^
 
 POEMS AND LANCASHIRE 
 
 SONGS.
 
 POEMS AND LANCASHIRE 
 SONGS 
 
 BY EDWIN WAUGH. 
 
 FOURTH EDITION, WITH ADDITIONS. 
 
 MANCHESTER: 
 ABEL HEYWOOD AND SON, 
 
 LONDON: 
 SIMPKIN, MARSHALL AND CO. 
 
 1876.
 
 
 VU3 
 
 CuiswicK rni-'ss: pmxirn nv wiirrrixriHA.M AND \VII.KI\S 
 
 TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LAXE.
 
 TO 
 
 THE RICiHT HONOVRAW.K 
 
 JOHN BRIGHT, M. P.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 POEMS. 
 
 Moorland Flower 
 Time is Flying 
 The Moorlands 
 
 To the Rose-tree on My Window-sill . 
 
 Keen Blows the North Wind 
 
 The Captain's Friends 
 
 Now Summer's Sunlight Glowing 
 
 The World 
 
 Page 
 
 I 
 
 5 
 
 8 
 
 11 
 
 23 
 
 26 
 
 31 
 
 35 
 
 To a Married Lady 39 
 
 Cultivate your Men 42 
 
 Old Man's Song .... 45 
 
 Bide on ..... 4^ 
 
 The Moorland Witch 51 
 
 The Church CLck 54 
 
 God bless thee, Old England 57 
 
 Christmas Song . ... 59
 
 x CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 God bless thi Silver Yure , 221 
 
 Margit's Comin' ....... 226 
 
 Th' Sweetheart Gate 232 
 
 Owd Enoch 236 
 
 EawrFolk 246 
 
 Forgive One Another 252 
 
 Buckle to 256 
 
 Neet-fo' 260 
 
 A Lift on the Way 265 
 
 Yesterneet 270 
 
 Bonny Nan ........ 275 
 
 I've worn my Bits o' Shoon away . . . .279 
 
 Gentle Jone 283 
 
 Turn Kindle 288 
 
 These Maund'riu E'en 292 
 
 Come, limber Lads . . . . . . .297 
 
 The Garland 301
 
 POEMS. 
 
 r
 
 P O E M S. 
 
 THE MOORLAND FLOWER. 
 
 BENEATH a crag, whose forehead rude 
 
 O'erfrowns the mountain side, 
 Stern monarch of the solitude, 
 
 Dark -heaving, wild, and wide, 
 A floweret of the moorland hill 
 
 Peeped out unto the sky, 
 In a mossy nook, where a limpid rill 
 Came tinkling blithely by.
 
 THE MOORLAND FLOWER. 
 
 II. 
 Like a star-seed, from the night-skies flung 
 
 Upon the mountains lone, 
 Into a gleaming floweret sprung, 
 
 Amid the wild it shone ; 
 And bush and brier, and rock and rill, 
 
 And every wandering wind, 
 In interchange of sweet good-will 
 
 And mutual love did bind. 
 
 in. 
 In the gloaming grey, at close of day, 
 
 Beneath the deepening blue, 
 It lifted up its little cup, 
 
 To catch the evening dew : 
 The rippling fall, the moorfowl's call, 
 
 The wandering night- wind's moan ; 
 It heard, it felt, it loved them all, 
 
 That floweret sweet and lone.
 
 THE MOORLAND FLOWER. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The green fern wove a screening grove 
 
 From noontide's fervid ray ; 
 The pearly mist of the brooklet kist 
 
 Its leaves with cooling spray ; 
 And, when dark tempests swept the waste, 
 
 And north winds whistled wild, 
 The brave old rock kept off the shock, 
 
 As a mother shields her child. 
 
 v. 
 And when it died the south wind sighed, 
 
 The drooping fern looked dim ; 
 The old crag moaned, the lone ash groaned, 
 
 The wild heath sang a hymn ; 
 The leaves crept near, though fallen and sere, 
 
 Like old friends mustering round ; 
 And a dew-drop fell from the heather-bell 
 
 Upon its burial ground. ,
 
 THE MOORLAND FLOWER. 
 
 VI. 
 For it had bloomed content to bless 
 
 Each thing that round it grew ; 
 And on its native wilderness 
 
 Its store of sweetness strew : 
 Fail' link in nature's chain of love, 
 
 To noisy fame unknown, 
 There is a register above, 
 
 E'en when a flower is gone. 
 
 VII. 
 
 So, lovingly embrace thy lot, 
 
 Though lowly it may be, 
 And beautify the little spot 
 
 Where God hath planted thee : 
 To win the world's approving eyes 
 
 Make thou no foolish haste, 
 Heaven loves the heart that lives and dies 
 
 To bless its neighbouring waste.
 
 TIME IS FLYING. 
 
 i. 
 
 lME is flying ! 
 Are we hieing 
 To a brighter, better bourne ? 
 Or, unthinking, 
 Daily sinking 
 Into night that knows not morn ? 
 
 n. 
 
 Oh, what is life 
 But duty's strife ? 
 A drill ; a watchful sentry's round ;
 
 TIME IS FLYING. 
 
 A brief campaign 
 For deathless gain ; 
 A bivcaiac on battle-ground : 
 
 in. 
 
 An arrow's flight ; 
 
 A taper's light ; 
 A fitful day of sun and cloud ; 
 
 A flower ; a shade ; 
 
 A journey made 
 Between a cradle and a shroud. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oh, what is death ? 
 
 A swordless sheath ; 
 A jubilee ; a mother's call ; 
 
 A kindly breast, 
 
 That offers rest 
 Unto the poorest of us all ;
 
 TIME IS FLYING. 
 
 V. 
 
 The wretched's friend ; 
 
 Oppression's end ; 
 The outcast's shelter from the cold ; 
 
 To regions dim, 
 
 The portal grim 
 Where misers leave their loads of gold ; 
 
 VI. 
 
 A voyage o'er ; 
 
 A misty shore, 
 With time- wrecked generations strown ; 
 
 Where each mad age 
 
 Has spent its rage 
 Upon a continent unknown.
 
 THE MOORLANDS. 
 
 ING, hey for the moorlands, wild, lonely, 
 and stern, 
 
 Where the moss creepeth softly all under the fern ; 
 
 Where the heather-flower sweetens the lone high- 
 land lea, 
 
 And the mountain winds whistle so fresh and so 
 free ! 
 
 I've wandered o'er landscapes embroidered with 
 flowers, 
 
 The richest, the rarest, in greenest of bowers, 
 
 Where the throstle's sweet vesper, at summer day's 
 close,
 
 THE MOORLANDS. 9 
 
 Shook the coronal dews on the rim of the rose ; 
 But, oh for the hills where the heather-cock 
 
 springs 
 From his nest in the bracken, with dew on his 
 
 wings ! 
 
 Sing, hey for the moorlands ! 
 
 II. 
 
 I Ve lingered by streamlets that water green 
 
 plains, 
 
 I Ve mused in the sunlight of shady old lanes, 
 Where the mild breath of evening came sweetly 
 
 and slow 
 From green nooks where bluebells and primroses 
 
 grow; 
 
 But, oh the wild hills that look up at the skies, 
 Where the green bracken wave to the wind as it 
 
 flies! 
 
 Sing, hey for the moorlands !
 
 io Till': MOORLANDS. 
 
 III. 
 
 Away with the pride and the fume of the town, 
 And give me a lodge in. the heatherland brown ; 
 Oh there, to the schemes of the city unknown, 
 Let me wander with freedom and nature, alone ; 
 Where wild hawks with glee on the hurricane sail, 
 And the mountain crags thrill to the rush of the gale ! 
 Sing, hey for the moorlands ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 In glens which resound to the waterfall's song, 
 My spirit should play the wild echoes among : 
 I 'd climb the dark steep to my lone mountain home, 
 And, heartsome and poor, o'er the solitude roam : 
 And the keen winds that harp on the heathery lea 
 Should sing the grand anthem of freedom to me ! 
 Sing, hey for the moorlands !
 
 TO THE ROSE-TREE ON MY 
 WINDOW- SILL. 
 
 i. 
 
 is the lot of him with heart so dull 
 By sensual appetite's unbridled sway, 
 As to be blind unto the beautiful 
 
 In common things that strew the common way. 
 Trailing the dusty elements of death, 
 
 He crawls, in his embruted blindness, proud ; 
 To perishable ends he draws his breath ; 
 
 His life, a funeral passing through a crowd ; 
 His soul, a shrunken corpse within ; his body, but 
 a shroud.
 
 12 TO THE ROSE-TREE 
 
 II. 
 
 Nature ! kind handmaid of the thoughtful eoul, 
 
 Be- thy sweet ministrations ever mine ; 
 Thy angel-influences keep me whole, 
 
 And lead my spirit into things divine : 
 Holding thy lovely garment, when a child, 
 
 I walked in simple ecstasy with thec ; 
 And now, with sadder heart, and travel-toiled, 
 
 Thou hast a sanctuary still for me, 
 Where oft I find repose from earthly care and 
 misery. 
 
 in. 
 In cities proud, by grovelling factions torn, 
 
 Where glittering pomp and stony-eyed despair, 
 Murder and stealth, the lordly and the lorn, 
 
 Squalor and wealth, divide the Christian air ; 
 Where prowling outcasts hug with ignorant rage 
 Some sense of wrong that smoulders deep 
 within ;
 
 O^V MY IVINDOW-SILL. 13 
 
 Where mean intrigues their furtive battles 
 
 wage; 
 "Where they are wrong that lose, and they are 
 
 right that win, 
 
 And drowning virtue struggles with the waves of 
 sin ; 
 
 IV. 
 
