch] gate. WENT HWOME 85 An' vo'lv a-coinen up vrom nieiid Brought gircup meal upon the shoe ; Or went on where the road did leiid, AVr smeechy dowst vrom heel to tooe, As noon did smite, wi' burnen light, The road so white to Meldonley. 10 An"* I did tramp the zun-dried ground, By hedge-climb''d hills a-spread wi' flow'rs, An' watershooten dells, an** tow'rs By elem-trees a-hemm^d all round, To zee a vew wold friends about Wold Meldon, where I still ha' /ome, That bad me speed as I come out, An' now ha' bid me welcome hwome, As I did goo, while skies wer blue, Vrom view to view, to Meldonley. 20 An' there wer timber'd knaps that show'd Cool sheades, vor rest, on grassy ground. An' thatch-brow'd windows, flower-bound. Where I could wish wer my abode. I pass'd the maid avore the spring. An' shepherd by the thornen tree ; An' heard the merry driver zing. But met noo kith or kin to me. Till I come down, vrom Meldon's crown To rwofs o' brown, at Meldonley. 30 6 gil'cup meal] buttercup pollen. 8 smeechy dowstj soiling dust. 21 knaps] eminences. 30 rwofs] roofs. 86 CH1IJ)E11N S CHILDERN Oh ! if my ling'ren life should run Drough years a-reckon'd ten by ten, Below the never-tiren zun, Till beabes ageiin be wives an"* men ; An' stillest deafness should ha' bound My ears at last vrom evVy sound ; Though still my eyes in that sweet light Should have the zight o' sky an' ground : Would then my steiite In time so leiite 10 Be jay or pain, be pain or jiiy ? When Zunday then, a-weiinen dim As thease that now's a-clwosen still. Mid lose the zun's down-zinken rim In liu'ht behind the vire-bound hill; An' when the bells' last peal's a-rung, An' I mid zee the M'old an' young A-vlocken by, but shoulden hear, However near, a voot or tongue: Mid zuch a zight 20 In that soft light Be jay or pain, be pain or jay? If I should zee among em all. In merry youth a-gliden by, My son's bwold son, a-grown man-tall, Or daughter's daughter, woman-high; 12 a-weauen] waning. 13 thease] this one. 14 Mid] may. CHILDERN'S CIIILDEKN 87 An' she mid smile wf your good feiice, Or she mid walk your comely peace, But seem, although a-chatten loud. So still 's a cloud, in that bright pleace : 30 Would youth so feair A-passen there Be jjiy or pain, be pain or jay ? THE BAKS ON THE LANDRIDGE The bars on the timbered ridge outspan The gap where the shining skies may show The people that clamber to and fro, Woman by woman, man by man. To strangers that once may reach the gap, How fair is the dell beyond the ridge. With houses and trees, and church and bridge, Wood upon wood, and knap by knap. When under the moon, the bars' smooth ledge, Rubb'd up to a gloss, is bright as glass, 10 And shadows outmark, on dewy grass, Rail upon rail, and edge by edge. Then there is my way, where nightwinds sound So softly on boughs, where lights and shades Are playing on slopes, by hills and glades, Tree upon tree, and mound by mound ! 28 peace] pace. 88 LINDA DEANE The bright-tunii'd house, a-risen proud, Stood high avore a zummer cloud. An"" windy sheades o' tow'rs did vail Upon the many-windor''d wall ; An' on the grassy terrace, bright Wi' white-bloom'd zummer's deaisy beds An' snow-white lilies nodden heads, Sweet Linda Deane did walk in white ; But ah ! avore too high a door Wer Linda Deane ov Ellendon. lo When spark len brooks, an' grassy ground, By keen-air'd winter's vrost wer bound, An' star-bright snow did streak the forms O' beiire-lim'd trees in darksome storms, Sweet Linda Deane did lightly glide Wi' snow-white robe an' rwosy feace Upon the smooth-vloor'd hall, to treace The merry dance o' Christmas-tide; But oh ! not mine be balls so fine As Linda Dcane's at Ellendon. 20 Sweet Linda Deane do match the skies Wi' sheenen blue o' glisnen eyes. An' feairest blossoms do but show Her forehead's white, an' feiice's glow ; 1 tunii'd] chimneyed. LINDA DEANE 89 But there's a winsome jay above The brightest hues ov e'th an' skies. The dearest zight o' many eyes Would be the smile o' Linda's love; But high above my lowly love Is Linda Deiine ov Ellendon ! 30 I.INDENORE At Lindenore upon the steep, Bezide the tx'ees a-reachen high, The while their lower limbs do zweep The river-stream a-flowen by ; By greygle bells in beds o' blue, Below the tree-stems in the lew. Calm air do vind the rwose-bound door Ov Ellen Dare o' Lindenore. An' there noo foam do hiss avore Swift bwoats, wi' water-plowen keels, 10 An' there noo broad high road 's a-wore By vur-brought trav'lers' cracklen wheels ; Noo crowd's a-passen to and fro Upon the bridge's high-sprung bow: An' vew but I do seek the door Ov Ellen Dare o' Lindenore. 5. greygle bells] wild hyacinth. 6 lew] shelter from wind. 12 vur-brought] brought from far. 14 bow] arch. 90 LINDENORE Vor there the town, wi' zun-bright walls. Do sheen vur off by hills o' grey, An' town vo'k ha' but seldom calls O' business there, from day to day: 20 But Ellen didden leave her rwof To be admir'd, an' that's enough — Vor I've a-found 'ithin her door Feiiir Ellen Dare o' Lindenore. TIMES O YEAR Here did sway the eltrot flow'rs When the hours o' night wer vew, An' the zun, wi' eiirly beams Brighten'd streams, an' dried the dew, An' the goocoo there did greet Passers by wi' dowsty veet. There the milkmaid hung her brow By the cow, a-sheenen red ; An' the dog, wi' upward looks, Watch'd the rooks above his head, 10 An' the brook, vrom bow to bow, Here went swift, an' there wer slow. 21 didden] did not rwof] roof. 1 eltrot] wild parsnip. 5 goocoo] cuckoo. 6 dowsty] dusty. 11 bow to bow] bend to bend. TIMES O' YEAR 91 Now the cwolder-bloweii blast Here do cast vrom clems'' heads Feiided leaves, a-whirlen round Down to ground, in yollow beds, Ruslen under milkers"' shoes When the day do diy the dews. Soon shall grass, a-vrosted bright, Glisten white instead o' green, £0 An' the wind shall smite the cows Where the boughs be now their screen. Things do change as years do vlee ; What ha' years in store vor me.'' ZUMMEIl AN WINTER When I led by zummer streams The pride o' I^ea, as naighbours thought her, While the zun, wi' evenen beams. Did cast our sheiides athirt the water; Winds a-blowen, Streams a-flowen, Skies a-glowcn, Tokens ov my jay zoo fleeten, Heightened it, that happy meeten ! 4 athirt] across. 8 jay zoo fleeten] joy so fleeting. 92 ZUMMER AN' WINTER Then, when maid an"" man took pleaces, lo Gay in winter's Chris'mas dances, Showen in their merry feaces Kindly smiles an" glisnen glances ; Stars a-winken. Day a-shrinken, Sheades a-zinken, Brought anew the happy meeten That did meake the night too fleetcn ! THE I.EAV O' THE RICK At even-tide the wind wer loud By trees an"* tuns above woone's head, An' all the sky wer woone dark cloud, Vor all it had noo rain to shed; An' as the darkness gather'd thick I zot me down below a rick. Where straws upon the win' did ride Wi' giddy flights, along my zide, Though unniolesten me a-resten. Where I lay 'ithin the lew. lo My wife's bright vier indoors did cast Its fleame upon the window peanes That screen'd her teable, while the blast Vied on in music down the leiines ; Lew] shelter from wind. 2 tuns] chimneys. 4 Vor all] altliough. THE LEW O' THE RICK 93 An"" as I zot in vaioeless thought Ov other zumnier tides, that brought The sheeuen grass below the lark, Or left their ricks a-wearen dark. My childern voun"' me, an"" come roun' me, Where I lay 'ithin the lew. 20 The rick that then did keep me lew Would be a-gone another fall, An' I, in zome years, in a \e\v, Mid leave the childern, big or small ; But He that mcade the wind, an' meade The lewth, an' zent wi' het the sheade, Can keep my childern, all alwone Or under me, an' though vull grown Or little lispers wi' their whispers, There a-lyen in the lew. 30 THE WIND IN VVOONES FEACE There lovely Jenny past, While the blast did blow On over Ashknowle hill To the mill below ; A-blinken quick, wi' lashes long Above her cheiiks o' red, Ageiin the wind, a-beatcn strong Upon her droopen head. 22 fall] autumn. 24 Mid] may. 26 lewth] shelter. 94 THE WIND IN WOONE'S FEACE Oh ! let dry win' blow bleak On her cheak so heale, 10 But let noo rain-shot chill MeJike her ill an' peiile ; Vor healthy is the breath the blast Upon the hill do yield, An' healthy is the light a-cast Vrom lofty sky to vield. An' mid noo sorrow-pang Ever hang a tear Upon the dark lash-heiiir Ov my feiiirest dear; 20 An' mid noo unkind deed o' mine Spweil what my love mid gain, Nor meiike my merry Jenny pine At last wi' dim-ey'd pain. LEAVES A-VALLEN There the ash-tree leaves do vail In the wind a-blowen cvvolder. An' my childern, tall or small. Since last Fall be woone year wolder. Woone year wolder, woone year dearer, Till when they do leiive my he'th, I shall be noo mwore a hearer O' their vaices or their me'th. 10 heale] hale. 22 Spweil] spoil, mid] may. 4 Fall] autumn. 6 he'th] hearth. 8 me'th] mirth. LEAVES A-VALLEN 95 There dead ash leaves be a-toss'd In the wind, a-blowen stronger, 10 An' our life-time, since we lost Souls we lov'd, is woone year longer, Woone year longer, woone year wider, Vrom the friends that death ha' took, As the hours do teake the rider Vrom the hand that last he shook. Leaves be now a-scatter'd round In the wind, a-blowen bleaker. An' if we do walk the ground, Wi' our life-strangth woone year weaker. 20 Woone year weaker, woone year nigher To the pleace where we shall vind Woone that's deathless vor the dier, Voremost they that dropp'd behind. THE widow's house I WENT hwome in the dead o' the night. When the vields wer all empty o' vo'k. An' the tuns at their cool-winded height Wer all dark, an' all cwold 'ithout smoke; An' the heads o' the trees that I pass'd Wer a-swayen wi' low ruslen sound, An' the doust wer a-whirl'd wi' the blast. Aye, a smeech wi' the wind on the ground. tuns] chimneys. 7 doust] dust. 8 smeech] dust-cloud. 96 THE WIDOW'S HOUSE Then I come by the young widow^s hatch, Down below the wold elem's tall head, 10 But noo vingers did lift up the latch, V'or the vo'k wer so still as the dead ; But inside, to a tree a-nieade vast, Wer the childern's light swing, a-hung low, An' a-rock'd by the brisk blowen blast. Aye, a-swung by the win' to an' fro. Vor the childern, wi' pillow-borne head. Had vorgotten their swing on the lawn, An' their father, asleep wi' the dead, Had vorgotten his work at the dawn ; 20 An' their mother, a vew stilly hours. Had vorgotten where he slept so sound, Where the wind wer a sheaken the flow'rs. Aye, the blast the feiiir buds on the ground. Oh ! the moon, wi' his peale lighted skies, Have his sorrowless sleepers below. But by day to the zun they must rise To their true lives o' tweil an' ov ho. Then the childern wull rise to their fun. An' their mother mwore sorrow to veel, 30 While the air is a-warm'd by the zun. Aye, the win' by the day's viry wheel. 9 come] came. hatch] gate. 26 Have his] has its. 28 tweil] toil. ho] care. 32 viry] fiery. 97 i'm out o' door I'm out, when, in the winters blast, The zun, a runnen lowly round, Do mark the sheiides the hedge do cast At noon, in hoarvrost, on the ground. I'm out when snow's a-lyen white In keen-air'd vields that I do pass. An' moonbeams, vroni above, do smite On ice an' sleepers' window-glass. I'm out o' door. When win' do zweep 10 By hangen steep Or hollow deep, At Linden-ore. O welcome is the lewth a-vound By rustleu copse or ivied bank. Or by the hay-rick weather-brown'd, By barken-grass a-springen rank ; Or where the wajxson, vrom the team A-freed, is well a-housed vrom wet, An' on the dousty cart-house beam 20 Do hang the co1)web's wliite-lin'd net. While storms do roar, An' win' do zweep By hangen steep Or hollow deep. At Linden-ore. l-l lewth] shelter from wind. 17 barken-grass] cow-yard grass. 20 dousty] dusty. BARNE3 K 98 I'M OUT O' DOOR An' when a good day's work's a-done, An' I do rest, the while a squall Do rumble in the hollow tun, An' ivy-stems do whip the wall ; 30 Then in the house do sound about My ears, dear vaices vull or thin, A-prayen vor the souls vur out At sea, an' cry wi' biv'ren chin — Oh ! shut the door. What soul can sleep Upon the deep. When storms do zweep At Linden-ore ! LWONESOMENESS As I do zew, wi' nimble hand. In here avore the window's light, How still do all the housegear stand Around my Iwonesome zight. How still do all the housegear stand Since Willie now 've a-left the land. The rwose-tree's window-sheiiden bow Do hang in leaf, an' win'-blown flow'rs Avore my Iwonesome eyes do show Theiise bright November hours. 10 Avore my Iwonesome eyes do show, Wi' nwone but I to zee em blow. 99 tun] cliimney. 33 vur] far. 34 biv'ren] shaking. LWONESOMENESS 99 Tlie sheades o' leafy buds, avore The peanes, do sheake upon the glass, An' stir in light upon the vloor, Where now vew veet do pass. An'' stir in light upon the vloor, Where there's a-stirren nothen niwore. This wind mid dreve upon the main My brother's ship, a-plowen foam, 20 But not bring mother cwold nor rain, At her now happy hwome. But not bring mother cwold nor rain, Where she is out o' pain. A SNOWY NIGHT 'Twer at niglit, an' a keen win' did blow Vrom the east under peale-twinklen stars, All a-zweepen along the white snow; On the groun', on the trees, on the bars, Vrom the hedge where the win' russled droo. There a light-russlea snow-doust did vail ; An' noo pleace wer a-vound that wer lew. But the shed, or the ivy-hung wall. Then I knock'd at the wold passage door Wi' the win'-driven snow on my locks ; 10 Till, a-comen along the cwold vloor. There my Jenny soon answer'd my knocks. 19 wind mid dreve] wind may drive, 4 bars] railings. 