 Where drooping penitence, and pious pride ; 
 The sons of labour and the beasts of prey ; 
 The spoilers and the spoiled, are side by side, 
 Jostling unkindly on the crowded way ; 
 E'en there sweet Nature sings her heaven-taught 
 
 songs, 
 
 Unheeded minstrel of the fuming street, 
 For ever wooing its discordant throngs 
 
 With sounds and shapes that teem with lessons 
 
 meet, 
 
 Like thee, fair rose-tree, on my window blooming 
 sweet.
 
 14 TO THE ROSE-TItEE 
 
 V. 
 Oh, floral comrade of my lonely hours, 
 
 Sweet soother of my saddest mood, 
 The summer's glow, the scents of summer flowers, 
 
 Are filling all my solitude : 
 The thick-leaved groves, whose sylvan rooflcts 
 
 ring 
 
 With blending lyrics poured from every tree, 
 The sleepy streams where swallows dip the 
 
 wing, 
 
 The wild flowers, nodding in the wind, I sec, 
 And hear the murmurous music of the roving bee. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Taking my willing fancy by the hand, 
 
 Thou leadest me through nature like a child, 
 
 Where rustling forests robe the pleasant land, 
 And lonely streamlets ripple through the 
 wild ;
 
 ON MY WINDOW-SILL. 15 
 
 Through verdant nooks, whore, on the long, cool 
 
 grass 
 
 The lingering dews light up the leafy shade, 
 In dreamy bliss, my wandering footsteps pass, 
 
 Sweeping from many a lush and bending blade 
 The load of liquid pearls that such a twinkling 
 made. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Now, through a sunny glade, away, away, 
 
 Oh, let me wander thus a while with theo, 
 By many a pleasant streamlet we will play, 
 
 And gad o'er many a field in careless glee : 
 
 Thus gently, thou, when on life's pathway rude 
 
 My heart grows faint as gloomy shadows 
 
 lower, 
 Leadest me back into a happier mood, 
 
 By some sweet, secret, heaven-inspired power, 
 That lurks in thy fringed leaf and orient-tinted 
 flower.
 
 1 6 TO THE ROSE-TREE 
 
 VIII, 
 My spirit bursts its prison-house of care, 
 
 And dreamily, with lingering feet, I stray 
 Where garden odours fill the golden air, 
 
 And blossoms tremble to the wild birds' lay ; 
 O'er cool moist slopes, beneath the woodland 
 
 shade, 
 
 Where the blithe throstle in his chamber sings, 
 Then wonders at the music he has made ; 
 
 Where the lush bluebell's little censer swings, 
 And pleasant incense to the wandering breezes 
 flings. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Upon a shady bank, as I recline, 
 
 Gazing, with silent joy, the landscape o'er, 
 I feel its varied glories doubly mine 
 
 My heart's inheritance, my fancy's store ;
 
 O.V MT WINDOW- SILL. 
 
 Above me waves a roof of green and gold 
 Delightful shelter from the noontide heat ; 
 Beyond, a wandering streamlet I behold, 
 
 Where wind and sunlight on the waters 
 
 meet 
 In silvery shimmerings, past description sweet. 
 
 x. 
 
 I hear the skylark, poised on trembling wings, 
 
 Teaching the heavenly quire his thrilling lay, 
 All nature seems to listen as he sings, 
 
 Hushed into stillness by his minstrelsy ; 
 As the blithe lyric streams upon the lea, 
 
 Steeping the wild flowers in melodious rain, 
 The very dewdrops, dancing to the glee, 
 
 Look up with me, but, like me, look in vain 
 To find the heaven-hid singer of that matchless 
 strain. 
 
 D
 
 1 8 TO THE ROSE-TREK 
 
 Now, on rough byways, sauntering through the 
 
 sun, 
 
 From fertile haunts of man I gladly stray, 
 Up to the sweet brown moorlands, bleak and 
 
 dun, 
 
 While rindling waters tinkle o'er my way ; 
 \VTiere the free eagle lords it in the sky ; 
 
 Where red grouse, springing from the heath'ry 
 
 steep, 
 
 Wake the wild echoes with their lonely cry ; 
 And whistling breezes unrestrained sweep 
 O'er the old hills, that in the sunlight seem asleep. 
 
 XII. 
 
 O'er yon wild height, between the rugged steeps, 
 From crag to crag, in many an airy bound 
 
 Of mighty glee, the mountain torrent leaps, 
 And the lone ravine trembles to the sound ;
 
 ON MY WINDOW-SILL. 19 
 
 'Through cave and cleft, along the narrow glen, 
 
 The rushing thunders rage, and roll afar, 
 Like untamed lions struggling in their den, 
 
 "With unavailing rage, each rocky scar 
 Hurls back the prisoned roar of elemental war. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 As homeward, down a winding path I stray, 
 
 Where mazy midges in the twilight throng 
 In plaintive fits of liquid melody, 
 
 I hear the lonely ousel's vesper-song ; 
 Odours of unseen flowers the air pervade ; 
 
 As I sit listening on a wayside mound, 
 Watching the daylight and its business fade, 
 
 The evening stillness fills with weird sound, 
 And distant waters sing their ancient choral round 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Mild evening brings the gauzy fringe of dreams 
 That trails upon the golden skirts of day ;
 
 - io TO THE ROSE-TREE 
 
 And here and there a cottage candle gleams 
 
 "With cheerful twinkle o'er my drowsy way ; 
 As flaxen-headed elves, from rambles wild, 
 With straggling footsteps, to their mothers 
 
 hie 
 With woodland trophies, and with garments 
 
 soiled, 
 All tired and pleased, they know not, care 
 
 not why ; 
 
 So from my wand'rings I return, as daylight quits 
 the sky. 
 
 xv. 
 
 Oh, flowery leader of these fancy flights, 
 Epitome of Nature's charms to me, 
 
 Filling my spirit with such fine delights 
 As I can never more repay to thee, 
 
 For my behoof thou donn'st the summer's shoon, 
 Smiling benignly on thy prison-spot,
 
 (XZV MI' WINDOW-SILL. ai 
 
 Though exiled from that native nook of green 
 "Where playmate zephyrs seek through bower 
 
 and grot, 
 
 Through all the summer roses seek, but find thee 
 not. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Fair lamp of beauty, in my cloistral shade, 
 Though brief at best the time thou hast to 
 
 shine, 
 By an almighty artist thou wert made, 
 
 And touched with light eternally divine. 
 Like a caged bird, in this seclusion dim, 
 Where slanting sunbeams seldom find a 
 
 way, 
 Singing with patient joy a silent hymn, 
 
 That wafts my thought from worldly care 
 
 away 
 Into the realms of Nature's endless holiday.
 
 22 TO THE ROSE-TREE. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Sweet specimen of Nature's mystic skill, 
 Dost thou know aught of human joys and 
 
 woes ? 
 Can'st thou be gladdened by the glad heart's 
 
 thrill, 
 
 Or feel the writhing spirit's silent throes ? 
 To me thou art a messenger of love 
 
 A leaf of peace amid the storms of woe 
 Dropt in my path by that celestial Dove 
 
 Who made all things in heaven and earth 
 
 below, 
 
 That wandering man the beautiful and true might 
 know.
 
 KEEN BLOWS THE NORTH WIND. 
 
 blows the north wind; the wood- 
 lands are bare ; 
 The snow-shroud lies white on the flowerless lea ; 
 The red-breast is wailing the death of the year, 
 As he cowers his wing in the frozen haw-tree. 
 
 II. 
 
 The leaves of the forest, now summer is o'er, 
 Lie softly asleep in the lap of decay ; 
 
 And the wildflower rests on the snow-covered shore, 
 Till the cold night of winter has wandered away.
 
 24 KEEN BLOWS THE NORTH WIND. 
 
 in. 
 Oh, where are the small birds that sang in yon 
 
 bowers 
 When last summer smiled on the green-mantled 
 
 plain ? 
 
 Oh, where do they shelter in winter's bleak hours ? 
 Will they come back with spring, to delight me 
 again ? 
 
 IV. 
 
 But I may be gone, never more to behold 
 
 The wildflowers peep, when the winter has fled ; 
 
 The chill drifts of sorrow the wanderer may fold, 
 And the sunshine of spring melt the snow on his 
 bed. 
 
 v. 
 
 But come, ye sweet warblers, and sport in the spray, 
 Whose tender revival I never may see ;
 
 KEEN BLOWS THE NORTH WIND. 25 
 
 The young buds will leap to your welcoming lay, 
 'Twill cheer the sad-hearted, as oft it cheered 
 me. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And should ye, returning, then find me at rest, 
 Stay sometimes, and sing near the grave of a 
 
 friend ; 
 
 Drop a rosemary leaf on his turf- covered breast, 
 And rejoice that his troublesome journey's at 
 end.
 
 THE CAPTAIN'S FRIENDS. 
 
 WANDERED down by yonder park one 
 
 . quiet autumn day, 
 When many a humble traveller was going on the 
 
 way; 
 And there I saw a company of neighbours great 
 
 and small, 
 
 All gathered round an ancient gate that leads unto 
 the hall. 
 
 II. 
 
 The faded leaves that rustled in the mournful 
 
 autumn wind 
 Awoke in me a train of thought that saddened all 
 
 my mind ;
 
 THE CAPTAIN'S FRIENDS. 27 
 
 And through the crowd of anxious folk there went 
 
 a smothered wail, 
 So I sat me down upon a stone and hearkened to 
 
 the tale. 
 
 in. 
 The sturdy farmer from his fields had hurried to 
 
 the place, 
 The cripple on his crutches, and the sick with pallid 
 
 face ; 
 The poor old dame had wandered with her blind 
 
 man to the ground, 
 And the lonely widow, weeping, with her children 
 
 gathered round. 
 
 rv. 
 The well remembered beggar, too, was there but 
 
 not to beg ; 
 And the stiff old Chelsea pensioner, upon a wooden 
 
 leg:
 
 28 THE CAPTAiys FRIEXDS. 
 
 From liamlet, fold, and lonely cot, the humble poor 
 
 were there, 
 Each bringing in his moistened eye a tributary 
 
 tear. 
 
 v. 
 Up spake the sturdy farmer to the porter, and he 
 
 said, 
 " What news is this that 's going round ? They 
 
 say the Captain's dead ! " 
 The quaint old porter laughed, " Aha ! Thank God, 
 
 it isn't true ! 
 It's but the Captain's dog that 's dead they called 
 
 it Captain' too ! " 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then sprang the cripple on his crutch, and nearly 
 
 came to ground ; 
 The blind man wandered to and fro, and shook 
 
 their hands all round ;
 
 THE CAPTAINS FRIENDS. 29 
 
 The dame took snuff, the sick man smiled, and 
 
 blest the happy day ; 
 And the widow kissed her young ones, as she wiped 
 
 their tears away. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Up rose the children's voices, mingling music with 
 
 the gale, 
 And the beggar's dog romped with them, as he 
 
 barked and wagged his tail ; 
 The farmer snapt his thumbs, and cried, " Come 
 
 on, I'll feast you all ! " 
 And the stark old soldier with his stick kept 
 
 charging at the wall. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 So, now the Captain's dog is dead and sleeping in 
 
 the ground, 
 A kind old master by the grave bemoans his gallant 
 
 hound ;
 
 <jO THE CAPTAINS F11IEXDS. 
 
 He sajs, " My hair is white and thin ! I have not 
 
 long to stay ! 
 And, oh, my poor old dog, how I shall miss thco on 
 
 the way ! " 
 
 IX. 
 
 Then here's to every noble heart that 's gentle, just, 
 
 and brave, 
 That cannot be a tyrant, and that grieves to sec a 
 
 slave. 
 God save that good old Captain long, and bring his 
 
 soul to joy ; 
 The countryside will lose a friend the day he conies 
 
 to die.
 
 NOW SUMMER'S SUNLIGHT GLOWING. 
 
 , summer's sunlight, glowing, 
 Streaks the woodland shade with gold ; 
 And balmy winds are blowing 
 
 Softly o'er the moorland- wold ; 
 Now sweet smells the bluebell, 
 
 'Neath the valley's leafy screen ; 
 And thick grows the wild rose, 
 
 Clust'ring o'er the hedges green. 
 The fern adorns the moorland steep ; 
 
 The smiling fields are flowered o'er ; 
 And modest little daisies peep 
 
 Like children at a mother's door !
 
 NOW SUMMER'S SUNLIGHT. 
 
 II. 
 
 From dewy meadows springing, 
 Yonder blinding skies among, 
 
 The poet-lark is singing, 
 
 As if his heart was made of song ! 
 
 While gladly and madly 
 
 In every grove the wild birds vie, 
 
 All tingling and mingling 
 In tipsy routs of lyric joy ! 
 
 My throbbing heart with every part 
 Is dancing to the chorus near, 
 
 The gush, the thrill, the wizard trill- 
 Like drops of water tinkling clear ! 
 
 III. 
 
 The cottage matron, knitting 
 
 In her little garden, sings, 
 As wild birds, round her flitting, 
 
 Fan the blossom with their wings ;
 
 NOW SUMMER'S SUNLIGHT. 33 
 
 And twining, combining, 
 
 The honeysuckle and the rose, 
 Sweet shading, and braiding, 
 
 Round her winking lattice goes ; 
 And wild bees through the flowers roam 
 
 The little happy buzzing thieves ! 
 Here and there, with busy hum, 
 
 Rifling all the honeyed leaves. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Now, hamlet urchins roaming, 
 
 All the sunny summer day, 
 From dewy morn till gloaming, 
 
 Through the rustling wildwood stray ; 
 There blithely and lithely, 
 
 By warbling brook and sylvan grot, 
 They ramble and gambol, 
 
 All the busy world forgot ;
 
 34 NOW SUMMER'S SUNLIGHT. 
 
 Like birds that wing the sunny air, 
 And warble in the tangled wild, 
 
 Unhaunted by the dreams of care, 
 Oh, to be again a child ! 
 
 v. 
 Sweet scents and sunshine blending ; 
 
 The wildwoods, in their leafy pride, 
 To the gentle south wind bending ; 
 
 Oh, the bonny summer tide ! 
 The tinkling, the twinkling, 
 
 Where little limpid rivers lave ; 
 The sipping, the dipping 
 
 Of wild-flowers in the gilded wave ; 
 The fruitful leas, the blooming trees, 
 
 The pleasant fields, embroidered fair ; 
 The wild birds' little melodies, 
 
 Scattering gladness everywhere !
 
 THE WORLD. 
 
 HIS foolish world doth wink 
 
 Its cunning lid ; 
 And, when it thinks, it thinks 
 Its thoughts are hid. 
 
 II. 
 
 Its piety's a screen 
 Where vice doth hide ; 
 
 Its purity 's unclean ; 
 Its meekness, pride.
 
 36 THE WORLD. 
 
 Its charity 's a bait 
 To catch a name ; 
 
 Its kindness covers hate ; 
 Its praise is blame. 
 
 Its wisdom soweth seeds 
 Which follies prove ; 
 
 And its repentance needs 
 Eepenting of. 
 
 v. 
 
 Its learning 's empty talk ; 
 
 Its heart is cold ; 
 Its church is an exchange ; 
 
 Its god is gold.
 
 THE WORLD. 37 
 
 VI. 
 
 Its pleasures all are blind, 
 
 And lead to pain ; 
 Its treasures are a kind 
 
 Of losing gain. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Lust moves it more than love, 
 Fear more than shame ; 
 
 Its best ambitions have 
 A grovelling aim. 
 
 VIIT. 
 
 Its laws are a disgrace ; 
 
 Its lords are slaves ; 
 Its honours are misplaced, 
 
 E'en on our graves.
 
 3 8 THE WORLD. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Some sorrow doth attend 
 Its happiest dreams ; 
 
 And rottenness doth end 
 Its rotten schemes. 
 
 x. 
 
 Oh, cnre this moral madness 
 
 This soul-disease ; 
 Shew us that Vice brings sadness, 
 
 And Virtue, ease. 
 
 xr. 
 
 And teach us in the hour 
 
 Of Sin's dismay, 
 That Truth 's the only flower 
 
 Without decay.
 
 TO A MARRIED LADY. 
 
 . this wild voyage o'er the sea of life 
 
 ' 
 Needs all the help that heaven to earth 
 
 can give ; 
 
 Through its dark storms, and shoals, and battle- 
 strife 
 God must be pilot to the ships that live. 
 
 ii. 
 Happy the heart that finds a haven of love, 
 
 Where in the tempest it can sweetly moor, 
 And taste, below, the bliss that but above, 
 
 Is ever stainless, and is ever sure.
 
 4 o TO A MARRIED LADY. 
 
 III. 
 And blest the hearth where pure affections glow 
 
 The husband's and the father's best retreat ; 
 "Where heavenward souls in one direction grow, 
 
 With darling tendrils round them twining sweet. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Such be thy home ; through earth's mutations 
 
 strange, 
 
 A garden, where the flowers of heaven grow ; 
 And, sheltered there from blight, through every 
 
 change, 
 Its loves, its hopes, no touch of ruin know. 
 
 v. 
 May Time, whose withering finger ever brings, 
 
 To Nature's best the doom of sure decline, 
 Float over thee with gently-fanning wings, 
 
 And find the twilight of thy life divine.
 
 TO A MARE1ED LADY. 
 
 4' 
 
 VI. 
 
 And, ever hand in hand, along your path, 
 For thee and thine thus doth the poet pray, 
 
 That ye may walk in joy from life to death, 
 
 And earth's night be the dawn of heaven's day.
 
 CULTIVATE YOUR MEN. 
 
 /ILL as ye ought your barren lands, 
 
 And drain your moss and fen ; 
 Give honest work to willing hands, 
 
 And food to hungry men ; 
 And hearken all that have an ear 
 
 To this unhappy cry, 
 " Are poor folks' only chances here 
 To beg, to thieve, or die ? " 
 
 II. 
 With kindly guerdon this green earth 
 
 Rewards the tiller's care, 
 And to the wakening hand gives forth 
 
 The bounty slumbering there ;
 
 CULTIVATE YOUR MEN. 43 
 
 But there's another, nobler field 
 
 Big with immortal gain, 
 The morasses of mind untilled ; 
 
 Go, cultivate your men ! 
 
 in. 
 Oh, ponder well, ye pompous men, 
 
 With Mammon-blinded eyes, 
 What means the poverty and pain 
 
 That moaning round you lies : 
 Go, plough the wastes of human mind 
 
 Where weedy ignorance grows, 
 The baleful deserts of mankind 
 
 Would blossom like the rose. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But penny- wise, pound-foolish thrift 
 
 Deludes this venal age ; 
 Blind self's the all-engrossing drift, 
 
 And pelf, the sovereign rage.
 