7 lew] sheltered. h2 100 A SNOWY NIGHT Then the wind, by the door a-swung wide, Flung some snow in her clear-bloomen feace, An' she blink 'd, wi' her head all a-zide, An"* a-chucklen, went back to her pleace. An' in there, as we zot roun' the brands, Though the talkers wer mainly the men, Bloomen Jeane, wi' her work in her hands, Did put in a good word now an' then. 20 An' when I took my leave, though so bleak Wer the weather, she went to the door Wi' a smile, an' a blush on the cheak That the snow had a-smitten avore. SHAFTESBUllY FEAIR When hillborne Paladore did show So bright to me down miles below. As woonce the zun, a-roilen west. Did brighten up his hill's high breast, Wi' walls a-looken dazzlen white. Or yollor, on the grey-topp'd height Of Paladore, as peiile day wore Away so feiiir. Oh ! how I wish'd tliat I wer there ! The pleace wer too vur off to spy 10 The liven vo'k a-passen by ; The vo'k too vur vor air to bring The words that they did speak or zing, 17 zot] sat. 4 his] its. 12 vur vor] far for. SHAFl^ESBURY FEAIR 101 All dum' to me wer each abode, An' empty wer the down-hill road Vrom Paladore, as peale day wore Away so feair ; But how I wish'd that I wer there ! MY LOVE IS GOOD My love is good, my love is feiiir, She's comely to behold, O, In ev'ry thing that she do wear, Altho' 'tis new or wold, O. My heart do leap to see her walk, So straight do step her veet, O, My tongue is dum' to hear her talk. Her vaice do sound so sweet, O. The flow'ry groun' wi' floor o' green Do bear but vew so good an' true. 10 When she do zit, then she do seem The feiiirest to my zight, O, Till she do stan' an' I do deem She's feiiirest at her height, O. An' she do seem 'ithin a room The feiiirest on a floor, O, Till I ageiin do zee her bloom Still fciiirer out o' door, O. Where flow'ry groun' wi' floor o' green Do bear but vew so good an' true. 20 102 MY LOVE IS GOOD All' when the dcaisies be a-pres.s'd Below her vootsteps waight, O, Do seem as if she look'd the best Ov all in walken gait, O. Till I do zee her zit upright Behind the house's neck, O, A-holden wi"" the rain so tight His tossen head in check, O. Where flowVy groun' wi' floor o' green Do bear but vew so good an' true. 30 I wish I had my own free land To keep a ho'se to ride, O, I wish I had a ho'se in hand To ride en at her zide, O. Vor if I wer as high in rank As any duke or lord, O, Or had the goold the richest bank Can shovel vrom his horde, O, rd love her still, if even then She wcr a leaser in a glen. 40 HEEDLESS o' MY LOVE Oh ! I vu'st knew o' my true love As the bright moon up above, Though her brightness wer my pleasure She wer heedless o' my love. 30 vewj few. 40 leaser] gleaner. HEEDLESS O' MY LOVE 103 Tho' 'twer all gay to my eyes Where her feiiir feace did arise, She noo mwore thought upon my thoughts Than the high moon in the skies. Oh ! I vu'st heard her a-zingen As a sweet bird on a tree, 10 Though her zingen wer my pleasure 'Twer noo zong she zung to me. Though her sweet vaice that wer nigh Meade my wild heart to beat high, She noo mwore thought upon my thoughts Than the birds on passers' by. Oh ! I vu'st knew her a-weepen As a rain-din)m''d mornen sky, Though her tear-drops dimmed her blushes They wer noo drops I could dry. 20 Ev^-y bright tear that did roll Wer a keen pain to my soul, But noo heart's pang she did then veel Wer vor my words to console. But the wold times be a-vanish'd, An' my true love is my bride. An' her kind heart have a-meade her As an angel at my zide, I've her best smiles that mid play, I've her me'th when she is gay, SO When her tear-drops be a-rollen I can now wipe em away. 29 mid] may. 30 me'tli] niirt'i. 104 CHANGES By time's a-bronght the mornen light. By time the light do weane ; -By time's a-brought the young man's might. By time his might do weane ; The winter snow do whiten grass, The summer flow'rs do brighten grass; Vor zome things we do lose wi' pain We've mwore that mid be jay to gain, An' my dear life do seem the seame While at my zide 10 There still do bide Your welcome feace an' hwomely neame. Wi' ev'ry day that woonce come on I had to choose a jay, Wi' many that be since a-gone I had to lose a jay. Drough longsome years a-wanderen, Drough Iwonesome rest a-ponderen, Woone peaceful daytime wer a-bro't To heal the heart another smote ; 20 But my dear life do seem the seame While I can hear A-sounden near Your ansvy'ren vaicc an' long-call'd neame. 8 mid be jay] may be joy. lt)5 THE LITTLE WOROLD My hwome wer on the timbered ground O' Duncombe, vvi' the hills a-bound : Where vew from other pearts did come, An' vew did travel vur from hwome, An' small the worold I did know ; But then, what had it to bestow But Fanny Deane so good an' feair? 'Twer wide enough if she wer there. In our deep hollow where the zun Did early leave the smoky tun, 10 An' all the meads a-growen dim Below the hill wi' zunny rim ; Oh ! small the land the hills did bound, But there did walk upon the ground Young Fanny Deane so good an' feair: 'Twer wide enough if she wer there. O' leate upon the misty plain I stay'd vor shelter vrom the rain, Where sharp-leav'd ashes' heads did twist In hufHen wind, an' driften mist, 20 An' small the worold I could zee; But then it had below the tree My Fanny Deiine so good an' feiiir : 'Twer wide enough if she wer there. 10 tun] chimney. 20 hufflen] gusty. 106 THE LIITLE WOliOLD An' Fve a house wi' thatchen ridge Below the elems by the bridge: Wi' small-peiin'd windows, that do look Upon a knap, an' ramblen brook ; An' small's my house, my rwof is low, But then who mid it have to show 30 But Fanny Ueane so good an' feiiir? 'Tis fine enough if she is there ! THE WIND AT THE DOOR As day did darken on the dewless grass, There, still, wi' nwone a-come by me To stay a-while at h\vome by me Within the house, all dumb by me, I zot me sad as the eventide did pass. An' there a win'blast shook the rattlen door, An' seemed, as win' did mwoan without, As if my Jeane, alwone without, A-stannen on the stwone without, Wer there a-come wi' happiness oonce mwore. 10 I went to door; an' out vrom trees above My head, upon the blast by me, Sweet blossoms wer a-east by me. As if my Love, a-past by me, Did fling em down — a token ov her love. 28 knap] hillock. 29 rwof] roof. 30 mid] may. THE WIND AT THE DOOR 107 * Sweet blossoms o' the tree where I do muni,'' I thought, ' if you did blow vor her, Vor apples that should grow vor her, A-vallen down below vor her, O then how happy I should zee you kern ! ' 20 But no. Too soon I voun my charm a-broke. Noo comely soul in white like her — Noo soul a-steppen light like her — An' nwone o"* comely height like her Went by ; but all my grief ageiin awoke. WHITE an' blue My Love is o' comely height an' straight, An' comely in all her ways an' gait ; In feace she do show the rwose's hue, An' her lids on her eyes be white on blue. When Elemley clubmen walk'd in May, An' vo'k come in clusters, ev'ry way. As soon as the zun dried up the dew. An' clouds in the sky wer Avhite on blue. She come by the down, wi' trippen walk. By deasies, an' sheenen banks o' chalk, lo An' brooks, where the crowvoot flow'rs did strew The sky-tinted water, white on blue. She nodded her head as play'd the band ; She dapp'd wi' her root as she did stand ; She danced in a reel, a-weiiren new A skirt wi' a jacket, white wi' blue. 20 kern] set ; turn from flower to fruit. 108 WHITE AN' BLUE I singled her out vrom thin an' stout, Vrom slender an"* stout I chose her out; An' what, in the evenen, could I do, But gi'e her my breast-knot, white an' blue? 20 JOY PASSING BY When ice all melted to the sun. And left the wavy streams to run. We longed, as summer came, to roll In river foam, o'er depth and shoal ; And if we lost our loose-bow'd swing, We had a kite to pull our string; Or, if no ball Would rise or fall With us, another joy was nigh Before our joy all pass'd us by. lo If leaves of trees, that wind stripp'd bare At morning, fly on evening air, We still look on for summer boughs To shade again our sunburnt brows ; Where orchard-blooms' white scales may fall May hang the apple's blushing ball ; New hopes come on . For old ones gone. As day on day may shine on high. Until our joys all pass us by. 20 JOY PASSING BY 109 My childhood yearn'd to reach the span Of boyhood's hfe, and be a man ; And then I looked, in manhood's pride, For manhood's sweetest choice, a bride ; And then to lovely children, come To make my home a dearer home. But now my mind Can look behind For joy, and wonder, with a sigh. When all my joys have pass'd me by ! 30 Was it when once I miss'd a call To rise, and thenceforth seem'd tofall ; Or when my wife to my hands left Her few bright keys, a doleful heft ; Or when before the door I stood To watch a child away for good; Or where some crowd In mirth was loud ; Or wliere I saw a mourner sigh ; Where did my joy all pass me by ? 40 34" heft] weight. II DESCRIPTIV^E AND MEDITATIVE VELLEN THE TREE Aye, the gre't elem tree out in little hwome groun' Wer a stannen this moriien, an' now 's a-cut down. Aye, the gre''t elem tree, so big roun"* an' so high, Where the mowers tiid goo to their drink, an' did lie In the sheade ov his head, when the zun at his heighth Had a-drove em vrom mowen, wi' het an' wi' drith. Where the hay-meakers put all their picks an' their reakes An' did squot down to snabble their cheese an' their ceiikes An' did vill vrom their flaggons their cups wV their eale, 9 An' did meiike theirzelves merry wi' joke an' wi' teale. Ees, we took up a rwope an' we tied en all round At the top o'n, wi' woone end a-hangen to ground. An' we cut, near the ground, his gre't stem a'most drough, An' we bent the wold head o'n wi' woone tug or two ; 1 elem] elm. hwome groun'j field nearest the homestead. 6 het] heat. VELLEN THE TREE 111 An' he sway'd all his limbs, an' he nodded his head, Till he veil away down like a pillar o** lead : An' as we did run vrom en, there, clwose at our backs, Oh ! his boughs come to groun' wi' sich whizzes an' cracks ; An' his top wer so lofty that, now's a-vell down. The stem o'n do reach a-most over the groun'. 20 Zoo the gre't elem tree out in little hwome groun' Wer a-stannen this mornen, an' now's a-cut down. EVENEN IN THE VILLAGE Now the light o' the west is a-turn'd to gloom, An' the men be at hwome vrom ground; An' the bells be a-zenden all down the Coombe From tower their mwoansome sound. An' the wind is still, An' the house-dogs do bark, An' the rooks be a-vled to the elems high an' dark. An' the water do roar at mill. An' the flickeren light drough the window-peane Vrom the candle's dull fleame do shoot, lo An' young Jennny the smith is a-gone down Iciine A-playen his shrill-vaiced flute. An' the miller's man Do zit down at his ease On the seat that is under the cluster o' trees, Wi' his pipe an' his cider can. 2 ground] field. 9 drough] through. 12 vaiced] voiced. 112 JENNYS RIBBONS Jean ax"'d what ribbon she should wear 'Ithin her bonnet to the feair? She had woone white, a-gi'ed her when She stood at Meary's chrissenen ; She had woone brown ; she had woone red, A keepseake vroni her brother dead, That she did Hke to wear, to goo To zee his greave below the yew. She had woone green among her stock, That rd a-bought to match her frock ; 10 She had woone blue to match her eyes, The colour o"* the zummer skies, An' thik, though I do like the rest, Is he that I do like the best, Because she had en in her heair When vu'st I walked wi' her at feair. The brown, I zaid, would do to deck Thy heair ; the white would match thy neck ; The red would meake thy red cheak wan A-thinken o' the gi'er gone ; 20 The green would show thee to be true ; But still rd sooner zee the blue, Because 'twere he that decked thy heair When vu'st I walked wi' thee at feair. 13 thik] that. 14 he] the one. 15 en] it. 113 UNCLE an' aunt How happy uncle us'd to be O' zummer time, when aunt an"* he O' Zunday evenens, eiirm in eann, Did walk about their tiny farm While birds did zing an' gnats did zwarm, Drough grass a'most above their knees, An' roun' by hedges an' by trees Wi' leafy boughs a-swayen. His hat wer broad, his cwoat wer brown, Wi' two long flaps a-hangen down ; 10 An' vrom his knee went down a blue Knit stocken to his buckled shoe ; An' aunt did pull her gown-tail drough Her pocket-hole to keep en neat, As she mid walk, or teiike a seat By leafy boughs a-swayen. HAY-CARREN 'Tis merry ov a zummer's day, When vo'k be out a-haulen hay, Where boughs, a-spread upon the ground, Do meake the staddle big an' round; An' grass do stand in pook, or lie In long-backed weales or parsels, dry. Hay-carren] carrying hay to rick. 4 staddle] stack-base. 5 in pook] in heaps. 6 weales] ridges. parsels] outspread patches. BARNES T 114 HAY-CARREN There I do vincI it stir iiiy heart To hear the frothen hosses snort, A-haulen on, wi' sleek heair''d hides. The red-wheel'd waggon's deep-blue zides. 10 The bwoy is at the hosse's head, An' up upon the waggon bed The Iwoaders, strong o' earm, do stan'. At head, an' back at tail, a man, Wi' skill to build the Iwoad upright An' bind the vwolded corners tight ; An' at each zide 6'm, sprack an' strong, A pitcher wi' his long-stem'd prong, Avore the best two women now A-call'd to reaky after plough. 20 Tis merry at the rick to zee How picks do wag, an' hay do vlee. While woone's unlwoaden, woone do teake The pitches in ; an' zome do meake The lofty rick upright an' roun'. An' tread en hard, an' reake en down, An' tip en, when the zun do zet. To shoot a sudden vail o' wet. An' zoo 'tis merry any day Where vo'k be out a-carren hay. 30 13 Iwoaders] loaders. 17 sprack] strong. 18 pitcher] man who tossos. 20 to reiiky] to rake. 22 picks] pitch- forks. 