 44 
 
 CULTIVATE YOUR MEN. 
 
 E'en in the Church, the lamp grows dim, 
 That ought to light to heaven, 
 
 And that which fed its holy flame, 
 To low ambition's given. 
 
 v. 
 Just retribution hovers near 
 
 This play of pride and tears ; 
 To heaven all worldly cant is clear, 
 
 Whatever cloak it wears ; 
 And high and low are 011 one path, 
 
 Which leads into the grave, 
 Where false distinctions flit from death, 
 
 And tyrant blends with slave.
 
 OLD MAN'S SONG-. 
 
 H ! sweetly the morning of childhood 
 
 Awoke me to careless delight ; 
 And blithe as a bird of the wildwood 
 
 I played in its beautiful light ; 
 The world was a magical treasure 
 
 That filled me with wonder and joy ; 
 And I fluttered from pleasure to pleasure, 
 Delighted I couldn't tell why : 
 If I thought of to-morrow, 
 I dreamt not of sorrow ; 
 And I smiled as the day went by.
 
 46 OLD MAN'S SONG. 
 
 II. 
 
 Gay youth, with its glittering hours, 
 
 Came frolicking on, full of glee, 
 Where hope's charming sunlighted bowers 
 
 Were thickly in blossom for me ; 
 My heart was an harp whose emotion 
 
 Awoke to all beautiful things, 
 And love was the dearest devotion 
 
 That played in its tremulous strings : 
 So, I dallied, delighted, 
 And carelessly slighted 
 
 Old Time and his rustling wings. 
 
 in. 
 
 Now, the noontide of life has gope by me, 
 The visions of morning have died ; 
 
 And the world is beginning to try me 
 With struggles that chasten mv pride ;-
 
 OLD MAN'S SONG. 47 
 
 As the twilight of time, softly stealing, 
 Comes o'er me with shadows of grey, 
 I feel the sad truth now revealing, 
 It draws to the close of the day ; 
 And thoughtfully eyeing 
 The past, I sit sighing, 
 And wondering how long I shall stay.
 
 BIDE ON". 
 
 HEN thy heart 'neath its trouble sinks 
 
 down, 
 
 And the joys that misled it are gone, 
 When the hopes that inspired it are flown, 
 And it gropes in the darkness alone, 
 Let faith be thy cheer, 
 Scorn the whispers of fear, 
 Be righteous, and bravely bide on. 
 
 n. 
 
 When fancy's wild meteor-ray 
 Allures thee from duty to roam,
 
 BIDE ON. 
 
 Beware its bewildering waj', 
 
 And rest with thy conscience at home ; 
 
 Give ear to its voice ; 
 
 Let the stream of thy joys 
 From the fountain of purity come. 
 
 ill. 
 
 When, by failure and folly borne down, 
 
 The future looks hopelessly drear ; 
 And each day, as it flies, with a frown, 
 Tells how helpless, how abject we are \ 
 Let nothing dismay 
 Thy bold effort to-day ; 
 Be patient, and still persevere. 
 
 rv. 
 
 Be steady, in joy and in sorrow ; 
 Be truthful, in great and in small ; 
 H 
 
 49
 
 5 o BIDE ON. 
 
 Fear nothing but sin, and each morrow 
 Heaven's blessing upon thec shall fall 
 In thy worst tribulation 
 Shun low consolation, 
 And trust in the God that sees all.
 
 THE MOORLAND WITCH. 
 
 HERE lives a lass on yonder moor 
 
 She wears a gown of green ; 
 She's handsome, young, and sprightly, 
 
 With a pair of rognish een : 
 She's graceful as the mountain doe 
 
 That snuffs the forest air ; 
 And she brings the smell of the heather-bell 
 In the tresses of her hair. 
 
 ii. 
 'Twas roaming careless o'er the hills, 
 
 As sunlight left the sky, 
 That first I met this moorland maiden 
 
 Bringing home her kye :
 
 s 2 THE MOORLAND WITCH. 
 
 Her native grace, her lovely face, 
 The pride of art outshone ; 
 
 I wondered that so sweet a flower 
 Should blossom thus alone. 
 
 in. 
 Alas, that ever I should meet 
 
 Those beaming eyes of blue, 
 That round about my thoughtless heart 
 
 Then- strong enchantment threw. 
 I could not dream that falsehood lurked 
 
 In such an angel smile ; 
 I could not fly the fate that lured 
 
 With such a lovely wile. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And when she comes into the vale, 
 
 To try her beauty's power, 
 She'll leave a spell on many a heart 
 
 That fluttered free before.
 
 THE MOOKLAXD WITCH. 53 
 
 Bat, oh, beware her witching smile, 
 
 'Tis but a fowler's snare ; 
 She's fickle as the mountain wind 
 
 That frolics with ner hair \
 
 THE CHURCH CLOCK. 
 
 thou, who dost these pointers see, 
 And hear'st the chiming hour, 
 Say, do I tell the time to thee, 
 
 And tell thee nothing more ; 
 I bid thee mark life's little day 
 
 By strokes of duty done ; 
 A clock may stop at any time, 
 But time will travel on. 
 
 ii. 
 I am a preacher to a few, 
 
 A servant unto all, 
 As here I stand tick, ticking, 
 
 Like a death-watch in a wall ;
 
 THE CHURCH CLOCK. 55 
 
 And, it were well that those who see 
 
 These fingers gliding on, 
 Should think a moment, now and then, 
 
 How fast the moments run. 
 
 III. 
 There's some of you are wealthy, 
 
 And some of you are proud ; 
 And some are poor, and some are sad, 
 
 And waiting for a shroud ; 
 Be patient yet a while, for see 
 
 This little yard below, 
 The man who goes the longest way, 
 
 Has not so far to go. 
 
 IV. 
 
 A christ'ning ; then, a wedding comes ; 
 
 And then, a passing bell ; 
 'Tis just the ancient tale that time 
 
 Has always had to tell :
 
 56 THE CIIURCII CLOCK. 
 
 The very clock that marks the hour, 
 With ticking wears away ; 
 
 The gladdest pulse of life contains 
 The music of decay.
 
 GOD BLESS THEE, OLD ENGLAND! 
 
 OD bless thee, old England, the home of 
 
 the free ; 
 
 A garden of roses, begirt by the sea ! 
 The wild waves that fondle thy darling green shore 
 Shall sing thy proud story till time be no more ; 
 And nations unborn, looking over the wave, 
 Shall tell of the isle of the free and the brave, 
 Where liberty's battle, through ages of old, 
 Was fought in the hearts of the just and the 
 
 bold ; 
 
 Old England, the Queen of the Sea ! 
 
 i
 
 S 8 GOD BLESS THEE, OLD ENGLAND. 
 
 II. 
 
 May truth ever flourish thy children among ; 
 And deeds that awaken the spirit of song 
 Inspire future bards with emotion divine, 
 Till earth has no anthem so noble as thine ! 
 Green cradle of manliness, beauty, and worth ! 
 May thy name be a watchword of joy in the earth 
 When I have long mouldered beneath the green 
 
 sod, 
 A country devoted to freedom and God ; 
 
 Old England, the Queen of the Sea !
 
 CHRISTMAS SONG. 
 
 the dark-clouded sky no star shews a 
 
 gleam ; 
 
 The drift-laden gale whistles wild in the tree ; 
 
 The ice-mantle creeps o'er the murmuring stream, 
 
 That glittering runs through the snow-covered 
 
 lea; 
 But, hark ! the old bells fling the news to the 
 
 wind ! 
 
 Good Christians awake to their genial call ; 
 
 The gale may blow on, we'll be merry and kind ; 
 
 Blithe yule, and a happy new year to us all !
 
 60 CHRISTMAS SONG. 
 
 Bring in the green holly, the box, and the yew, 
 The fir, and the laurel, all sparkling with 
 rime ; 
 
 Hang up to the ceiling the mistletoe-Lough, 
 And let us be jolly another yule-tune ! 
 
 II. 
 While, garnished with plenty, together we meet 
 
 In carolling joy, as the glad moments flee, 
 Thus sheltered away from the frost and the sleet, 
 
 With friends all around us, in festival glee, 
 We'll still keep the heavenly lesson in mind, 
 
 A gentle Redeemer was born at this tide ; 
 The wind may blow keenly, but we will be kind, 
 And think of the poor folk that shiver outside. 
 Bring in the green holly, the box, and the yew, 
 The fir, and the laurel, all sparkling with 
 
 rime; 
 
 Hang up to the ceiling the mistletoe-bough, 
 And let us be jolly another yule-time !
 
 CHRISTMAS SONG. 61 
 
 III. 
 