27 tip en] point the tip of it. 115 GRAlMj\fER's SHOES I DO seem to zee Graninier as she did use Vor to show us, at Chris'mas, her wcdden shoes, An' her flat spreaden bonnet so big an' roun' As a gre't pewter dish a-turn'd upside down ; When we all did draw near In a cluster to hear O' the merry wold soul how she did use To walk and to dance wi' her high-heel shoes. She'd a gown wi' gre't flowers lik' hollyhocks, An' zome stockens o' gramfer's a-knit wi' clocks, 10 An' a token she kept under lock an' key, — A small lock ov his heair ofl' avore't wer grey. An' her eyes wer red. An' she shook her head When we'd all a-look'd at it, an' she did use To lock it away wi' her wedden shoes. She could tell us such teales about heavy snows, An' o' rains an' o' floods when the waters rose All up into the housen, an' carr'd awoy All the bridge wi' a man an' his little bwoy ; 20 An' o' vog an' \r()st, An' o' vo'k a-lost. An' o' pearties at Chris'mas, when she did use V^or to walk hwome wi' gramfer in high-heel shoes. 10 gramfer's] grandfather's. 21 vog] fog. I 2 116 GRAMMER'S SHOES Ev'i'y Chris'*mas she lik'd vor the bells to ring, An"" to have in the zinners to hear em zinsj The wold carols she heard many years a-gone, While she warm''d em zome cider avore the bron'; An' she'd look an' smile At our dancen, while 30 She did tell how her friends now a-gone did use To reely wi' her in their high-heel shoes. Ah ! an"" how she did like vor to deck wi' red Holly-berries the window an' wold clock's head, An' the clavy wi' boughs o' some bright green leaves, An' to meake twoast an' eale upon Chris'mas eves ; But she 's now, drough greace. In a better pleiice, Though we'll never vorget her, poor soul, nor lose Gramfer's token ov heair, nor her wedden shoes. 40 THE WEEPEN LEADY When, leate o' nights, above the green By thik wold house, the moon do sheen, A leady there, a-hangen low Her head, 's a-walken to an' fro In robes so white's the driven snow, Wi' woone eiirm down, while woone do rest All lily-white athirt the breast O' thik poor weepen leady. 28 bi-on'] brand. 32 recly] dance reels. 35 clavy] mantel-beam, 2 thik wold] that old. 7 athirt] across. THE WEEPEN LEADY 117 The whirlen wind an"* whislen squall Do sheake the ivy by the wall, 10 An' meake the plyen tree-tops rock, But never rufHe her white frock ; An' slanimen door an' rattlen lock, That in thik empty house do sound, Do never seem to meiike look round Thik ever downcast leiidy. A leiidy, as the teale do goo, That woonce liv'd there, an' lov'd too true, VVer by a young man cast azide, A mother sad, but not a bride ; 20 An' then her lather, in his pride An' anger, offer'd woone o' two Vuir bitter things to uodenroo To thik poor weepen leiidy : That she hevzelf should leave his door, To darken it ageiin noo mwoi-e ; Or that her little playsome chile, A-zent away a thousand mile, Should never meet her eyes to smile An' play ageiin ; till she, in sheiime, 30 Should die an' leave a tarnish'd neame, A sad vorseiiken leiidy. ' Let me be lost,' she cried, ' the while I do but know vor my poor chile ; ' An' left the hwome ov all her pride To wander drough the worold wide, 11 plyen] flexible. 16 Thik] That. 118 THE WEEri^N LEAUY Wi' grief that vew but she ha' tried: An' lik' a flowV a blow ha"* broke She withe r\l wi' the deadly stroke, An' died a weepen leady. 40 An' she do keep a-comcn on To zee her father dead an' gone, As if her soul could have noo rest Avore her teary cheiik 's a-prest By his vorgiven kiss. Zoo blest Be they that can but live in love, An' vind a pleace o' rest above Unlik' the weepen leady. CHRISTMAS INVITATION Come down to-morrow night ; an' mind, Don't leiive thy fiddle-bag behind ; We'll sheake a lag an' drink a cup O' eale, to keep wold Chris'mas up. You won't meet any stranger's feace, But only naighbours o' the pleace, An' Stowe, an' Combe ; an' two or dree Vrom uncle's up at llookery. An' thou wu'lt vind a rwosy feace, An' peair ov eyes so black as sloos, 10 The prettiest woones in all the pleace, — I'm sure I needen tell thee whose. 44 teary cheak 's] tearful cheek is. CHllISTMAS INVITATION 119 We got a back-bran"*, dree gre't logs So much as dree ov us can car ; We'll put em up athirt the dogs, An' meiike a vier to the bar. An' evVy woone shall tell his teale, An' ev'ry woone shall zing his zong, An' ev'ry woone wull drink his eale To love an' frien'ship all night long. 20 We'll snap the tongs, we'll have a ball, We'll sheake the house, we'll lift the ruf, We'll romp an' meake the maidens squall, A catchen o'm at blind-man's buff. THE WOLD WAGGON The gre't wold waggon uncle had, When I wer up a hardish lad. Did stand, a-screen'd vrom het an' wet, In zummer at the barken geate. Below the elems' spreiiden boughs, A-rubb'd by all the pigs an' cows. An' I've a-clom his head an' zides. A-riggen up or jumpen down A-playen, or in happy rides Along the leiine or droui>h the frroun'. 10 16 bar] the cross-bar from which the chimney-crook hangs. 2 up a hardish lad] stiffening to manhood. 4 barken geate] cow-yard gate. • 8 A-riggen] clambering. 120 THE WOLD WAGGON An' many souls be in their greaves That rod'' together on his reaves ; An*" he, an' all the hosses too, 'V a-ben a-done vor years agoo. Upon his head an' taVl wer pinks. A-painted all in tangled links ; His two long zides wer blue, — his bed Bent slightly upward at the head ; His reaves rose zwellen in a bow Above the slow hind-wheels below. 20 Vour hosses wer a-kept to pull The gre't wold waggon when 'twer vull : The black nieare Smiler, strong enough To pull a house down by herzuf, So big, as took my biggest strides To straddle halfway down her zides ; An' champen VVlet, sprack an' light, That foam'd an' pulFd wi' all her might ; An' Whitevootf leazy in the treat-e, Wi' cunnen looks an' snow-white feiice; 30 Bezides a bay woone, short-tail JacJi, That wer a treace-hoss or a hack. How many Iwoads o' vuzz, to scald The milk, thik waggon have a-hauPd ! An' wood vrom copse, an' poles vor rails, An' bavens wi' their bushy tails ; 12 reaves] si'de-Iedges. 14 'V a-ben a-done] have been out- worn. 24. herzuf] herself. 27 sprack] brisk. 32 treace- hoss] trace-horse. 33 vuzz] furze. 36 bavehs] faggots. THE WOLD WAGGON 121 An' loose-ear"'d barle}', hangen down Outzide the wheels a'most to groun', An' Iwoads o' hay so sweet an"* dry, A-builded straight, an' long, an' high ; 40 An' hay-meiikers a-zitten roun' The reaves, a-riden hwome vrom groiur, When Jim gi'ed Jenny's lips a smack, An' jealous Dicky whipp'd his back ; An' maidens scream'd to veel the thumps A-gi'ed by trenches an' by humps. But he, an' all his bosses too, 'V a-ben a-done vor years agoo. THE VAICES THAT BE GONE '^ When evenen sheades o' trees do hide A body by the hedge's zide, An' twitt'ren birds, wi' playsome flight, Do vlee to roost at comen night. Then I do saunter out o' zight In orcha'd, where the pleace woonce rung Wi' laughs a-raised an' zongs a-zung By vaices that be gone. There's still the tree that bore our swing. An' others where the birds did zing ; lo But lon£i-leav'd docks do overii;row The groun' we trampled beare below 38 groun'] field. 45 veel] feel. 122 THE VAICES THAT BE GONE Wi' merry skippens to an' fro Bezide the banks, where Jim did zit A-pLayen o' the clarinit To vaices that be gone. How mother, when we us'd to stun Her head wi' all our naisy fun, Did wish us all a-gone vrom hwome: An' now that zome be dead, an' zonie 20 A-gone, an' all the pleace is dum'. How she do wish, wi' useless tears, To have ageiin about her ears The vaices that be gone ! Vor all the maidens an' the bwoys But I, be married off all woys, Or dead an' gone ; but I do bide At hwome, alwone, at mother's zide. An' often, at the evenen-tide, I still do saunter out, wi' tears, 30 Down drough the orcha'd, where my ears Do miss the vaices gone. 18 naisy] noisy. 123 THE HWOINIESTEAD A-VELL INTO HAND The house whgre I wer born an"* bred, Did own his weaken door, John, When vn'st he shelterYl father's head, An"* gramfer's long avore, John. An' many a ramblen hap[)y chile, An' chap so strong an' bwold, An' bloonien maid wi' playsome smile, Did call their hwome o' wold Thik rwof so warm, A- kept vrom harm 10 By elem trees that broke the storm. An' in the orcha'd out behind. The apple-trees in row, John, Did sway wi' moss about their rind Their heads a-nodden low, John. An' there, bezide zome groun' vor corn, 1'wo strips did skirt the road ; In woone the cow did toss her horn, While tother wer a-mow'd, In June, below 20 The lofty row Ov trees that in the hedge did grow. a-vell into hand] lapsed to the lord of the manor. 2 woakeu] oak. 8 o' woldj of old. 9 Thik rwof] That roof. 124 HWOMESTEAD A-VELL INTO HAND Ov eight good hwomes, where I can mind Vo'k liy'd upon their land, John, But dree be now a-left behind ; The rest lia' veil in hand, John. An' all the happy souls they ved Be scattered vur an"" wide, An' zome o'm be a-wanten bread, Zome, better ofF, ha' died; 30 Noo mwore to ho Vor hwomes below The trees a-swayen to an' fro. An' I could lead ye now all round The parish, if I would, John, An' show ye still the very ground Where vive good housen stood, John. In broken orcha'ds near the spot A vew wold trees do stand ; But dew do vail where vo'k woonce zot 40 About the burnen brand In housen warm, A-kept vrom harm By elems that did break the storm. 31 ho] wish. 125 THE GIRT WOLD HOUSE O' MOSSY STWONE ^'^ The girt wold house o' mossy stvvone, Up there upon the knap alwone, Had woonce a bleazen kitchen-vier, That cooked vor poor-vo'k an** a squier. An' if I wer a squier, I Should like to spend my life, an*" die In thik wold house o' mossy stwone, Up there upon the knap alwone. The girt wold house o' mossy stwone Had wings vor either sheade or zun : lo VVoone where the zun did glitter drough. When vu' st he struck the mornen dew ; Woone feaced the evenen sky, an' woone Pushed out a pworch to zweaty noon: Zoo woone stood out to break the storm, An' meade another lew an' warm. An' there the timber'd copse rose high, Where birds did build an' heares did lie, An' beds o' greygles in the lew Did deck in May the ground wi' blue. 20 An' there wer hills an' slopen grounds That they did ride about wi' hounds; An' drough the mead did creep the brook Wi' bushy bank an' rushy nook, 1 girt wold] great old. 2 knap] hillock. 7 thik] that. 16 lew] sheltered from wind. 19 greygles] wild hyacinths. 126 THE GIRT WOLD HOUSE Where perch did lie in sheady holes Below the alder trees, an' shoals O' gudgeon darted by, to hide Theirzelves in hollows by the zide. An' there by leanes a-winden deep Wer mossy banks a-risen steep ; 30 An' stwonen steps, so smooth an' wide, To stiles an' vootpaths at the zide ; An' there, so big's a little ground, The gearden wer a-wall'd all round : An' up upon the wall wer bars A-sheaped all out in wheels an' stars, Vor vo'k to walk an' look out drough Vrom trees o' green to hills o' blue. An' there wer walks o' peiivement, broad Enough to meake a carriage-road, 40 Where steately leadies woonce did use To walk wi' hoops an' high-heel shoes. When yonder hollow woak wer sound, Avore the walls wer ivy-bound, Avore the elems met above The road between em, where they drove Their coach all up or down the road A-comen hwome or gwain abroad. The zummer air o' thease green hill 'V a-heav'd in bosoms now all still, 50 An' all their hopes an' all their tears Be unknown things ov other years. 33 ground] field. 48 gwain] going. 49 thease] this. 50 'V a-heav'd] has heaved. 127 A FATHER OUT, AN MOTHER HWOME The snow-white clouds did float on liigh In shoals avore the sheenen sky, An"" runnen weaves in pon' did chease Each other on the water's i'eiice, As hufflen win' did blow between The new-leav'd bouuhs o' sheenen green. An' there, the while I walked along The path, drough leaze, above the droiig, A little maid, wi' bloomen feace, Went on up hill wi' nimble peiice, 10 A-leanen to the right-han' zide, To car a basket that did ride A-hangen down, wi' all his heft. Upon her elbow at her left. An' yet she hardly seem'd to bruise The grass-bleades wi' her tiny shoes, That pass'd each other, left an' right, In steps a'most too quick vor ziglit. But she'd a-left her mother's door A-bearen vrom her little store 20 Her father's welcome bit o' food, Vor he wer out at work in wood ; An' she wer bless'd wi' mwore than zome— A father out, an' mother hwome. 5 hufflen win'] gusty wind. ■•» 8 drough leaze] through the pasture, drongl lane. 13 his heft] its weight. 128 A FATHER OUT An' there, a-velPd 'ithin the copse, Below the timber's new-leav'd tops, Wer ashen poles, a casten straight On priinrwose beds their langthy waight; Below the yollow light a-shed Drough boughs upon the vi'let's head 30 By climen ivy, that did reach A-sheenen roun' the dead-leav'd beech. An' there her father zot, an' meade His hwomely meal bezide a gleade ; While she, a-croopen down to ground. Did pull the flowers, where she vound The droopen vi'let out in blooth. Or yollow primrwose in the lewth, That she mid car em proudly back, An' zet em on her mother's tack ; 40 Vor she wer bless'd with mwore than zome — A father out, an' mother hwome. A father out, an' mother hwome, Be blessens soon a-lost by zome ; A-lost by me ! — an' zoo I pray'd They mid be spear'd the little maid. 35 a-croopen] squatting. 37 blooth] bloom. 38 leMlh] shelter. 39 mid car] might carry. 40 tack] shelf, 46 spear'd] spared. 129 CHILDHOOD Aye, at that time our days wer but vew, An"" our lim"'s wer but small, an' a-growen ; An' then the feair worold wer new, An' life wer all hopevul an' gay ; An' the times o' the sprouten o' leaves. An' the cheak-burnen seasons o' mowen, An' binden o' red-headed sheaves, Wer all welcome seasons o' jay. Then the housen seem'd high that be low. An' the brook did seem wide that is narrow, lo An' time, that do vlee, did goo slow, An' veelens now feeble wer strong. An' our worold did end wi' the neames Ov the Sha'sbury Hill or Bulbarrow ; An' life did seem only the geames That we play'd as the days rolled along! THE STWONEN BWOY UPON THE PIEEAR Wi' smokeless tuns an' empty halls, An' moss a-elingen to the walls. In ev'ry wind the lofty tow'rs Do teake the zun, an' bear the show'rs : An' there, 'ithin a geat a-hung. But vasten'd up, an' never swung, 1 tuns] chimneys. 4 teake] catch. 5 geat] gate. BARNES K 130 THE STWONEN BWOY Upon the pillar, all alwone, Do stan' the little bwoy o' stwone, 'S a poppy bud mid linger on, Vorseaken, when the wheat's a-gone. lo An' there, then, wi' his bow let slack, An' little quiver at his back, Drough het an' wet, the little chile Vrom day to day do stan' an' smile When vu'st the light, a-risen weak. At break o' day, do smite his cheiik, Or while, at noon, the leafy bough Do cast a sheade athirt his brow; Or when at night the warm-breath'd cows Do sleep by moon-belighted boughs. 20 An' there the while the rooks do bring Their scrofF to build their nest in spring. Or zwallows in the zummer day Do cling their little huts o' clay 'Ithin the rainless sheades, below The steadvast arches' mossy bow ; Or when, in Fall, the weak do shed The leaves, a-wither d, vrom his head, An' western win's, a-blowen cool. Do dreve em out athirt the pool, 30 Or Winter's clouds do gather dark An' wet, wi' rain, the elem's bark. You'll zee his pretty smile betwixt His little sheiide-mark'd lips a-fix'd; Droiigh het] through heat. 18 athirt] athwart. 22 scrofF light fragments of wood-refuse. THE STWONEN BWOY 131 As there his little sheape do bide Drough day an' night, an"" time an' tide, An' never change his size or dress, Nor overgrow his prettiness. But, oh ! thik child, that we do vind In childhood still, do call to mind 40 A little bwoy a-call'd by death. Long years agoo, vrom our sad he'th ; An' I, in thought, can zee en dim The seame in feace, the seame in lim'. My heiiir mid whiten as the snow, My limbs grow weak, my step wear slow. My droopen head mid slowly vail Above the han'-staft''s glossy ball. An' yeet, vor all a wid'nen span Ov years mid change a liven man, 50 My little child do still appear To me wi' all his childhood's gear; 'Ithout a beard upon his chin, 'Ithout a wrinkle in his skin, A-liven on, a child the seame In look, an' sheape, an' size, an' neiime. 3f) thlk] that. 42 he'th] hearth. 49 An' yeet, vor allj And yet, although. k2 132 THE WOLD VO'k DEAD My days, wi' wold voMc all but gone, An' childcrn now a-conien on, Do bring nie still my mother's smiles In light that now do show my chile's; An' I've a-shear'd the wold vo'ks' me'th, Avore the burnen Chris'mas he'th, At friendly bwoards, where feace by feace, Did, year by year, gi'e up its pleace, An' leave me here, behind, to tread The ground a- trod by wold vo'k dead. lo But wold things be a-lost vor new. An' zome do come, while zome do goo : As wither'd beech-tree leaves do cling Among the nesh young buds o' spring ; An' fretten worms ha' slowly wound, Droo beams the wold vo'k lifted sound, An' trees they planted little slips Ha' stems that noo two earms can clips ; An' grey an' yollow moss do spread On buildens new to wold vo'k dead. 20 The backs of all our zilv'ry hills. The l)rook that still do dreve our mills, The roads a-climen up the brows O' knaps, a-screen'd by meaple boughs, 5 a-shear'd] shared. me'th] mirth. 6 he'th] hearth. 14 nesh] tender. 16 Droo] Through. 18 clips] clasp, gl knaps] hillocks. THE WOLD VO^K DEAD 133 Wer all a-markVl in sheade an"* light Avore our wolder fathers' zight, In zunny days, a-gied their hands For happy work, a-tillen lands That now do yield their childern bread Till they do rest wi' wold vo'k dead. 30 But liven vo'k a-grieven on, Wi' Iwonesome love, vor souls a-gone, Do zee their goodness, but do vind All else a-stealen out o"* mind ; As air do nieake the vurthest land Look feairer than the vield at hand. An' zoo, as time do slowly pass, So still's a sheade upon the grass, Its wid'nen speiice do slowly shed A glory roun' the wold vo'k dead. 40 CULVER DELL AND THE SQUIRE There's noo pleace I do like so well, As Elem Knap in Culver Dell, \Vhere timber trees, wi' lofty shouds. Did rise avore the western clouds ; An' stan' agean, wi' veathery tops, A-swayen up in North-Hill Copse. An' on the east the mornen broke Above a dewy grove o' woak ; 26 wolder fathers'] forefathers'. 3 shouds] boughs. 5 stan' agean] also stand. 13 i CULVER DELL AND THE SQUIRE An' noontide shed its burnen light On ashes on the southern height ; 10 An' I could vind zome teales to tell, O' former days in Culver Dell. An' all the vo'k did love so well The good wold squire o' Culver Dell, That used to ramble drough the sheades O' timber, or the burnen gleades, An' come at evenen up the leaze Wi' red-ear'd dogs bezide his knees ; An' hold his gun, a-hangen drough His ejirmpit, out above his tooe, 20 Wi' kindly words upon his tongue Vor vo'k that met en, wold an' young; Vor he did know the poor so well 'S the richest vo'k in Culver Dell. An' while the woiik, wi' spreaden head, Did sheade the foxes' verny bed ; An' runnen heares, in zunny gleades. Did beiit the grasses' quiv'ren' bleiides; An' speckled pa'tridges took flight In stubble vields a-feiiden white; 30 Or he could zee the pheasant strut In sheady woods, wi' painted cwoat ; Or long-tongued dogs did love to run Among the leaves, bezide his gun ; 17 leaze] pasture. 1!) drough] through, 20 tooe] toe. 26 verny] ferny. 30 a-feiiden] fading. CULVER DELL AND THE SQUIRE 135 We didden want vor call to dwell At hwome in peace in Culver Dell. But now I hope his kindly feiice Is gone to vind a better pleiice ; But still, wi' vo'k a-left behind He'll always be a-kept in mind, 40 V^or all his springy-vooted hounds Ha' done o' trotten round his grounds, An' we have all a-left the spot, To teJike, a-scatter'd, each his lot ; An' even Father, lik' the rest. Ha' left our long vorseaken nest ; An' we should vind it sad to dwell Agean at hwome in Culver Dell. The airy mornens still mid smite Our windows wi' their rwosy light, 50 An' high-zunn'd noons mid dry the dew On growen groun' below our shoe ; The blushen evenen still mid dye Wi' viry red the western sky ; The zunny spring-time's quicknen power Mid come to open leaf an' flower ; An' days an' tides mid bring us on Woone pleasure when another 's gone. But we must bid a long farewell To days an' tides in Culver Dell. 6() 35 didden want vor call] did not require a reason. 49 mid] may. 57 tides] anniversaries. 136 OUR BETHPLACE How dear 's the door a latch do shut, An' gearden that a hatch do shut, Where vu"'st our bloomen cheaks ha' prest The pillor ov our childhood's rest; Or where, wi' little tooes, we wore The paths our fathers trod avore ; Or clim'd the timber's bark aloft, Below the zingen lark aloft, The while we heard the echo sound Drough all the ringen valley round. 10 A Iwonesome grove o' woak did rise To screen our house, where smoke did rise A-twisten blue, while yeet the zun Did langthen on our childhood's fun ; An' there, wi' all the sheapes an' sounds 0' life, among the timber'd grounds. The birds upon their boughs did zing. An' milkmaids by their cows did zing, Wi' merry sounds that softly died A-ringen down the valley zide. 20 By river banks wi' reeds a-bound. An' sheenen pools wi' weeds a-bound. The long-neck'd gander's ruddy bill To snow-white geese did cackle sh'ill ; 2 hatch] Httle gate. OUR BETHPLACE 137 An' strideii peewits heasten'd by, O"" tiptooe wi"" their screamen cry ; An' stalk en cows a-lowen loud, An' strutten cocks a-crowen loud, Did rouse the echoes up to mock Their mingled sounds by hill an' rock. 30 The stars that clim'd our skies all dark, Above our sleepen eyes all dark, An' zuns a-rollen round to bring The seasons on vrom spring to spring. Ha' vied, wi' never-resten flight, Drough green-bough'd day, an' dark-tree'd night; Till now our childhood's pleaces there Be gay wi' other feaces there. An' we ourselves do vollow on Our own vorelivers dead an' gone. 40 MILKJ^N TIME 'Twer when the busy birds did vlee, Wi' sheenen wings, vrom tree to tx'ee, To build upon the mossy lim' Their hollow nestes' rounded rim ; The while the zun, a-zinken low, Did roll alona; his evenen bow, I come along where wide-horn'd cows, 'I thin a nook a-screen'd by boughs, 40 vorelivers] forefathers. 138 MILKEN TIME Did stan"* an"' flip the white-hoopVl pails Wi' heiiiry tufts o' swingen tails ; 10 An' there wer Jenny Coom a-gone Along the path a vew steps on, A-beiiren on her head, upstraight. Her pail, wi' slowly-riden waight, An' hoops a-sheenen, lily-white, Agean the evenen's slanten light; An' zo I took her pail, an' left Her neck a-free'd vrom all its heft ; An' she a-looken up an' down, Wi' sheaply head an' glossy crown, 20 Then took my zide, an' kept my peace A-talken on wi' smilen feace, An' zetten things in sich a light, I'd fain ha' heard her talk all night ; An' when I brought her milk avore The geJite, she took it in to door, An' if her pail had but allow'd Her head to vail, she would ha' bow'd. An' still, as 'twer, I had the zight Ov her sweet smile throughout the night. 30 14 waight] weight. 18 its heft] its burden. 21 peace] pace. 139 WAYFEAREN The sky wcr clear, the zunsheen glow'd On droopen flowers drough the day, As I did befit the dowsty road Vrom hinder hills, a-feaden gray ; Drough hollows up the hills, Vrom knaps along by mills, Vrom mills by churches'" towVs, wi' bells That twold the hours to Avoody dells. An' when the winden road do guide The thirsty vootman where mid flow lo The water vrom a rock bezide His vootsteps, in a sheenen bow ; The hand a-hollow'd up Do beiit a goolden cup To catch an' drink it, bright an' cool, A-vallen light 'ithin the pool. Zoo when, at last, I hung my head Wi' thirsty lips a-burnen dry, I come bezide a river-bed Where water flow'd so blue 's the sky ; 20 An' there I meiide me up O' coltsvoot leaf a cup. Where water from his lip o' gray Wer sweet to sip thik burnen day. 4 hinder hills] hills behind. 6 knaps] elevations. 10 mid] may. 14 beiit] excels. 16 A-vallen light] falling lightly. 23 his lip o' gray] its gray edge. 140 WAYFEAREN An' while I zot in sweet delay Below an elem on a hill, Where boughs a-halfway up did sway In sheades o' lim's above em still, An' blue sky show'd between The flutfren leaves o' green ; 30 I woulden gi'e that gloom an' sheade Vor any room that wealth ha' meade. A PLEACE IN ZIGHT As I at work do look aroun' Upon the groun' I have in view, To yonder hills that still do rise Avore the skies, wi' backs o' blue ; 'Ithin the ridges that do vail An' rise roun' Blackmwore lik' a wall, 'Tis yonder knap do teake my zight Vrom dawn till niijht the mwost ov all. An' there I now can dimly zee The elem-tree upon the mound, 10 An' there meake out the high-bougl."d grove An' narrow drove by RedclifF ground ; An' there by trees a-risen tall, The glowen zunlight now do vail, Wi' shortest sheades o' middle day, Upon the gray wold house's wall. 28 sheades o' lira's] shadows of branches. 2 groun'] field. 7 knap] hillock. 12 drove] hedged trackway, ground] field. A PLEACE IN ZIGHT 141 An' I can zee avoie the sky A-risen high the churches speer, Wr bells that I do goo to swing, An' like to ring, an' like to hear; 20 An' if Tve luck upon my zicle, They bells shall sound bwoth loud an' wide, A peal above they slopes o' gray, Zome merry day wi' Jeane a bride. THE BWOAT Where cows did slowly seek the brink O' Stour^ drough zunburnt grass, to drink ; Wi' vishen float, that there did zink An' rise, I zot as in a dream. The dazzlen zun did cast his light On hedge-row blossom, snowy white. Though 'nothen yet did come in zight A-stirren on the strayen stream ; Till, out by sheiidy rocks thei'e show'd A bwoat along his foamy road, 10 Wi' thik feair maid at mill, a-row'd Wi' Jeane behind her brother's oars. An' steately as a queen o' vo'k, She zot wi' floaten scarlet cloak, An' comen on, at ev'ry stroke, Between my withy-sheaded shores. 18 speer] spire, sometimes tower. 3 vishen] fishing. 11 thik] that. 13 queen o' vo'k] queen of a people. 142 THE BWOAT The broken stream did idly try To show her sheape a-riden by, The rushes' brown-bloom'd stems did ply, As if they bow'd to her by will. 20 The rings o' water, wi' a sock, Did break upon the mossy rock, An"" gi'e my beaten heart a shock, Above my float's up-leapen quill. Then, like a cloud below the skies, A-drifted off, wi' less'nen size. An' lost, she floated vrom my eyes. Where, down below, the stream did wind ; An' left the quiet weaves woonce mwore To zink to rest, a sky-blue'd vloor, 30 Wi' all so still's the clote they bore. Aye, all but my own ruffled min;!. THE PI.EACE OUR OWN AGEAN Well ! thanks to you, my faithful Jeiine, So worksome wi' your head an' hand. We seaved enough to get agean My poor forefathers' plot o' land. 'Twer folly lost, an' cunnen got, What should ha' come to me by lot. But let that goo ; 'tis well the land Is come to hand, by be'th or not. 19 ply] bend. 21 sock] sob-like sound. 31 dote] water- lily. 8 be'th] birth. THE PLEACE OUR OWN AGE AN 143 An' there the brook, a-winden round The parrick zide, do run below 10 The grey-stwon'd bridge wi' gurglen sound, A-slieaded by the arches' bow ; Where former days the wold brown meare, Wi' father on her back, did wear AVi' heavy shoes the grav'ly leiine, An' sheake her meane o' yollor heair. An' many zummers there ha' glow'd. To shrink the brook in bubblen shoals. An' warm the doust upon the road Below the trav'ller s burnen zoles. 20 An' zome ha' zent us to our bed In grief, an' zome in jay ha' vied ; But vew ha' come wi' happier light Than what 's now bright above our head. THE HEDGER Upon the hedge theiise bank did bear, Wi' Iwonesome thought untwold in words. I woonce did work, wi' no sound there But my own strokes an' chirpen birds; As down the west the zun went wan. An' days brought on our Zunday's rest, When sounds o' cheemen bells did vill The air, an' hook an' axe wer still. 10 parrick] paddock. 