 He's a cur who can bask in the fire's cheery light, 
 And hearken, unheeded, the winter wind blow, 
 And care not a straw for the comfortless wight 
 
 Who wanders about in the frost and the snow ; 
 But we'll think of the mournful the while we are 
 
 glad ; 
 
 Our hearts shall be kind as the winter is keen ; 
 And we'll share our good cheer with the poor and 
 
 the sad, 
 
 Who sorrow and struggle in corners unseen. 
 Bring in the green holly, the box, and the yew, 
 The fir, and the laurel, all sparkling with 
 
 rime ; 
 
 Hang up to the ceiling the mistletoe-bough, 
 And let us be jolly another yule-time !
 
 LOVE AND GOLD. 
 
 were but poor young people, 
 
 My Margaret and I ; 
 And well I knew she loved me, 
 Although her looks were shy : 
 But I longed to see strange countries, 
 
 That lie beyond the main ; 
 And when I'd gathered riches, 
 Come flaunting home again. 
 
 ii. 
 When I parted from my true love, 
 
 A rover's fate to try, 
 She was full of strange forebodings, 
 
 And tears were in her eye.
 
 LOVE AND GOLD. 63 
 
 Pale looks of silent sorrow 
 
 She gave to all my glee, 
 When I said, " I'll win some gold, lovo, 
 
 And bring it back to thee ! " 
 
 in. 
 But my heart was proudly beating-, 
 
 And I was in my prime, 
 So, in chase of golden treasure, 
 
 I went from clime to clime ; 
 In giddy chase of pleasure, 
 
 Beyond the foaming sea, 
 All heedless of the maiden 
 
 Who pined at home for me. 
 
 IV. 
 
 So I sought for gold, and won it, 
 
 And still I wanted more, 
 And as my treasure gathered, 
 
 Was poorer than before :
 
 64 LOVE AND GOLD. 
 
 For it made me proud and heartless ; 
 
 It made me hard and cold ; 
 It made me slight my true love 
 
 That cursed yellow gold ! 
 
 v 
 But, in spite of all my riches, 
 
 I was growing old and worn ; 
 So I took a ship for England, 
 
 The place where I was born ; 
 I took a ship for England, 
 
 With all my golden store, 
 To dazzle those that knew me 
 
 Full thirty years before. 
 
 VI. 
 
 When I landed with my gold-bags, 
 The friends of old were gone ; 
 
 And, in spite of all my riches, 
 I felt myself alone.
 
 LOVE AND GOLD. 55 
 
 Though strangers fluttered round mo 
 I knew their hearts were cold ; 
 
 And I sought in vain the true love, 
 That 's never bought with gold. 
 
 VII. 
 
 My skin was parched and yellow, 
 
 My hair was thin and grey, 
 And she that loved me dearly, 
 
 Was sleeping in the clay. 
 She had long been in the churchyard, 
 
 Sleeping sweet and sound ; 
 And I was but an outcast 
 
 Upon the lonely ground. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Now to her grave I wander, 
 
 And sit upon the stone, 
 Where all is still and silent, 
 
 Except my lonely moan ; 
 K
 
 66 LOVE AND GOLD. 
 
 But I shall soon be going, 
 
 For I am ill and old ; 
 And my gold will deck the mourners, 
 
 Who wish my body cold.
 
 ALL ON A ROSY MORN OF JUNE. 
 
 on a rosy morn of June, 
 \Y hen farmers make their hay, 
 Down by yon bonny woodland green 
 
 A milking maid did stray ; 
 And oh, but she was sweet and fair, 
 
 The flower of all the vale ; 
 In her hand a wild white rose she bare, 
 And on her head a pail. 
 
 II. 
 
 Across the fields, as she did rove, 
 The pretty maiden sang 
 
 A plaintive lay of tender love, 
 That through the valley rang :
 
 68 ALL ON A ROSY MORN OF JUNE. 
 
 Blithe as a linnet on the spray, 
 
 Among the wildwood green, 
 She lilted on her flowery way, 
 
 And vanished from the scene. 
 
 in. 
 When next I saw that pleasant vale 
 
 Twelve moons had wandered by 
 A matron told her hapless tale 
 
 With tear-drops in her eye ; 
 For there had been, with winsome wile, 
 
 A careless-hearted lad, 
 And plucked the flower whose lovely smile 
 
 Made all the valley glad . 
 
 IV. 
 
 The woods were gay and green again ; 
 
 The sun was smiling on ; 
 But the charmer of the rural glen 
 
 For evermore was gone :
 
 ALL ON A ROSY MORN OF JUNE. 69 
 
 Now, mouldering near the churchyard way, 
 
 All stricken in her pride, 
 The white rose of the valley lay, 
 
 With an infant by her side.
 
 GLAD WELCOME TO MORN'S DEWY 
 HOURS. 
 
 i. 
 
 LAD welcome to morn's dewy hours 
 
 The birds warble blithe to the gale, 
 While the sun shimmers through the green 
 
 bowers, 
 
 And plays with the stream in the vale ; 
 But, as clouds o'er the heavens come streaming, 
 
 Then silence, with shade, creeps along: 
 They pass, and again the woods, gleaming, 
 At once wake to sunlight and song. 
 
 ii. 
 
 So I sport, till the storm gathers o'er me 
 Then, pensively hushed in the gloom,
 
 WELCOME TO MORX'S DEWY HOURS. 71 
 
 My heart looks around and before me 
 For something the shade to illume ; 
 
 Yet though, folding the wings of my gladness, 
 I 'm. mute in the hurricane's howl, 
 
 Thou com'st, through the gloomiest sadness, 
 A sunbeam of joy to my soul. 
 
 in. 
 Fair star of remembrance, endearing, 
 
 Still lend me thy brilliant ray, 
 My wanderings chastening and cheering, 
 
 Till life, with its light, fade away ; 
 And, oft as my pathway thou greetest, 
 
 I '11 waken my harp-string to thee, 
 And sing how the brightest and sweetest 
 
 Are always the swiftest to flee.
 
 ALAS! HOW HARD IT IS TO SMILE. 
 
 j*LAS ! how hard it is to smile 
 
 When all within is sad ; 
 And rooted sorrow to beguile 
 By mingling with the glad. 
 The heart that swells with grief disdains 
 
 Pretension's mean alloy, 
 And feels far less its keenest pains 
 Than mockeries of joy. 
 
 ii. 
 How few among the thoughtless crowds 
 
 Can tell the jealous care 
 With which a gentle spirit shrouds 
 
 Its pangs from worldly glare.
 
 ALAS! HOW HARD IT IS TO SMILE. 73 
 
 The harp of sorrow wooes the touch 
 
 Of sympathy alone ; 
 Its trembling fibres shrink from such 
 
 As cannot feel their tone. 
 
 III. 
 The gay may sport upon the wave 
 
 Of life's untroubled tides, 
 Like birds that warble on a grave, 
 
 They dream not what it hides ; 
 But pleasure's wretched masquerade 
 
 Wakes sorrow's keenest throe ; 
 The saddest look is not so sad 
 
 As the strained smile of woe.
 
 YE GALLANT MEN OF ENGLAND. 
 
 'E gallant men of England, 
 
 Of noble races bred, 
 Remember how your fathers 
 
 For liberty have bled ; 
 Stand to your ancient banners, 
 In a thousand battles torn 
 The banners of Great Britain, 
 To a thousand victories borne. 
 
 n. 
 When flags of tyrants, flying, 
 
 Insult the air again, 
 And freedom's sons are dying 
 
 Upon the bloody plain,
 
 YE GALLANT MEN OF ENGLAND. 75 
 
 Rush, to the gory havoc 
 
 With all your native might, 
 And carve your way to justice, 
 
 Or perish for the right. 
 
 ill. 
 
 Ye sons of ancient heroes, 
 
 And heirs of England's fame, 
 Wherever danger threatens 
 
 Be worthy of your name ; 
 And hurl each bold aggressor 
 
 Into his native lair, 
 To rule the slaves and traitors 
 
 That crawl around him there. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Though knaves and cowards tremble 
 
 Beneath despotic sway, 
 And fools to wily tyrants 
 
 Resign, a willing prey,
 
 76 YE GALLANT MEN OF ENGLAND. 
 
 The race of island lions, 
 Bred by the Western main, 
 
 The freedom won by battle 
 By battle can maintain.
 
 HERE'S TO MY NATIVE LAND. 
 
 JERE 'S to my native land ; 
 
 And here 's to the heathery hills, 
 Where the little birds sing on the blooming 
 
 boughs, 
 To the dancing moorland rills. 
 
 n. 
 
 There's a lonely little cot, 
 
 And it stands by a spreading tree, 
 Where a kind old face has looked from the door 
 Full many a time for me ;
 
 7 8 HERE'S TO Mr NATIVE LAND. 
 
 III. 
 
 On the slope of a flowery dell, 
 
 And hard by a rippling brook ; 
 And it's oh for a peep at the chimney- top, 
 Or a glint of the chimney-nook ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 And there is a still churchyard, 
 
 Where many an old friend lies ; 
 And I fain would sleep in my native ground 
 At last, when they close my eyes. 
 
 v. 
 
 When summer days were fine, 
 
 The lads of the fold and I 
 Have roved the moors, till the harvest moon 
 Has died in the morning sky.
 
 HERE'S TO MY NATIVE LAND. 79 
 
 VI. 
 