8 hook] bill-hook. 144 THE HEDGER Along the wold town-path vo'k went, An' met unknown, or friend wi' friend, 10 The maid her busy mother zent, The mother wi' noo maid to zend ; An' in the light the gleazier's glass. As he did pass, wer dazzlen bright. Or woone went by wi' down-cast head, A- wrapped in blackness vor the dead. An' then the bank, wi' risen back, That's now a-inost a-trodden down, Bore thorns wi' rind o' sheeny black, An' meaple stems o' ribby brown ; 20 An' in the lewth o' thease tree heads, Wer primrwose beds a-sprung in blooth, An' here a geate, a-slammen to, Did let the slow-wheel'd plough roll droo. Ov all that then went by, but vew Be now a-left behind, to beat The mornen flow'rs or evenen dew, Or slam the woaken vive-bar'd geiite ; But woone, my wife, so litty-stepp'd, That have a-kept my path o' life, 30 Wi' her vew errands on the road. Where vvoonce she bore a mother's Iwoad. 21 lewth] shelter. 22 blooth] bloom. 24 plough] wagon. 29 litty-stcpp'd] light-footed. 145 THE FLOOD IN SPRING Last night below the elem in the lew Bright the sky did gleam On water blue, while air did softly blow On the flowen stream, An' there wer gircups' buds untwold, An' deaisies that begun to vwold Their low-stem m'd blossoms vrom my zight Agean the night, an' evenen's cwold. But, oh ! so cwold below the darksome cloud Soon the night-wind roar'd, IC Wi' rainy storms that zent the zwollen streams Over ev'ry vword. The while the drippen tow'r did tell The hour, wi' stonn-be-smother'd bell. An' over ev'ry flower's bud Roll'd on the flood, 'ithin the dell. But when the zun arose, an' lik' a rwose Shone the mornen sky. An' roun' the woak, the wind a-blowen weak Softly whiver'd by, 20 Though drown'd wer still the deaisy bed Below the flood, its feace instead O' flow'ry groun', below our shoes Show'd feiiirest views o' skies o'er head. 1 lew] shelter. 5 gil'cups'] buttercups'. G vwold] fold. 12 v^vord] ford. 20 whiver'd] quivered. BABNES I, 146 COMi:N HW03IE As clouds did ride wV heasty flight, An' woods did sway upon the height, An' bleades o' grass did sheake, below The hedge-row bramble's swingen h&w, I come back hwome where winds did zwell. In whirls along the woody gleades, On primrose beds, in windy sheades, To Burnley's dark-tree'd dell. There hills do screen the timber's bough. The trees do screen the leaze's brow, 10 The timber-sheiided leaze do bear A beaten path that we do wear : The path do stripe the leaze's zide To willows at the river's edge, Where hufflen winds did sheake the zedge. An' sparklen weaves did glide. An' where the river, bend by bend. Do drain our mead, an' mark its end. The hangen leaze do teake our cows. An' trees do sheiide em wi' their boughs ;• 20 An' I the quicker ])eat the road. To zee a-comen into view, Still greener vrom the sky-line's blue, Wold Burnley our abode. 10 leaze's] pasture's. 15 hufflen] gusty. 19 hangen] sloping. teake] hold. 21 beat] paced. 24 Wold] Old. 147 THE IIWOSE IN THE DARK In ziimmer, leate at evenen tide, I zot to spend a moonless hour 'Ithin the window, wi' the zide A-bound wi' rwoses out in flowV, Bezide the bow'r, vorsook o"" birds, An' listened to my true-love's words. A-risen to her comely height. She push'd the swingen ceasement round ; And I could hear, beyond my zight, The win'-blown beech-tree softly sound, lo On higher ground, a-swayen slow On drough my happy hour below. An' tho' the darkness then did hide The dewy rwose's blushen bloom, He still did cast sweet air inside To Jeane, a-chatten in the room ; An' though the gloom did hide her feiice, Her words did bind me to the pleace. An' there, while she, wi' runnen tongue, Did talk unzeen 'ithin the hall, I thought her like the rwose that flung His sweetness vrom his darken'd ball 'Ithout tlie wall; an' sweet's the zisrht Ov her bright feiice, by mornen light. T 9. 20 148 THE NEW HOUSE A-GETTi:N WOLD Ah ! when our wedded life begun, Thease clean-wall'd house of ours wer new ; Wr thatch as yollor as the zun Avore the cloudless sky o' blue : The sky o' blue that then did bound The blue-hill'd worold's flowVy gi-ound. An' we've a-vound it weather- brown'd, As spring-tide blossoms open'd white, Or Fall did shed, on zunburnt ground, Red apples vrom their leafy height: 10 Their leafy height, that winter soon Left leafless to the cool-feaced moon. An' rain-bred moss ha' stain'd wi' green The smooth-feiiced wall's white-morter'd streaks, The while our childern zot between Our seats avore the fleiime's red peaks: The fleiime's red peaks, till axan white Did quench em vor the long-sleep'd night. The bloom that woonce did overspread Your rounded cheiik, as time went by, 20 A-shrinken to a patch o' red, Did feiide so soft 's the evenen sky : The evenen sky, my faithful wife, O' days as feair's our happy life. 2 Thease] This. 9 Fall] Autumn, 16 peaks] points. 17 axan] ashes. 24 feair's] fair as. 149 ZUMMER STREAJI Ah ! then the grassy-meaded May Did warm the passen year, an"" gleam Upon the yollow-grounded stream, That still by beech-tree sheiides do stray. The light o"" weaves, a-runnen there, Did play on leaves up over head, An"* vishes scealy zides did gleare, A-darten on the shallow bed, An' like the stream a-sliden on, My zun out-measur"'d time 's agone. li) There by the path, in grass knee-high, Wer buttervlees in giddy flight, All white above the deiisies white. Or blue below the deep blue sky. Then glowen warm wer evVy brow, O"* maid, or man, in zummer het. An' warm did glow the cheiiks I met That time, noo mwore to meet em now. As brooks, a-sliden on their bed, My season-measur'd time's a- vied. 20 Vrom yonder window, in the thatch, Did sound the maidens' merry words. As I did stand, by zingen birds, Bezide the elem-sheaded hatch, 24 hatch] gate. 150 ZUMMER STREAM Tis good to come back to the pleace, Back to the time, to goo noo mwore ; 'Tis good to meet the younger feiice A-menten others here avore. As streams do glide by green mead grass, My zummer-brighten'd years do pass. 30 THE CHILD AN THE MOWERS O, AYE ! they had woone chile bezide. An' a finer your eyes never met, 'Twer a dear little fellow that died In the zummer that come wi"" such het; By the mowers, too thoughtless in fun. He wer then a-zent off vrom our eyes, Vrom the light ov the dew-dryen zun, — Aye ! vrom days under blue-hollow\i skies. He went out to the mowers in mead. When the zun wer a-rwose to his height, 10 An' the men wer a-swingen the snead, Wi' their earms in white sleeves, left an"* right ; An"" out there, as they rested at noon, O ! they drench'd en wi' eale-horns too deep. Till his thoughts wer a-drown^d in a swoon : Aye ! his life wer a-smother'd in sleep. 28 A-menten] resembling. 11 snead] scythe-handle. H eale-horns] ale-horns. THE CHILD AN' THE MOWERS 151 Then they laid en there-right on the ground, On a grass-heap, a-zweltren wi"* het, Wi' his heiiir all a-wetted around His young feace, wi' the big drops o"" zweat ; 20 In his little left palm he'd a-zet, Wi' his right hand, his vore-vinger's tip, As for zome^hat he woulden vorget, — Aye ! zome thought that he woulden let slip. Then they took en in hwome to his bed, An"* he rwose vrom his pillow noo mwore Vor the curls on his sleek little head To be blown by the wind out o' door. Vor he died while the hay russled grey On the staddle so leately begun : 30 Lik"" the niown-grass a-dried by the day, — Aye! the zwath-flow'r 's a-killM by the zun. THE LOVE-CHILD Where the bridge out at Woodley did stride, Wi' his wide arches' cool-sheaded bow, Up above the clear brook that did slide By the popples, befoam'd white as snow; As the giPcups did quiver among The white deasies, a-spread in a sheet. There a quick-trippen maid come along, — Aye, a girl wi' her light- steppen veet. 17 there-right] where they were. 25 en in hwome] him indoors. 30 staddle] rick-stand. 32 zwath] swath. 4 popples] pebbles. 5 gilcups] buttercups. 152 THE LOVE-CHILD An' she cried 'I do pray, is the road Out to Lincham on here, by the mead?' lo An' ' oh ! yes,' I meade answer, an' show'd Her the way it would turn an' would Iciid : ' Goo along by the beech in the nook, Where the childern do play in the cool. To the steppen-stwones over the brook, — Aye, the grey blocks o' rock at the pool.' 'Then you don't seem a-born an' a-bred,' I spoke up, ' at a pleace here about ; ' An' she answer'd, wi' cheaks up as red As a piny but leate a-come out, 20 'No, I liv'd wi' my uncle that died Back in Eapril, an' now I'm a-come Here to Ham, to my mother, to bide, — Aye, to her house to vind a new hwonie.' I'm asheam'd that I wanted to know Any mwore of her childhood or life. But then, why should so feair a child grow Where noo father did bide wi' his wife; Then wi' blushes o' zunrisen morn. She replied, 'that it midden be known, 30 Oh ! they zent me away to be born, — ^ Aye, they hid me when zome would be shown.' ^ Words once spoken to the writer. 20 piny] peony. leate a-come out] just in bloom. 30 midden] might not. THE LOVE-CHILD 153 Oh ! it meade me almost teary-ey'd, An' I vound I a'most could ha' groaii'd — What ! so winiien, an' still cast a-zide — What ! so lovely, an' not to be own'd ; Oh ! a God-gift a-treated wi' scorn, Oh ! a child that a Squier should own ; An' to zend her away to be born !— Aye, to hide her where others be shown ! 40 TO ME At night, as drough the mead I took my way, Li air a-sweeten'd by the new-meade hay, A stream a-vallen down a rock did sound. Though out o' zight wer foam an' stwone to me. Behind the knap, above the gloomy copse, The wind did russle in the trees' high tops, Though evenen darkness, an' the risen hill. Kept all the quiv'ren leaves unshown to me. Within the copse, below the zunless sky, I heard a nightungeale, a-warblen high 10 Her Iwoansome zong, a-hidden vrom my zight. An' showen nothen but her mwoan to me. An' by a house, where rwoses hung avore The thatch-brow'd window, an' the open door, I heard the merry words, an' hearty laugh, O' zome feair maid, as eet unknown to me. 6 knap] rising ground. 16 eet] yet. 154 TO ME High over head the white-rimm'd clouds went on, Wi' woone a-comen up, vor woone a-gone ; An" feair they floated in their sky-back\l flight, But still they never meiide a sound to me. 20 An' there the miller, down the stream did float Wi"" all his childern, in his white-saiTd bwoat, Vur off, beyond the stragglen cows in mead. But zent noo vaice athirt the ground to me. An' then a buttervlee, in zultry light, A-wheelen on about me, vier-bright, Did show the gayest colors to my eye, But still did bring noo vaice around to me. I met the merry laugher on the down. Beside her mother, on the path to town, 30 An' oh ! her sheape wer comely to the zight, But wordless then wer she a-vound to me. Zoo, sweet ov unzeen things mid be the sound. An' feair to zight mid soundless things be vound. But I've the laugh to heai", an' feace to zee, Vor they be now my own, a-bound to me. gl athirt the ground] across the field. 33 mid] may. 155 TOKENS Gkeen mwold on zunimer bars do show That they^'e a-dripp\l in winter wet ; The hoof-worn ring o' groun' below The tree, do tell o' storms or het ; The trees in rank along a ledge Do show where woonce did bloom a hedge ; An' where the vurrow-marks do stripe The down, the wheat woonce rustled ripe. Each mark ov things a-gone vrom view — To eyezight's woone, to soulzight two. lo The grass ageiin the mwoldren door 'S a token sad o'' vo'k a-gone, An"* where the house, bwoth wall an' vloor, 'S a-lost, the well mid linger on. What tokens, then, could Meiiry gi'e That she'd a-liv'd, an' liv'd vor me, But things a-done vor thought an' vieAv ? Good things that nwone agean can do, An' every work her love ha' wrought To eyezight's woone, but two to thought. 20 1 niwold] mould. bars] rails of a stile. H 'S a-lost] is missed. 156 TWEIL The rick ov our last zummer''s haulcn Now vrom grey ""s a-feaded dark, An' off the barken raiPs a-vallen, Day by day, the rotten bark. — But short's the time our works do stand, As feair's we put em out ov hand. Vor time a-passen, wet an' dry. Do spweil em wi' his changen sky, The while wi' striven hope, we men, Though a-ruen time's undoen, 10 Still do tweil an' tweil agean. In wall-zide sheades, by leafy bowers, Underneath the sway en tree, O' leate, as round the bloomen flowers. Lowly humm'd the giddy bee. My childern's small left voot did smite Their tiny speade, the while the right Did trample on a deaisy head, Bezide the flower's dousty bed, An' though their work wer idle then, 20 They a-smilen, an' a-tweilen, Still did work an' work ageiin. Now their little limbs be stronger. Deeper now their vaice do sound ; An' their little veet be longer, An' do tread on other ground; 2 's a-feaded] has faded. 3 barken] cow-yard. 8 spweil] spoil. 10 a-rufen] rueing. TWEIL 157 An' rust is on the little bleades Ov all the broken-hafted speades, An' flovv'rs that wer my hope an' pride Ha' long agoo a-bloom'd an' died ; 30 But still as I did leabor then Vor love of all them ehildern small, Zoo now I'll tweil an' tweil agean. EVENEN LIGHT The while I took my bit o' rest, Below my house's eastern sheade, The things that stood in vield an' gleade Wer bright in zunsheen vrom the west. There bright wer east- ward mound an' wall, An' bright wer trees, a-risen tall, An' bright did break 'ithin the brook, Down rocks, the water vail. There deep 'ithin my pworches bow Did hang my heavy woaken door, 10 An' in beyond en, on the vloor. The evenen dusk did gather slow ; But bright did gleare the twinklen spwokes O' runnen carriages, as vo'ks Out east did ride along the road, Bezide the low-bough'd woaks. 9 bow] arch. 13 spwokes] spokes. 