 Oh, it 's sweet in the leafy woods 
 
 On a sunny summer's day ; 
 And I wish I was helping the moorland lads 
 To tumble their scented hay ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Though many a pleasant nook 
 
 In many a land I Ve seen, 
 I 'd wander back to my own green hills, 
 If the wide world lay between. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 They say there's bluer skies 
 Across the foaming sea : 
 Each man that is born has a land of his own, 
 And this is the land for me !
 
 WHAT MAKES YOUR LEAVES FALL 
 
 DOWN? 
 
 HAT makes your leaves fall down, 
 
 Te drooping autumn flowers ? 
 What makes your green go brown, 
 
 Ye fading autumn bowers ? 
 Oh, thou complaining gale, 
 
 That wand'rest sad and lone, 
 What sorrows swell the tale 
 Of that funereal moan ? 
 
 ii. 
 
 Have ye felt love like mine, 
 And met with like return,
 
 WHAT MAKES YOUR LEAVES FALI? Si 
 
 That ye do thus decline, 
 
 And thus appear to mourn ? 
 Ah, no ! content, methinks, 
 
 Ye glide into decay, 
 As pensive evening sinks, 
 
 At close of summer day. 
 
 in. 
 
 Fall down, ye leafy bowers ! 
 
 And drift upon the gales ; 
 Fade on, ye sleepy flowers ! 
 
 It is my heart that wails ; 
 Blow on, thou quiet wind ! 
 
 It was a fancied moan 
 The echo of a mind 
 
 That feels its pleasure gone.
 
 WHEN DROWSY DAYLIGHT. 
 
 HEN drowsy daylight's drooping c'o 
 
 Closes o'er trie fading lea, 
 When evening hums his vesper-song, 
 And twinkling dews the meadow throng, 
 I'll come to meet thee, Mary ! 
 
 [1. 
 
 The lazy hours refuse to fly ; 
 As gaudy day goes creeping by, 
 I count each moment with a sigh, 
 Until the hour of shade steals nigh, 
 
 That brings me to my Mary !
 
 WHEN DROWSY DAYLIGHT. 83 
 
 III. 
 
 The flower is dear unto the lea, 
 The blossom to the parent tree : 
 Thou'rt more than flower and leaf to me 
 This heart of mine, by love of thee, 
 
 Must bloom or wither, Mary. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The summer woods are Avaving fair ; 
 The bluebell scents the evening air ; 
 The small bird woos its mate to share 
 Its little nest and loving care : 
 
 Oh, be my own, my Mary !
 
 MARY. 
 
 Y Mary is the queen of girls ! 
 
 Cupid's archers round her play, 
 And bivouac among the curls 
 Which her noble head array .' 
 
 II. 
 
 Her modest glances to and fro 
 
 Ah, little knows she how they win ! 
 
 Would draw an angel down below, 
 Or woo the fall'u to heaven again.
 
 MARY. 85 
 
 III. 
 
 The fairest form that ever played 
 A poet's brightest dreams among, 
 
 Was not so lovely as the maid 
 
 That wakes this heart of mine to song. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And oh, her eyes, of heavenly hue ! 
 
 The mystic spell of those twin skies, 
 "When love's sweet witchery lights the "blue, 
 
 The stainless blue of Mary's eyes ! 
 
 v. 
 Oh, Mary, such a love as mine 
 
 Idolatry can never be : 
 Earth has no altar more divine, 
 
 No purer paradise, for me.
 
 OH! HAD SHE BEEN A LOWLY MAID. 
 
 [H ! had she been a lowly maid 
 
 That stole this heart of mine, 
 She would have filled the humblest shade 
 
 With radiance divine : 
 The moon of beauty's starry skies, 
 
 She glides serenely fair, 
 Absorbing in her gleaming eyes 
 The brightest planet there. 
 
 II. 
 
 Oh ! were she but a flower of spring 
 Upon the dewy lea,
 
 OH! HAD SHE BE PIN A LOWLY MAID. 87 
 
 To -watch its lovely blossoming 
 
 My heart's delight would be ; 
 And when its leaves began to fade, 
 
 Their fading I would moan ; 
 And treasure up the sacred cHst 
 
 To mingle with my own.
 
 THE OLD BARD'S WELCOME HOME. 
 
 [RING- me a goblet of drink divine, 
 
 To welcome a minstrel friend of mine ! 
 Enfranchised from the dreary crowd, 
 That wrapt his spirit like a shroud, 
 Once more he climbs the moorlands dun, 
 And hears his native rindles run ; 
 Through pleasant vales he takes his way, 
 Where wild-flowers with the waters play ; 
 And listens with enchanted mind 
 As wizard voices in the wind 
 Sing of his darling native earth, 
 The rude, the true, the hardy north !
 
 THE OLD BARD'S WELCOME HOME. 89 
 
 His native dales, his native streams 
 The angels of his exile-dreams 
 Each dingle green, each breezy height, 
 Awakes his spirit to delight. 
 Oh, welcome to the fresh old hills ! 
 The mossy crags, and tinkling rills 
 To field, and wood, and moorland glen, 
 Welcome, welcome home again ! 
 
 Well may the pleasant summer air 
 Fondly play with thy silver hair ; 
 Well may the brooklet's ripples clear 
 Leap as thy footsteps wander near ; 
 Well may the wild-flowers on the lea, 
 Nodding their pretty heads to thee, 
 Scatter abroad their sweetest sweet, 
 Their fond old poet friend to meet ; 
 They've waited, and have listened long, 
 For thee, oh, white-haired son of song ! 
 
 N
 
 9 o THE OLD BARD'S WELCOME HOME. 
 
 Though tempests rage and clouds are black, 
 The sun keeps on his glorious track, 
 Serenely shining, to the west, 
 And, grandly smiling, sinks to rest. 
 Thy task, old bard, is nearly done : 
 Oh, may the evening coming on, 
 Long lingering sweetly round thy way, 
 Close like a cloudless summer day !
 
 OH! COME ACROSS THE FIELDS. 
 
 OW, from dreary winter's dream awaking, 
 Glad nature robes herself to meet the 
 
 spring ; 
 
 Hark, how the blithesome birds are making 
 Among the trees their songs of welcoming ! 
 Oh, come across the fields, my love, 
 And through the woods with me ; 
 As nature moves toward the spring, 
 So moves my heart to thee, my love, 
 So moves my heart to thee ! 
 
 11. 
 
 See, from their silent shelters sweetly peeping, 
 The budding wild-flowers steal with timid gleo
 
 92 OH I COME ACROSS THE FIELDS. 
 
 See the soft fresh verdure, gently creeping, 
 Is mantling over the delighted lea ! 
 
 Then come across the fields, my love, 
 And through the woods with me ; 
 As nature moves toward the spring, 
 So moves my heart to thee, my love, 
 So moves my heart to thee ! 
 
 in. 
 
 Oh ! listen, love ; it is the throstle's carol, 
 
 In yonder elm-tree ringing loud and clear ; 
 " First come the buds, and then the bonny blossom- 
 The golden summer time will soon be here ! " 
 Then come across the fields, my love, 
 
 And through the woods with me ; 
 As nature moves toward the spring, 
 So moves my heart to thee, my love, 
 So moves my heart to thee !
 
 OH! COME ACROSS THE FIELDS. 93 
 
 IV. 
 
 My heart is like a flowerless wintry wild, 
 
 Where tuneless joy sits lone, with folded wing, 
 Until thy beauty conies, enchantress mild, 
 
 To melt the gloom, and make the flowers spring ! 
 Oh, shine upon this longing heart, 
 
 And I thy charms will sing, 
 For thy sweet re-appearing 
 Is like another spring, my love, 
 Is like another spring !
 
 OH'. WEAVE A GARLAND FOR 
 
 MY BROW. 
 
 ! weave a garland for my brow, 
 Of roses and of rue ; 
 For once I loved a bonny lass, 
 
 Alas, she was not true ! 
 But when she slighted all my grief, 
 
 I knew that grief was vain, 
 And I hid the wound that pained my heart, 
 Until it healed again.
 
 WEAVE A GAIiLAXD FOR MY BROW. 95 
 
 II. 
 Then, gentle lover, pine no more, 
 
 Thy tenderness is blind ; 
 Sighing to one whose heart is cold 
 
 Will never make her kind. 
 Go, take some comfort to thy breast 
 
 The world is fair to see 
 And on some genial bosom rest 
 
 "Whose pulses beat for thee.
 
 TO THE SPRING WIND. 
 
 WEET minstrel of the scented spring, 
 
 Ten thousand silver bells, 
 To welcome thee, are all a-swing, 
 
 Upon the dewy fells : 
 To sing with thee, I should be fain, 
 
 Thou harper blithe and free ! 
 But love has bound me with a chain, 
 That wrings the heart of me. 
 
 II. 
 Oh, hasten to my love, and tell 
 
 Her how she makes me pine ; 
 And ask her if she thinks it well 
 
 To slight a heart like mine ;
 
 TO THE SPRING W1XD. 
 
 For if my suit her scorn doth move, 
 
 It shall no longer be, 
 Although I know she 's made for love. 
 
 And I wish that she loved me. 
 
 97
 
 NIGHTFALL. 
 
 green leaves answer to the night- wind's 
 
 sigh, 
 
 And dew-drops winking, on the meadows lie ; 
 The sun's gone down 
 O'er the drowsy town ; 
 And the brooks are singing to the listening moon. 
 
 ii. 
 