158 EVENEN LIGHT An' rd a-lost the zun vrom view, Until ageiin his feace mid rise, A-sheenen vrom the eastern skies To brighten up the rwose-borne dew ; 20 But still his lingren light did gi'e My heart a touchen jay, to zee His beams a-shed, wi' stratchen sheade, On east-ward wall an' tree. nanny's new abode Now day by day, at lofty height, O' zummer noons, the burnen zun 'Ve a-shown avore our eastward zijrht The sky-blue zide ov Hambledon, An' shone ageiin, on new-mown ground, Wi' hay a-piled up grey in pook. An' down on leazes, bennet-brown'd. An' wheat a-vell avore the hook ; Till, under elems tall, The leaves do lie on leanen lands, 10 In leater light o' Fall. An' last year, we did zee the red O' dawn vrom Ash-knap's thatchen oves, An' walk on crumpled leaves a-laid In grassy Rook-trees' timber'd groves, 22 jay] joy. 3 'Ve a-shown avore] has shown up to. 6 in pook] in heaps. 7 leazes] pastures. bennet] bent. 8 a-vell] fallen, hook] sickle. 10 leanen] sloping. 1 1 leater] later. Fall] autumn. 13 oves] eaves. NANNY'S NEW ABODE 159 Now, here, the cooler days do shrink To vevver hours o** zunny sky, While zedge, a-weiiven by the brink O' shallow brooks, do slowly die. An' on the timber tall, 20 The boughs, half beare, do bend above The bulgen banks in Fall. FALL TIME The gathered clouds, a-hangen low, Do meake the woody ridge look dim ; An' rain-viird streams do brisker flow, A-risen higher to their brim. In the tree, vrom lim' to lim', Leaves do drop Vrom the top, all slowly down, Yollor, on the gloomy groun\ The rick's a-tipp'd an' weather-brown'd. An' thatch'd wi' zedge a-dried an' dead ; lo An' orcha'd apples, red half round. Have all a-happer'd down, a-shed Underneath the trees' wide head. Lathers long, Rong by rong, to dim' the tall Trees, be hung upon the wall. 12 a-happer'd down] fallen hopping. 160 FALL TIME The crumpled leaves be now a-shed In mornen winds a-blowen keen ; When they were green the moss wer dead, Now they be dead the moss is green. 20 Low the evenen zun do sheen By the boughs, Where the cows do swing their tails Over merry milkers' pails. WENT VROM HWOME The stream-be-wander'd dell did spread Vrom height to woody height, An' meads did lie, a grassy bed Vor elem-sheaden light. The milkmaid by her wide-horn'd cow, Wi' pail so white as snow. Did zing below the elem bough A-swayen to an"" fro. An' there the evenen's low-shot light Did smite the high tree-tops, 10 An' rabbits, vrom the grass, in fright, Did leap 'ithin the copse. An' there the shepherd wi' his crook, An' dog bezide his knee. Went whisslen by, in air that shook The ivy on the tree. WENT VROM IIWOME 161 An' on the hill, ahead, wer bars A-showen dark on high, Avore, as yeet, the evenen stars Did twinkle in the sky. 20 An' then the last sweet evenen tide That my long sheade veil there, I went down Brindon's thy my zide To my last sleep at Ware. THE BEATEN PATH The beaten path where vo'k do meet A-comen on vrom vur an' near; How many errands had the veet That wore en out alont; so clear ! Where eegrass bleades be green in mead. Where bennets up the leiize be brown, An' where the timber bridge do leiid Athirt the cloty brook to town. Along the path by mile an' mile, Athirt the vield, an' brook, an' stile. 10 There woone do goo to jay a-head; Another's jay's behind his back. There woone his vu'st long mile do tread. An' woone the last ov all his track. 17 bars] rails of a stile. 19 yeet] yet. 22 sheade veil] shadow fell. 5 eegrass] aftermath. 6 leaze] pasture. 8 cloty] water- lilied. 10 Athirt] across. 11 jay] joy. BARKES JI 162 THE BEATEN PATH An' woone mid end a hopevul road, Wr hopeless grief a-teaken on, As he that leiitely vrom abroad Come hwome to seek his love a-gone, Noo mwore to tread, wi' comely ease. The beaten path athirt the leaze. 20 Vor she wer gone vrom e'thly eyes To be a-kept in darksome sleep Until the good ageiin do rise A jay to souls they left to weep. The rwose wer doust that bound her brow; The moth did eat her Zunday ceape ; Her frock wer out o' fashion now ; Her shoes wer dried up out o'' sheiipe— The shoes that woonce did glitter black Along the leazes beaten track. 30 THE FATJ. The length o' days ageap do shrink An' flowers be thin in mead, among The eegrass a-sheenen bright, along Brook upon brook, an' brink by brink Noo starlens do rise in A'lock (m wing — Noo goocoo in nest-green leaves do sound — Noo swallows be now a-wheelen round — Dip after dip, an' swing by swing. 15 mid] raay. 18 Come] came. 26 ceape] cape. THE FALL 163 The wheat that did leately rustle thick Is now up in mows that still be new, lo An' yollow bevore the sky o' blue — Tip after tip, an' rick by rick. While now I can walk a dusty mile 111 teake me a day, while days be clear, To vind a vew friends that still be dear, Peace after feace, an' smile by smile. THE MORNING MOON 'TwAS when the op'ning dawn was still, I took my lonely road, up-hill. Towards the eastern sky, in gloom, Or touch'd with palest primrose bloom; And there the moon, at morning break. Though yet unset, was gleaming weak, And fresh'ning air began to pass All voiceless, over darksome grass, Before the sun Had yet begun 10 To dazzle down the morning moon. By Maycreech hillock lay the cows, Below the ash-trees' nodding; boughs. And water fell, from block to block Of mossy stone, down Burncleeve rock. By poplar-trees that stood as slim 'S a feather, by the stream's green brim ; M 2 164 THE MORNING MOON And down about the mill, that stood Half darkened off below the wood, The rambling brook, 20 From nook to nook, Flow'd on below the morning moon. At mother's house I made a stand, Where no one stirr'd with foot or hand ; No smoke above the chimney reek'd. No winch above the well-mouth creak'd ; No casement opened out, to catch The air below the eaves of thatch ; Nor down before her cleanly floor Had open'd back her heavy door; 30 And there the hatch, With fastened latch Stood close, below the morning moon. And she, dear soul, so good and ' kind, Had holden long, in my young mind, Of holy thoughts the highest place Of honour, for her love and grace. But now my wife, to heart and sight. May seem to shine a fuller light ; And as the sun may rise to view, 40 To dim the moon, from pale to blue, My comely Ijride May seem to hide IVIy mother, now my morning moon. 31 hatch] gate. Ill HUMOROUS ECLOGUE A BIT O' SLY COOllTEN John and Fanny JOHN Now, Fanny, 'tis too bad, you teazen maid ! How leiite you be a^come ! Where have ye stayd ? How long you have a-meiide me wait about ! I thought you werden gwain to come ageiin ; I had a mind to goo back hwome agean. This idden when you promised to come out. FANNY Now 'tidden any good to mciike a row, Upon my word, I cooden come till now. Vor Fve a-been kept in all day by mother. At work about woone little job an' fother. 10 If you do want to goo though, don't ye stay Vor me a minute longer, I do pray. 4 werden] were not. 6 idden] is not. 7 'tidden] it is not. 166 A BIT O' SLY COORTEN JOHN I thought ye mid be out wid Jemmy Bleiike. FANNY An' why be out wi' him, vor goodness' sciike? JOHN You walk'd o' Zunday evenen vvi'n, d'ye know, You went vrom church a-hitch'd up in his earm. FANNY Well, if I did, that werden any harm. Lauk ! that is zome'at to teake notice o\ JOHN He took ye roun' the middle at the stile, An' kiss'd ye twice i'thin the ha'f a mile. 20 FANNY Ees, at the stile, because I shoulden vail. He took me hold to help me down, that 's all ; An' I can't zee what very mighty harm He could ha' done a-lenden me his earm. An' as vor kissen o' me, if he did, I didden ax en to, nor zay he mid: An' if he kiss'd me dree times, or a dozen. What harm wer it ? Why idden he my cousin ? An' I can't zee, then, what there is amiss In Cousin Jem's jist gi'en me a kiss. 30 13 mid] might. 15 wi'n] with him. 21 Ees] yes, vail] fall. 26 didden] did not. A BIT O' SLY COORTEN 167 JOHN Well, he shan't kiss ye, then ; you shan't be kiss'd By his gre't ugly chops, a lanky houn' ! If I do zee'n, FU jist wring up my vist An' knock en down. ril squot his gre't pug-nose, if I don't miss en ; I'll warn I'll spweil his pretty lips vor kissen ! FANNY Well, John, I'm sure I little thought to vind That you had ever sich a jealous mind. What then ! I s'pose that I must be a dummy. An' mussen goo about nor wag my tongue 40 To any soul, if he 's a man, an' young ; Or else you'll work yourzelf up mad wi' passion, An' talk away o' gi'en vo'k a drashen. An' breaken bwones, an' beaten heads to pummy ! If you've a-got sich jealous ways about ye, I'm sure I should be better off' 'ithout ye. JOHN Well, if gre't Jemmy have a- won your heart, We'd better break the coortship off, an' peart. FANNY He won my heart ! There, John, don't talk sich stuff"; Don't talk noo mwore, vor you've a-zaid enough. 50 32 gre't] great. 33 zee'n] see him. 35 squot] flatten. 36 warn] warrant. spweil] spoil. 43 drashen] thrashing. 44 pummy] pomace. 168 A BIT O' SLY COORTEN If rd a-liked another niwore than you, Fm sure I shoulden come to meet ye zoo ; Vor I've a-twold to father many a story, An' took o' mother many a scwolden for ye. [weeping] But 'twull be over now, vor you shan't zee me Out wi' ye noo mwore, to pick a quarrel wi' me ! JOHN Well, Fanny, I woon't zay noo mwore, my dear. Let 's meake it up. Come, wipe off thik there tear. Let's goo an zit o' top o' thease here stile, An' rest, an' look about a little while. 60 FANNY Now goo away, you crabbed jealous chap ! You shan't kiss me, you shan't ! I'll gi' ye a slap. JOHN Then you look smilen ; don't you pout an' toss Your head so much, an' look so very cross. FANNY Now, John ! don't squeeze me roun' the middle zoo. I woon't stop here noo longei", if you do. Why, John ! be quiet, wull ye ? Fie upon it ! Now zee how you've a-rumpl'd up my bonnet ! Mother 'ill zee it after I'm at hwome, An' gi'e a guess directly how it come. 70 58 thik] that 59 thease] tliis. A BIT O' SLY C0011T£:x\ 169 JOHN Then don't you zay that I be jealous, Fanny. FANNY I wull : vor you he jealous, Mister Jahnny. There's zomebody a-comen down the groun' Towards the stile. Who is it ? Come, get down. I must run hwome, upon my word then, now ; If I do stay, they'll kick up sich a row. Good night. I can't stay now. JOHN Then good night, Fanny ! Come out a-bit to morrow evenen, can ye? ECLOGUE THE VEAIllIES Simon aii' Samel SIMON There's what the vo'k do call a vcairy ring Out there, lo'k zee. Why, 'tis an oddish thing. SAMEL Ah ! zoo do seem. I wonder how do come ! What is it that do meiike it, I do wonder ? 73 groim'] field. 3 zoo do seem] so it seems. 170 THE VEAIRIES SIMON Be hang'd if I can tell, I'm sure ! But zome Do zay do come by lightnen when do thunder. An' zome do zay sich rings as thik ring there is, Do grow in dancen-tracks o"* little veiiiries. That in the nights o' zummer or o' spring Do come by moonlight, when noo other veet 10 Do tread the dewy grass but their's, an' meet An' dance away together in a ring. SAMEL An' who d'ye think do work the fiddlestick ? A little veairy too, or else wold Nick ! SIMON Why, they do zay, that at the veiiiries' ball. There 's nar a fiddle that 's a heard at all ; But they do play upon a little pipe A-meiide o' kexes or o' straws, dead ripe A-stuck in row (zome short an' longer zome) Wi' slime o' snails, or bits o' plum-tree gum, 20 An' meake sich music that, to hear it sound. You'd stick so still's a pollard to the ground. SAMEL What do em dance? 'Tis plain, by thease green wheels, They don't frisk in an' out in dree-hand reels ; Vor else, instead o' thease here gre't round O, They'd cut us out a figure aight (8), d'ye know. 7 thik] that. 16 nar a] never a. 18 kexes] dry stalks. 25 thease here gre't] this great. THE VEAIRIES 171 SIMON Oh ! they ha' jigs to fit their little veet. They woulden dance, you know, at their fine ball, The dree an' vowV han' reels that we do sprawl An' kick about in, when we men do meet. 30 SAMEL An' zoo have zome vo'k, in their midnight rambles, A-catch'd the veairies, then, in theiisem gambols? SIMON Why, yes ; but they be off lik' any shot, So soon 's a man 's a-comen near the spot. SAMEL But in the day-time where do veairies hide ? Where be their hwomes, then ? where do veairies bide ? SIMON Oh ! they do get away down under ground, In hollow pleazen where they can't be vound. But still my gramfer, many years agoo, (He liv'd in Grenley farm, an' milk'd a deairy), 40 If what the wolder vo'k do tell is true, Woone mornen eiirly vound a veairy. SAMEL An' did he stop, then, wi' the good wold bwoy ? Or did he soon contrive to slip awoy ? 41 wolder] elder. 172 THE VEAIRIES SIMON Why, when the vo'k wer all asleep, a-bcd. The veairies us'd to come, as 'tis a-zaid, Avore the vire wer cwold, an"* dance an hour Or two at dead o"* night upon the vloor; Var they, by only utteren a word Or charm can come down chimney lik' a bird ; 50 Or draw their bodies out so long an' narrow. That they can vlee drough keyholes lik' an arrow. An' zoo woone midnight, when the moon did drow His light drough window, roun' the vloor below, An' crickets roun' the bricken he'th did zing. They come an' danced about the hall in ring ; An' tapp'd, drough little holes noo eyes could spy, A kag o' poor aunt's mead a-stannen by. . An' woone o'm drink'd so much, he coulden mind The -word he wer to zay to meiike en small ; 60 He got a-dather'd zoo, that after all Out t'others went an' left en back behind. An' after he'd a-beiit about his head Agejin the keyhole till he were half dead, He laid down all along upon the vloor Till gramfer, comen down, unlocked the door: An' then he zeed en ('twer enough to frighten en) Bolt out o' door, an' down the road lik' lightenen. 47 vire] fire. 49 Var] for. 53 zoo] so. drow] throw. 55 bricken he'th] brick hearth. 58 kag] keg. a-stannen] standing. 61 got a-dather'd] got so dazed. 63 a-beiit] beaten. 1713 WHAT DICK AN I DID Last week the Browns ax'd nearly all The naighbours to a randy, An"" left us out o't, gre't an' small. Vor all we liv'd so handy ; An' zoo I zaid to Dick, 'AVe'll trudge, When they be in their fun, min ; An' car up zome'hat to the rudge. An' jis' stop up the tun, min.' Zoo, wi' the ladder vrom the rick, We stole towards the house, 10 An' crope in roun' behind en, lik' A cat upon a mouse. Then looken roun', Dick whisper'd ' How Is thcase job to be done, min: Why we do want a faggot now, Vor stoppen up the tun, min.' 