 The soft wind whispers on its moody way ; 
 The plumy woodlands in the moonlight play ; 
 Night's tapers gleam 
 In the gliding stream ; 
 
 Heaven's eyes are watching while the earth doth 
 dream.
 
 NIGHTFALL. 99 
 
 III. 
 
 The lovely light that dwells in woman's eyes, 
 Softly curtained by the fringed lids lies ; 
 
 Sleep's Lethean hand 
 
 Waves o'er the land, 
 And the weary toiler to his shelter hies. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Old nurse, whose lullaby can soothe them all, 
 Oh, hap them kindly in thy downy pall ! 
 
 They've gone astray 
 
 On life's rough way ; 
 But, rest them ; rest them for another day. 
 
 v. 
 
 The living, sleeping in their warm beds lie ; 
 The dead are sleeping in the churchyard, nigh ; 
 
 The mild moon's beam 
 
 O'er all doth stream, 
 And life and death appeal' a mingling dream.
 
 I00 NIGHTFALL. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Decay, that in my very breath doth creep, 
 Thou surely art akin to this soft sleep, 
 
 That shows the way 
 
 To a bed of clay, 
 Whose wakeless slumbers close the mortal day. 
 
 VII. 
 
 And thus, with ceaseless roll, time's silent wave 
 Lands me each night upon a mimic grave, 
 
 Whose soft repose 
 
 Hints at life's close, 
 
 Death's fleets are cruising where life's current 
 flows.
 
 TO A YOUNG LADY, 
 
 WHO LENT ME AN OLD BOOK. 
 
 I/HIS learned volume doth not tell 
 
 A story so divine, 
 'Nor point a moral half so well 
 As that young face of thine. 
 
 n. 
 Thou shouldst have sent a rose to me, 
 
 With morning dew bestarred ; 
 It would have better likened thee, 
 
 Sweet rosebud of the bard !
 
 TO A YOUNG LADY. 
 
 III. 
 But mornings fly, and dewdrops dry, 
 
 And many a lovely rose 
 Is plucked, and thrown neglected by, 
 
 Before it fairly blows. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Sweet maid, thy budding time is fair ; 
 
 So may thy blooming be ; 
 And never blighting blast of care 
 
 Untimely wither thee. 
 
 v. 
 Flower on, in gladness, free from stain, 
 
 Until the autumn 's past ; 
 And, like a fading rose, retain 
 
 Thy sweetness to the last.
 
 POOR TRAVELLERS ALL. 
 
 JOOR travellers all, 
 
 Both great and small, 
 How thoughtlessly we play 
 In a country 
 Of mortality, 
 Where never a man can stay. 
 
 11, 
 
 Our birth is but 
 
 A starting foot 
 
 Upon the fatal road,
 
 104 POOR TRAVELLERS ALL. 
 
 Where death keeps watch 
 O'er life, to snatch 
 The jewel back to God. 
 
 in. 
 
 Time's sickle reaps, 
 
 In restless sweeps, 
 The harvest of decay ; 
 
 On every ground 
 
 His sheaves are bound, 
 And garnered in the clay. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Though hints divine, 
 
 In symbols fine, 
 With warnings strew the way,- 
 
 Bepeeching us, 
 
 And teaching us, 
 The danger of delay,
 
 POOR TRAVELLERS ALL. 105 
 
 V. 
 
 We dally still, 
 
 With fitful will, 
 Among delusive joys ; 
 
 Heeding them not, 
 
 Except for sport, 
 As children play with toys. 
 
 VI. 
 
 We romp and run 
 
 Mad in the sun ; 
 We murmur at the cloud ; 
 
 And where 's the breast 
 
 That's quite at rest 
 Until it 's in a shroud ? 
 
 VII. 
 
 Thus glides away 
 Life's little day, 
 In giddiness and glooms ;
 
 io6 POOR TRAVELLERS ALL. 
 
 And never a one 
 Can. feel it's gone, 
 Until his bed-time comes. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Poor travellers all, 
 
 Both, great and small, 
 How thoughtlessly we play, 
 
 In a country 
 
 Of mortality, 
 Where never a man can stay.
 
 THE DYING ROSE. 
 
 Autumn sings his anthem drear 
 O'er Summer's waning pride ; 
 And the water-lily to its bier 
 
 Droops by the brooklet side : 
 The hour has come, my floral gem, 
 
 That beckons thee away, 
 To join these relics of the bower, 
 In neighbourly decay. 
 
 n. 
 I saw thy bud, with orient tip, 
 
 Peep forth in beauty rare ; 
 I saw the dewdrops throng thy lip 
 
 Thou sweetheart of the air !
 
 io8 THE DYING ROSE. 
 
 But brief, alas, the charm it wrought 
 
 In this delighted eye ; 
 For, 'twas tmmingled with a thought 
 
 That thou wert doomed to die. 
 
 HI. 
 
 The golden sunshine smiled to see 
 
 How beautiful thou grew ; 
 Rich with thy perfume, o'er the lea 
 
 The whispering breezes flew ; 
 The wild bee well might linger long 
 
 Within thy rosy folds, 
 'Twas there he purchased, for a song, 
 
 The sweetest wealth he holds. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But Summer's golden glory 's o'er ; 
 
 All nature seems to moan : 
 Both leaf and flower have had their hour, 
 
 And home again are gone ;
 
 THE DYING ROSE. 109 
 
 The greenwood's tresses, fallen away, 
 
 Upon the ground are laid : 
 And chill winds in the sear leaves play 
 
 The requiem of the dead. 
 
 v. 
 Noi long, at best, oh fading flower, 
 
 Has man to stay behind ; 
 Cold death may still at any hour 
 
 The fever of his mind ; 
 May check his frets of joy and grief, 
 
 Extinguish all his pride, 
 And lay him, like a blighted leaf, 
 
 To moulder at thy side. 
 
 VI. 
 
 But go thy way ; 'twas ever so 
 
 With what 's beneath the sky ; 
 We do not all so sweetly grow, 
 
 But, we as surely die :
 
 THE DYING ROSE, 
 
 Companions, in a graveward throng, 
 
 Upon a rugged way, 
 Where trouble cannot keep us long, 
 
 Though joy doth never stay. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Go, rest in peace thy weary head, 
 
 Death's silent winter through ; 
 New spring shall cheer thy lonely bed, 
 
 And wake thy life anew : 
 So thou, my soul, shalt rise again, 
 
 To breathe a purer breath, 
 In climes beyond the fatal chain 
 
 That binds this realm of death.
 
 LINES. 
 
 H ! whatever betide thee, 
 
 Thou needst not despair ; 
 Where conscience doth guide thee, 
 Thy safety is there. 
 
 If fortune delight thee, 
 
 Beware its alloy ; 
 And should it despite thee, 
 
 Endure it with joy. 
 
 For, to win its caressing 's 
 
 A dangerous gain ; 
 And Heaven's best blessings 
 
 Are hidden in pain.
 
 LINES. 
 
 While youth and health bless thee, 
 
 Remember the day 
 When mourners shall dress thee 
 
 To sleep in the clay. 
 
 Do good unto all men, 
 
 Contented, unknown; 
 Expecting thy payment 
 
 From Heaven alone.
 
 THE MAN OF THE TIME. 
 
 |E is a sterling nobleman 
 
 Who lives the truth he knows 
 Who dreads the slavery of sin, 
 And fears no other foes. 
 
 II. 
 
 Who scorns the folly of pretence ; 
 
 Whose mind from cant is free : 
 Who values men for worth and sense, 
 
 And hates hypocrisy. 
 
 Q
 
 114 THE MAN OF THE TIME. 
 
 III. 
 Who glows with love that 's free from taint ; 
 
 Whose heart is kind and brave ; 
 Who feels that he was neither meant 
 
 For tyrant nor for slave. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Who loves the ground, where'er he roam, 
 
 That 's trod by human feet, 
 And strives to make the world a home 
 
 Where peace and justice meet. 
 
 v. 
 
 Whose soul to clearer heights can climb, 
 Above the shows of things, 
 
 Cleaving the mortal bounds of time, 
 On meditative wings,
 
 THE MAN OF THE TIME. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Malice can never mar his fame ; 
 
 A heaven-crowned king is he ; 
 His robe, a pure immortal aim ; 
 
 His throne, eternity.
 
 THE WANDERER'S HYMN. 
 
 APPY the heart that 's simply pure ; 
 
 Happy the heart that 's nobly brave 
 Happy the man that breaks the lure 
 
 That winds like death round folly's slave. 
 
 n. 
 Wandering in the worldly throng, 
 
 The dust of earth still keeps us blind ; 
 The judgment 's weak, the passions strong, 
 
 The will as fitful as the wind.
 
 THE WANDERER'S HYMN. 117 
 
 III. 
 Disguised in joy's deceitful beams, 
 
 A thousand fitful meteors ply 
 About our path the demon- schemes, 
 
 That dazzle only to destroy. 
 
 IT. 
 Who can we ask for aid but Thee, 
 
 Our only friend, our only guide ? 
 What other counsellor have we ? 
 
 Where else, oh, where, can we abide ? 
 
 v. 
 Oh ! hear and help us while we pray ; 
 
 And travel with us all the way ! 
 Oh ! hold our hands, and be our stay ! 
 
 Oh ! set us right whene'er we stray !
 