'Stan' still,' I answer'd; 'I'll teiike ceiire O' that : why dussun zee The little grinden-stwone out there, Below the apple-tree ? ' 20 Put up the ladder; in a crack Shalt zee that I wull run, min. An' teake en up upon my back. An' soon stop up the tun, min.' 2 randy] party. 4 Vor all] although, handy] near. 6 min] you know. 7 car] carry, rudge] ridge. 8 jis'] just, tun] chimney. 11 crope] crept. 18 dussun zee] dost not see. 174 WHAT DICK AN' I DID Zoo up I clomb upon the thatch, An clapp'd en on ; an"" slided Right down agean, an' ran drough hatch, Behind the hedge, an' hided. The vier that wer clear avore, Begun to spweil their fun, min ; 30 The smoke all rollVl toward the door, For rd a stopp'd the tun, min. The maidens cough'd or stopped their breath, The men did hauk an' spet ; The wold vo'k bundled out from he'th Wi' eyes a runnen wet. ' T'ool choke us all, ' the wold man cried, ' Whatever 's to be done, min ? Why zome'hat is a-vell inside O' chimney drough the tun, min.' iO Then out they scamper'd all, vull run. An' out cried Tom, ' I think The grinden-stwone is up on tun, Vor I can zee the wink. This is some kindness that the vo'k At Woodley have a-done, min ; I wish I had em here, I'd poke Their numskulls down the tun, min.' 27 drough hatch] through the gate. 35 he'th] hearth. 37 T'ool] it will. 41 vull run] full speed. 43 grinden- stwone] grindstone. 44 wink] winch. WHAT DICK AN' I DID 175 Then off he zet, an"' come so quick 'S -a lamplighter, an' brote 50 The little ladder in vrom rick, To clear the chimney's droat. An' when, at last, wi' much adoo, He thought the job a-done, min. His gre't sharp knees broke right in drough The thatch below the tun, min. THE SETTLE AN THE GEE T WOOD VIRE Ah ! naighbour John, since I an' you ^Ver youngsters ev'ry thing is new. My father's vires were all o' logs O' cleft-wood, down upon the dogs Below our clavy, high an' brode Enough to teiike a cart an' Iwoad, Whore big an' little all zot down At bwoth zides an' bevore, all roun'. An' when I zot among em, I Could see all up ageiin the sky 10 Drough chimney, where our vo'k did hitch The zalt-box an' the beacon-vlitch, An' watch the smoke on out o' vier. All up an' out o' tun, an' higher. An' there wer beacon up on rack. An' pleiites an' dishes on the tack ; 50 brote] brought. 52 droat] throat. 4 cleft-wood] cloven blocks. 5 clavy] mantel. U tun] chimney-top. 15 beacon] bacon. 16 tack] shelf. 176 THE SETTLE AN' GRE'T WOOD VIRE An' roun' the walls wer heiirbs a-stowed In peapern bags, an' blathers blowed. An' just above the clavy-bwoard Wer father's spurs, an' gun, an' sword ; 20 An' there wer then, our gre'test pride, The settle by the vier zide. Ah ! gi'e me, if I wer a squier, The settle an' the gre't wood vier. But they've a-wall'd up now wi' bricks The vier pleace vor dogs an' sticks. An' only left a little hole To teake a little greiite o' coal, So small that only twos or drees Can jist push in an' warm their knees. 30 An' then the carpets they do use Ben't fit to tread wi' ouer shoes ; An' chairs an' couches be so neat You mussen teiike em vor a seat : They be so fine, that vo'k mus' pleiice All over em an outer cease, An' then the cover, when 'tis on, Is still too fine to loll upon. Ah ! gi'e me if I wer a squier. The settle an' the gre't wood vier. 40 18 peapern] paper, blathers] bladders. 19 clavy-bwoard] mantelshelf. 21 gre'test] greatest, 32 ouer] our. 3(i cease] covering. 177 A WITCH She did, woone time, a dreadvul deiil 0' harm To Farmer GrufTs vo^k, down at Lower Farm. Vor there, woone day, they happened to offend her, An' not a little to their sorrow, Because they woulden gi'e or lend her Zome 'hat she come to bag or borrow ; An' zoo, d'ye know, they soon begun to vind That she'd a-left her evil wish behind. She soon bewitch'd em, an' she had such pow'r, That she did meake their milk an' eale turn zour, 10 An' addle all the aggs their vowls did lay; They coulden vetch the butter in the churn. An' all the cheese begun to turn Agean to curds an' whey ; The little pigs, a-runnen wi' the zow, Did zicken, zomehow, noobody knew how, An' vail, an' turn their snouts toward the sky, An' only gi'e woone little grunt, an' die; An' all the little ducks an' chicken Wer death-struck out in yard a-picken 20 Their bits o' food, an' veil upon their head. An' flapp'd their little wings an' dropp'd down dead. They coulden fat the calves, they woulden thrive ; They coulden seave their lambs alive ; Their sheep wer all a-coath'd, or gi'ed noo wool; The bosses veU away to skin an' bwones, 6 bag] beg. 12 vetch] produce. 25 a-coath'd] diseased. DARNES N 178 A WITCH An' got so weak they coulden pull A half a peck o' stwones : The dog got dead-alive an"* drowsy, The cat veil zick an' woulden mousy ; SO An' every time the vo'k went up to bed, They wer a-hag-rod till they wer half dead. They us'd to keep her out o' house, 'tis true, A-nailen up at door a hoss's shoe; An' I've a-heiird the farmer's wife did try To dawk a needle or a pin In drough her wold hard wither'd skin. An' draw her blood, a-comen by : But she could never vetch a drap. For pins would ply an' needles snap 40 Agean her skin ; an' that, in coo'se, Did meake the hag bewitch em woo'se. BLEAKES HOUSE IN ELACKINIWORE John Bleake he had a bit o' ground Come to en by his mother's zide; An' after that, two hunderd pound His uncle left en when he died ; ' Well now,' cried John, ' it is my bent To build a house, an' pay noo rent.' An' Meiiry gi'ed en her consent. 30 mousy] catch mice. 32 a-hag-rod] nlghtmared. 36 dawk] thrust, 39 vetch a drap] bring out a drop. 42 woo'se] worse. BLEAKKS HOUSE IN BLACKMWOllE 179 'Do, do,"* — the maidens cried. ' True, true,' — his wife repHed. 'Done, done, — a house o' brick or stwone,' lo Cried merry Bleiike o'' Blackmwore. Then John he calPd vor men o' skill, An' builders answered to his call ; An' met to reckon, each his bill, Vor vloor an' windor, rwof an' wall. An' woone did mark it on the groun'. An' woone did think, an' scratch his crown. An' reckon work, an' write it down : ' Zoo, zoo,' — woone treadesman cried ; ' True, true,' — woone mwore replied. 20 ' Aye, aye, — good work, an' have good pay,' Cried merry Bleiike o' Blackmwore The work begun, an' trowels rung An' up the bricken wall did rise. An' up the slanten refters sprung, Wi' busy blows, an' lusty cries ; An' woone brought planks to meake a vloor, An' woone did come wi' durns or door, An' woone did zaw, an' woone did bore. 'Brick, brick,— there down below. 30 Quick, quick, — why b'ye so slow ? ' 'Lime, lime, — why we do weaste the time, Vor merry Bleiike o' Blackmwore.' !5 rwof] roof. 18 reckon work] calculate the labour. 28 durns] doorposts. N 2 180 BLEAKE'S HOUSE IN BLACKMWORE The house wer up vrom groun"* to tun, An' thatch'd agean the rainy sky, Wr windors to the noonday zun, Where rushy Stour do wander by. In coo'se he had a pworch to screen The inside door, when win's wer keen. An"* out avore the pAvorch, a green. 40 ' Here ! here ! ' — the childern cried ; ' Dear ! dear ! ' — the Avife replied ; 'There, there, — the house is perty feair,' Cried merry Bleake o' Blackmwore. Then John he ax'd his friends to warm His house, an' they, a goodish batch, Did come alwone, or eiirm in eiirm, All roads, a-meiiken vor his hatch : An' there beloAv the clavy beam The kettle-spout did zing an' steam ; SO An' there Aver ceakes, an' tea Avi' cream. ' Lo ! lo ! ' — the Avomen cried ; * Ho ! ho ! ' — the men replied ; 'Health, health, — attend ye Avi' your wealth. Good merry Bleake o' BlackniAvore.' Then John, a-prais'd, flung up his crown All b:>ck, a-laughen in a roar. They prais'd his Avife, an' she look'd doAvn A-simpercn toAvards the vloor. 34 tun] chimney. 48 hatch] gate. 49 clavy] mantel. BLEAKKS HOUSE IN BLACKiMWORE 181 Then up they sprung a-dancen reels, 60 An' up went tooes, an' up went heels, A-winden roun"' in knots an' wheels. 'Brisk, brisk,' — the maidens cried; 'Frisk, frisk,' — the men replied; 'Quick, quick, — there wi' your fiddle-stick,' Cried merry Bleake o' Black m wore. An' Vhen the morrow's zun did sheen John Bleiike beheld, wi' jay an' pride, His bricken house, an' pworch, an' green. Above the Stour's rushy zide. 70 The zwallows left the Iwonesome troves To build below the thatchen oves. An' robins come vor crumbs o' Iwoaves : 'Tweet, tweet,' — the birds all cried; ' Sweet, sweet,' — John's wife replied ; 'Dad, dad,'— the childern cried so glad. To merry Bleiike o' Blackmwore. 72 ovesj eaves. 182 THE SHY MAN Ah ! good Measter GAvilkt, that you mid ha' know^d, Wer a-bred up at Coomb, an' went little abroad ; An' if he got in among strangers, he velt His poor heart in a twitter, an' ready to melt ; Or if, by ill luck, in his rambles, he met Wi' zome maidens a-titt'ren, he burn'd wi' a het, That shot all drough the lim's o'n, an' left a cwold ZM'eat, The poor little chap wer so shy. He wer ready to drap, an' to die. But at last 'twer the lot o' the poor little man 10 To vail deeply in love, as the best ov us can ; An' 'twer noo easy task vor a shy man to tell Sich a dazzlen feiiir maid that he loved her so well ; An' woone day when he met her, his knees nearly smote Woone another, an' then wi' a struggle he brote A vew words to his tongue, wi' some mwore in his droat. But she, 'ithout doubt, could soon vind Vrom two words that come out, zix behind. Zoo at langth, when he vound her so sniilen an' kind, Why he wrote her zome lains, vor to tell her his mind, 20 Though 'twer then a hard task vor a man that wer shy, To be married in church, wi' a crowd stannen by. mid] may. 9 drap] drop. 16 droat] throat. THE SHY MAN 183 But he twolcl her woone day, ' I have housen an" lands, We could marry by licence, if you don"'t like banns ; ' An' he covered his eyes up wi' woone ov his ban's, Vor his head seeui'd to zwim as he spoke, An' the air look'd so dim as a smoke. Well ! he vound a good na'iglibour to goo in his pleace Vor to buy the goold ring, vor he hadden the feace. An' when he went up vor to put in the banns, 30 He did sheake in his lags, an' did shciike in his ban's. Then they ax'd vor her neamc, an' her parish or town, An' he gi'ed em a leaf, wi' her neame a-wrote down ; Vor he coulden ha' twold em outright vor a poun'. Vor his tongue wer so weak an' so loose. When he wanted to speak 'twer noo use. Zoo they went to be married, an' when they got there All the vo'k wer a-gather'd as if 'twer a feair, An' he thought, though his pleace mid be pleasant to zonie, 39 He could all but ha' wish'd that he hadden a-come. The bride wer a-smilen as fresh as a rwose, An' when he come wi' her, an' show'd his poor nose, All the little bwoys shouted, an' cried 'There he goes, There he goes.' Oh ! vor his peart he velt As if the poor heart o'n would melt. 184 THE SHY MAN An' when they stood by the chancel together, Oh ! a man mid ha"* knocked en right down wi' a veather, He did veel zoo asheamVl that he thought he would rather He werden the bridegroom, but only the father. But, though 'tis so funny to zee en so shy, 50 Yet his mind is so lowly, his aims be so high. That to do a meiin deed, or to tell woone a lie, You'd vind that he'd shun mvvore by half Than to stan' vor vo'ks fun, or their laugh. FALSE FRIENDS-IJKE A'Vhen I wer still a bwoy, an' mother's pride, A bigger bwoy spoke up to me so kind-like, ' If you do like, I'll treat ye wi' a ride in thease wheel-barrow here.' Zoo I wer blind-like To what he had a-worken in his mind-like. An' mounted vor a passenger inside ; An' comen to a puddle, perty wide. He tipp'd me in, a-grinnen back behind-like. Zoo when a man do come to me so thick-like. An' sheiike my hand, where woonce he pass'd me by. An' tell me he would do me this or that, li I can't help thin ken o' the big bwoy's trick-like. An' then, vor all I can but wag my hat An' thank en, I do veel a little shy. 49 werden] was not. 2 so kind-like] kindly as it were. 9 so thick-like] confidentially as it were. 13 vor all] although. 185 GRUFFMOODY GRIM Aye, a sad life his Avife must ha' led, V^or so snappish he's IcJitely a-come That there's nothen but antjer or dread Where he is, abroad or at hwome ; He do wreak all his spite on the bwones O' whatever do vlee, or do crawl ; He do quarrel wi' stocks, an' wi' stwones, An' the rain, if do hold up or vail ; There is nothen vrom mornen till nic-ht Do come right to Gruff'moody Grim. lo Woone night, in his anger, he zwore At the vier, that didden burn free : , An' he het zome o't out on the vloor, Vor a vlanker it cast on his knee. Then he kicked it vor burnen the child. An' het it among the cat's heairs ; An' then beat the cat, a-run wild Wi' a spark on her back, up the steairs ; Vor even the vier an' fleame Be to bleame wi' Gruffmoody Grim. 20 Then he snarl'd at the tea in his cup, Vor 'twer all a-got cwold in the pot, But 'twer woo'se when his wife vill'd it up Vrom the vire, vor 'twer then scalden hot; 8 if do hold up] if it leave off. 13 het] knocked. 14 vlanker] spark. 23 woo'se] worse. 186 GRUFFMOODY GRIM Then he growrd that the bread wer sich stuff As noo hammer in parish could crack, An' flung down the knife in a huff; Vor the edge on wer thicker'n the back. Vor beakers an'' meakers o' tools Be all fools wi' Gruffmoody Grim. so Oh ! he 's welcome, vor me, to breed dread Wherever his sheade mid alight, An' to live wi' noo me'th round his head, An' noo feace wi' a smile in his zight; But let vo'k be all merry an' zing At the he'th where my own logs do burn, An' let anger's wild vist never swing In where I have a door on his durn; Vor I'll be a happier man. While I can, than Gruffmoody Grim. 40 GAMMONY GAY Oh ! thik Gammony Gay is so droll, That if he's at hwome by the he'th, Or wi' vo'k out o' door, he's the soul O' the meeten vor antics an' me'th ; He do cast oft' the thoughts ov ill luck As the water's a-shot vrom a duck; 29 beakers] bakers. 33 noo me'th] no mirth. 36 he'th] hearth. 37 vist] fist. 38 on his durn] on its post. I thik] that. GAMMONY GAY 187 He do zing where his naighbours would cry — He do laugh where the rest o's would sigh : Noo other's so merry o' feace, In the pleace, as Gammony Gay. 10 An' o' worken days, oh ! he do wear Such a funny roun' hat, — you mid know't — VVi' a brim all a-strout roun' his heiiir, An' his glissenen eyes down below't ; An"* a cwoat wi' broad skirts that do vlee In the wind ov his walk, round his knee ; An' a peair o' gert pockets lik' bags, That do swing an' do bob at his lags: While me'th do walk out drough the pkiice, In the feiice o' Gammony Gay. 20 An' if he do goo over groun' Wi' noo soul vor to greet wi' his words, The feace o'n do look up an' down, An' round en so quick as a bird's ; An' if he do vail in wi' vo'k, Why, tidden vor want ov a joke, If he don't zend em on vrom the pleace Wi' a smile or a grin on their feiice : An' the young wi' the wold have a-heiird A kind word vrom Gammony Gay. 30 12 mid] may. 17 gert] great. 23 feace o'n] face of him. 26 tidden] it is not. 188 GAMMONY GAY An' when he do whissel or hum, 'Ithout thinken o' what he's a-doen, He'll beat his own lags vor a drum, An' bob his gay head to the tuen ; An' then you mid zee, 'etween whiles, His feace all alive wi' his smiles. An' his gay-breathen bozom do rise, An' his nie'th do sheen out ov his eyes : An' at last to have praise or have bleiiinc Is the seame to Gammony Gay. 40 All the house-dogs do waggle their tails If they do but catch zight ov his fciice ; An' the bosses do look over rails. An' do whicker to zee'n at the pleace ; An' he'll always bestow a good word On a cat or a whisselen bird ; An' even if culvers do coo. Or an' owl is a-cryen 'Hoo, hoo,' Where he is, there 's always a joke To be spoke, by Gammony Gay. 5o 44 whicker to zee'n] neigh to see him. 47 culvers] wood- pigeons. 189 THE NEAME-I.ETTEKS When high-flown larks vver on the wing A warm-air'd holiday in spring, We stroird, 'ithout a ceare or frown, Up roun' the down at Meldonley ; An"" where the hawthorn-tree did stand Alwone, but still wi' mwore at hand, We zot wi' sheades o' clouds on high A-flitten by, at Meldonley. An' there, the while the tree did sheade Their gigglen heads, my knife's keen bleade lo Carved out, in turf avore my knee, J. L., * T. D., at Meldonley. 'I'wer Jessie Lee J. L. did mean, T. D. did stan' vor Thomas Deane ; The 'L' I scratch'd but slight, vor he Mid soon be D, at Meldonley. An' when the vields o' wheat did spread Vrom hedge to hedge in sheets o' red. An' bennets wer a-sheaken brown Upon the down, at Meldonley, 20 We stroll'd agean along the hill An' at the hawthorn-tree stood still, To zee J, L. vor Jessie Lee, An' my T. D., at Meldonley. 190 THE NEAME-LETTERS The grey-poird bennet-stems did hem Each half-hid letter's zunken rim, By leady's-vingers that did spread In yollow red, at Meldonleyj An' hearebells there wi' light blue bell Shook soundless on the letter L, 30 To ment the bells when L vor Lee Become a D, at Meldonley. Vor Jessie, now my wife, do strive Wi' me in life, an' we do thrive ; Two sleek-heiiir'd metires do sprackly pull My waggon vull, at Meldonley ; An' small-hoofd sheep, in vleeces white, Wi' quickly-panken zides, do bite My thymy grass, a-mark'd vor me In black, T. D., at Meldonley. 40 PRAISE O' DORSET We Dorset, though we mid be hwomely, Be'nt asheam'd to own our pleace; An' we've zome women not uncomely, Nor asheam'd to show their feace; We've a mead or two wo'th mowen, We've an ox or two wo'th showen, In the village, At the tillage, 95 bennet-stems] grass-bents. 31 ment] signify. 35 sprackly] actively. 38 pank^n] panting. 5 wo'th] worth. PRAISE O' DORSET 191 Come along an"" you shall vind That Dorset men don't sheiime their kind, lo Friend an' wife, Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, Happy, happy, be their life ! Vor Dorset dear Then gi'e woone cheer ; D'ye hear ? woone cheer ! If you in Dorset be a-roamen, An' ha' business at a farm. Then woont ye zee your eale a-foamen. Or your cider down to warm ! 20 Woont ye have brown bread a-put ye, An' some vinny cheese a-cut ye ! Butter? — rolls o't. Cream ? — why bowls o't, Woont ye have, in short, your vill, A-gi'ed wi' a right good will ! If you do zee our good men travel, Down a-voot, or on their meares, Along the winden leanes o' gravel, To the markets or the feairs, — 30 Though their bosses' cwoats be ragged, Though the men be muddy-lagged, Be they roughish, Be they gruffish. They be sound, an' they will stand By what is right wi' heart an' hand. 192 PRAISE O' DORSET Friend an"* wife, Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, Happy, happy, be their life! Vor Dorset dear 40 Then gi'e woone cheer; Dye hear ? woone cheer ! INDEX OF FIRST LINES A maid wi' many gifts o' greace .... Above the timber's benden sh'ouds A'ter many long years had a-run Ah ! good Measter Gwillet, that you mid ha" know'd Ah ! naighbour John, since I an' you . Ah ! then the grassy-meaded Maj^ Ah ! when our wedded hfe begun And oh ! the jay our rest did yield As clouds did ride wi' heasty flight As day did darken on the dewless grass As evenen air, in green-treed spring . As I at work do look aroun' .... As I do zew, wi' nimble hand .... As in the cool-air'd road I come by . . A-swayen slow, the poplar's head At even-tide the wind wer loud .... At Lindenore upon the steep .... Atwiight, as drough the mead I took my way At Woodcombe farm, wi' ground an' tree . Aye, a sad life his wife must ha' led . Aye, at that time our days wer but vew Aye, the gre't elem tree out in little hwome groun' Aye, up at the feast, by Melhill's brow By time 's a-brought the mornen light Come down to-morrow night ; an' mind Come out o' door ; 'tis Spring ! 'tis May Dear lilac-tree, a-spread^n wide .... Dear Yarrowham, 'twer many miles . Green mwold on zummer bars do show Here did sway the eltrot flow'rs .... How dear 's the door a latch do shut . How happy uncle us'd to be BARNES O PAGE . 40 . 64 . 83 . 182 . 175 . 149 . 148 . 28 . 146 . 106 . 65 . 140 . 98 . 74 . 73 . 92 . 89 . 153 . 50 . 185 . 129 . 110 . 46 . 104 . 118 . 8 . 56 . 37 . 155 . 90 . 136 . 113 194 INDEX OF FIRST LINES I do zeem to zee Grammer as she did use I don't want to sleep abrode, John I'm glad we have wood in store awhile I'm out, when, in the winter's blast I've a-come by the May-tree all times o' the year I went hwome in the dead o' the night If I've a-stream'd below a storm . In happy times a while agoo In zumraer, leate at evenen tide . In zummer, when the knaps wer bright 'Ithin the woodlands, flow'ry gleiided . Jean ax'd what ribbon she should wear John Bleake he had a bit o' ground Last night below the elem in the lew . Last week the Browns ax'd nearly all . My days, wi' wold vo'k all but gone My hwome wer on the tiraber'd ground My love is good, my love is feair . My Love is o' comely height an' straight My love is the maid ov all maidens No ! Jenny, there 's noo pleace to charm Noo soul did hear her lips complain Now day by day, at lofty height Now, Fanny, 'tis too bad, you teazen maid Now the light o' the west is a-turn'd to gloom Now the zunny air 's a-blowen O, aye ! they had woone chile bezide . O jay betide the dear wold mill . O ! Meary, when the zun went down . O Poll 's the milk-maid o' the farm O small-feac'd flow'r that now dost bloom O spread agean your leaves an' flow'rs O, the wings o' the rook wer a-glitteren bright O wild-reaven west winds ! as you do roar on O zummer clote ! when the brook 's a-gliden O' zummer night, as day did gleam Oh ! aye ! the spring 'ithin the leane . Oh ! I be shepherd o' the farm Oh ! I vu'st knew o' my true love INDEX OF FIRST LINES 195 Oh ! if my ling'ren life should run Oh ! there be angels evermwore . Oh ! thik Gammony Gay is so droll Oh ! when the friends we us'd to know Ov aU the birds upon the wing Ov all the meiids wi' shoals an' pools . Pentridge ! — oh ! my heart 's a-zwellen Since I noo mwore do zee your feace . She did, woone time, a dreadvul deal o' har Sweet Be'mi'ster, that bist a-bound Sweet Woodley ! oh ! how fresh an' gay The bars on the timber'd ridge outspan The beaten path where vo'k do meet . The bright-tunn'd house, a-risen proud The gather'd clouds, a-hangen low The girt wold house o' mossy stwone . The gre't woak tree that 's in the dell . The gre't wold waggon uncle had The ground is clear. There 's nar a ear The house where I wer born an' bred , The length o' days agean do shrink The primrwose in the sheade do blow . The rick ov our last zummer's haulen . The sky wer clear, the zunsheen glow'd The snow-white clouds did float on high The stream-be-wander'd dell did spread The while I took my bit o' rest . The zun can zink, the stars mid rise The zun 'd a-zet back t'other night There 's noo pleace I do like so well There 's what the vo'k do call a veairy ring- There Liddy zot bezide her cow . Tiiere lovely Jenny past There the ash-tree leaves do vail . Though ice do hang upon the willows . 'Tis merry ov a zummer's day 'Tis zome vo'ks jay to teak,e the road . 'Twas when the op'ning dawn was still 'Twer at night, an' a keen win' did blow ra PAGE . 86 . 69 . 186 . 22 . 3 . 75 . 70 . 68 . 177 . 17 . 12 . 87 . 161 . 88 . 159 . 125 . 6 . 119 . 18 . 123 . 162 . 26 . 156 . 139 , 127 , 160 157 36 32 133 169 62 93 94 45 113 46 163 99 196 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 'Twer when the busy birds did vlee 'Twer when the vo'k wcr out to bawl . Upon the hedge thease bank did bear , Upon the slope, the hedge did bound . Vor all the zun do leave the sky . Vorgi'e me, Jenny, do ! an' rise . We Dorset, though we mid be hwomely We now mid hope vor better cheer Well ! thanks to you, my faithful Jeane When evenen sheades o' trees do hide . When high-flown larks wer on the wing When hillborne Paladore did show When I led by zummer streams . When I wer still a bwoy, an' mother's pride When ice all melted to the sun When in happy times we met When in the evenen the zun 's a-zinken When, leate o' nights, above the green When mornen ■winds, a-blowen high . When Pentridge House wer still the nest A\Tien skies wer peale wi' twinklen stars When sycamore leaves wer a-spreaden When wintry weather 's all a-done When zmnmer's burnen het 's a-shed . V/here cows did slowly seek the brink Where the bridge out at Woodley did stride Where the western zun, unclouded Wi' smokeless tuns an' empty haUs PAGE . 137 . 38 . 143 . 84 . 51 . 14 . 190 . 23 . 142 . 121 . 189 . 100 . 91 . 184 . 108 . 24 . .19 . 116 . 35 . 42 . 59 . 80 . 1 . 61 . 141 . 151 . 52 . 129 Printed in England at the Oxford University Press I THS OXFORD ^miSCSLLANT | U Poetry : Reproductions of Original Editions BROWNING. Men and Women, i8jj. The two volumes in one. BURNS The Kilmarnock Edition, 1786. Reprinted in type-facsimile. COLERIDGE &- WORDSWORTH. Lyrical Ballads, lygS. Edited by H. Littledale. COLLINS. Poems. With facsimile title-pages, three illustrations, and a Memoir by Christopher Stone. GRA Y. Poems, 1768. Reprinted in type-facsimile, with four illustrations. KEATS. Lamia, Isabella, The Eve of St. Agnes, and other Poems, 1820. A page-for-page and line-for-line reprint, with a facsimile title-page. SHELLEY {MARY). Proserpine and Midas. Two unpublished Mythological Dramas. Edited by A. KoszuL. SHELLEY, Prometlieus Unbound, with other Poems, 1820. TENNYSON. Poems, 1842. WORDS WOR TH. Poems, 1807. TI Selections from the Poets BARNES (WILLIAM). Edited with a Preface and glossarial notes by THOMAS HARDY. BLAKE. The Lyrical Poems. With an Introduction (45 pages) by Sir WALTER RALEIGH, and two drawings by Blake. CLARE {JOHN). Introduction by Arthur Symons. CLOUGH. The Bothie, and other Poems. Edited by H. S. MiLFORD. DE TABLEY {LORD). With an Introduction by John DrinkwATER. [Shortly. PRAED {WILLIAM MACKWORTH). Edited by A. D. GODLEY. With a portrait. I THE OXFORD miSCSLLANT % Tl Fiction BARRETT {E. S.). The Heroine, or Adventures of a fair Romance Reader (iSij). With an Introduction by Sir Walter Raleigh. GALT [JOHN). Annals of the Parish [1821). With an Introduction by G. S. GORDON, and a frontispiece and facsimile title-page. INCHBALD (MRS.). A Simple Story (1791). With an Introduction by LITTON Strachey, and facsimile title-page. PEACOCK (T. L.). Nightmare Abbey. A page -for- page reprint of the first edition, 1818. Edited by C. E. JONES. READE [CHARLES). A Good Fi^ht {i8s9). The ori- ginal short version of l^he Cloister and the Hearth. Here for thr first time reprinted in book-form. With an Introduction by ANDREW LANG, and four- teen illustrations by CHARLES Keene. WOLLS TONECRAFT {MAR Y). Original Stories from Real Life. Introduction by E. V. LuCAS, with five illustrations by W. BlAKE. If Anthologies to ECHOES FROM THE OXFORD MAGAZINE, 18S3- iSpo. MORE ECHOES FROM THE OXFORD MA GAZINE, iSgo-iSg6. With contributions by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch and his contemporaries. SEA-SONGS AND BALLADS, 1400-1886. With an Introduction by Admiral SirCvPRIAN Bridgb. TREASURY OF SACRED SONG, from Dunbar to Tennyson. Selected by FRANCIS TURNER PalgRAVE. Also on Oxford India paper, 4s. 6d. net. WAR-SONGS, 1333-1866. Selected by Christopher Stone. With an Introduction by General Sir Ian Hamilton. WORDS WOR TH. Poems and Extracts chosen by Words- worth (from the Countess of Winchelsea and others) for an album, Christmas, 1819, and now first printed. Introduction by H. LinLEDALH and Preface by J. R. Rees. With a portrait and facsimile. i THS OXFORD miSCSLLANT | 6 VJSIVSTiSirr Tli^SSS I ^ Hum] hrey Milford, Amen Corner, London, E.C. 4 ^ cocy?eof?coc'X^?coc'X'Xr3cococo€/Jcccoco;'3coc/^coc'Xoi October, 1923 ■c^ -} \v^ 0?f*i Due SOUTHERN RF. OlONAL L IBRARY f Anui^^^^^ AA 000 604 395 4