 ALONE, UPON" THE FLOWERY PLAIN. 
 
 fLONE, upon the flowery plain 
 
 I rove, in solitary pain ; 
 Looking around the silent lea 
 For something I shall never see. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Yon hedge-row blossoms as before, 
 
 And roses shade yon cottage door ; 
 
 But oh, I miss the tresses fair, 
 
 And eyes that glowed with welcome there.
 
 ALONE, UPON THE FLOWERY PLAIN. 119 
 
 III. 
 
 The streamlet, still, in rippling pranks, 
 Kisses the wild flower on its banks ; 
 But I am lonely on the shore, 
 To which my love returns no more. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The lark, aloft in sunny air, 
 
 Carols, as if my love was there ; 
 
 And the wind goes by, with mournful sound, 
 
 Murmuring, " No more, on mortal ground."
 
 LIFE'S TWILIGHT. 
 
 i. 
 
 )OW silver threads begin to shine 
 
 Among nay thinning hair ; 
 And down the slope of life's decline 
 
 I thoughtfully repair. 
 The fire that once was in mine eyes 
 
 Has dimmed its fervid ray, 
 And every hour of life that flies, 
 
 Is stealing light away. 
 Oh, let me, with untroubled breast, 
 
 A while in shadow lie, 
 Before I lay me down to rest, 
 
 And bid the world " (rood bye."
 
 LIFE'S TWILIGHT. rat 
 
 II. 
 
 With Time, that wrestler old and grim, 
 
 I 've had a gallant round ; 
 But ah, there 's little chance with him 
 
 Who bringeth all to ground. 
 Although the world still rolleth on 
 
 Its merry, motley Avay, 
 My little part of life is done, 
 
 Except to watch the play. 
 Then, let me, with untroubled breast, 
 
 A while in shadow lie, 
 Before I lay me down to rest, 
 
 And bid the world " Good bye." 
 
 HI. 
 
 In youth, to pleasure's lightest trill, 
 My heart leaped blithe and free ; 
 
 N"ow, she may play what tune she will. 
 It is not so with me ; 
 
 R
 
 LIFE'S TWILIGHT. 
 
 For though a smile may sometimes steal 
 
 Across my furrowed brow, 
 My joys are all akin, I feel, 
 
 To contemplation now. 
 Then, let me, with untroubled breast, 
 
 A while in shadow lie, 
 Before 1 lay me down to rest, 
 
 And bid the world " Good bye."
 
 CHRISTMAS MORNING. 
 
 all you weary wanderers, 
 Beneath the wintry sky ; 
 This day forget your worldly cares, 
 And lay your sorrows by ; 
 Awake, and sing ; 
 The church bells ring ; 
 For this is Christmas morning ! 
 
 II. 
 
 With grateful hearts salute the morn, 
 And swell the streams of song, 
 
 That laden with great joy are borne, 
 The willing air along ;
 
 124 CHRISTMAS MORNING. 
 
 The tidings thrill 
 With right good will ; 
 For this is Christmas morning ! 
 
 in. 
 We 11 twine the fresh green holly wreath, 
 
 And make the yule-log glow ; 
 And gather gaily underneath 
 The winking misletoe ; 
 All blithe and bright 
 By the glad fire-light ; 
 For this is Christmas morning ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Come, sing the carols old and true, 
 
 That mind us of good cheer, 
 And, like a heavenly fall of dew, 
 Revive the drooping year ; 
 And fill us up 
 A wassail-cup ; 
 For this is Christmas morning !
 
 CHRISTMAS MORNING. 
 
 V. 
 To all poor souls we '11 strew the feast. 
 
 With kindly heart, and free ; 
 One Father owns us, and, at least, 
 To-day we '11 brothers be ; 
 Away with pride, 
 This holy tide ; 
 For it is Christmas morning- ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 So now, God bless us one and all 
 
 With hearts and hearthstones warm ; 
 And may He prosper great and small, 
 And keep us out of harm ; 
 And teach us still, 
 His sweet good-will, 
 This merry Christmas morning !
 
 SONG. 
 
 T the close of day, her melting lay 
 
 As Philomel began, 
 A maiden sang as she did stray, 
 And thus the carol ran : 
 
 n. 
 
 Oh, the daisy, and the sweet bluebell. 
 
 And the bonny celandine ; 
 My darling's feet have touched the dell, 
 
 And made the posies fine.
 
 SONG. 127 
 
 III. 
 
 Soft whispering gales, on viewless wings, 
 
 Come o'er the rippling sea ; 
 But ah, no news the west wind brings 
 
 From my true love to me. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The wild bee roves the flowery wold ; 
 
 Be still, dear heart of mine ; 
 My darling is a cup of gold 
 
 That's running o'er with wine. 
 
 v. 
 Sweet bird, whose tender warble fills 
 
 The ear of fading day, 
 Go, sing for me those liquid trills, 
 
 That fond complaining lay.
 
 THE WOUNDED LARK. 
 
 WRITTEN ON THE ILLNESS OF AN EMINENT MUSICIAN. 
 
 AY low thine ear with kindly care, 
 
 And gently tread the ground ; 
 Some mourner haunts the grassy lair ; 
 What means this plaintive sound ? 
 
 II. 
 
 Here, 'mongst his little nestlings, lies 
 A lark, with broken wing, 
 
 Gazing aloft into the skies, 
 Where once he used to sing.
 
 THE WOUNDED LARK. 129 
 
 III. 
 
 No more, up-springing from the lawn, 
 To greet the brightening sky, 
 
 High-poised, 'mid rosy tints of dawn, 
 He'll thrill the world with joy. 
 
 IV. 
 
 No more above the sun-tipt hills 
 He'll fan his happy wings ; 
 
 His notes have sunk to mournful trills, 
 And sorrow's all he sings. 
 
 v. 
 
 So prone lies he, whose genial power 
 Once led the tuneful train ; 
 
 So fate has changed his joyous dower 
 To cadences of pain. 
 
 s
 
 1 3 o 
 
 THE WOUNDED LARK. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Thus, daily, minstrel tones do creep 
 
 In sadness, one by one, 
 Into the silent land, where sleep 
 
 The voices that are gone.
 
 SEA WEEDS. 
 
 land has its gardens of roses, 
 Its flowers of every hue, 
 Which close as the daylight closes, 
 And wake to the morning dew ; 
 It has sweet-scented groves of pleasure, 
 
 Where the bee roves all day long, 
 And, at eve, with her load of treasure, 
 Flies home to a drowsy song. 
 
 n. 
 
 There, summer her mantle of verdure, 
 With posies so sweet enweaves,
 
 132 SEA WEEDS. 
 
 That the sunshine delays on their beauty, 
 Till it falls asleep in the leaves ; 
 
 And the spell-bcrand rain comes dreeping, 
 To brighten their eyes anew ; 
 
 And their folds are by young winds fondled, 
 And kist by the silvery dew. 
 
 III. 
 
 But the grand old sea hides wonders 
 
 That never met mortal eye, 
 Bright bowers that never have rustled 
 
 To soft wind's dreamy sigh ; 
 Strange groves of mystical beauty, 
 
 And flowers of rainbow hue, 
 Bloom wild in those old sea-gardens, 
 
 All under the waters blue ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 And when the pale moon is sleeping, 
 At night, on the trembling sea,
 
 SEA WEEDS. 133 
 
 And the coral-paved halls of Neptune 
 
 Re-echo the kelpies' glee : 
 Oh, the floral festoons of magic, 
 
 That curtain those pearly caves, 
 Where the water-sprites revel in splendour, 
 
 All under the drowsy waves ! 
 
 v. 
 Ye fairy- tinged groves of ocean, 
 
 Your delicate banners wave, 
 Where the fisherman sleeps in the lonely deeps, 
 
 In his cold, uncrowded grave : 
 Wave on your beautiful tendrils, 
 
 In your gardens wild and free, 
 Caressed by the gleaming waters, 
 
 Of the grand old heaving sea !
 
 THINGS GONE BY. 
 
 evening ; sad November's gale 
 Was moaning wild and cold ; 
 Night's deep'ning shade had dimm'd the vale, 
 
 And hid the distant wold ; 
 In dreamy mood, as all grew still 
 
 Beneath the waning sky, 
 I sat beside my window-sill, 
 And thought of things gone by. 
 
 ii. 
 
 An old and lonely man was there, 
 By labour sorely worn ;
 
 THINGS GONE BY. 135 
 
 The frost of age had thinn'd his hair, 
 
 And sorrow made him lorn ; 
 His wrinkled cheek long time had play'd 
 
 With wind, and rain, and sun ; 
 That weary man, he sigh'd, and said 
 
 ' : It's dark and nothing done." 
 
 in. 
 On life, and death, and mortal fret, 
 
 I musing then began ; 
 And on the dangers that beset 
 
 The pilgrimage of man : 
 I thought of days for ever flown, 
 
 And hopes for ever fled ; 
 I sigh'd for friends asunder thrown, 
 
 Or sleeping with the dead. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Since life's first wand'ring step began 
 They've strewn the fatal way,
 
 136 THINGS GONE BY. 
 
 And only here and there a man 
 Has reach' d the close of day ; 
 
 Like leaflets, drifted to and fro, 
 When autumn's cold winds rave, 
 
 Some fluttering wild, some trampled low, 
 Some mould'ring in the grave. 
 
 v. 
 The days are gone when, light and free, 
 
 I roved the mountains wild ; 
 The light no more will shine for me 
 
 On morning's hour that smiled : 
 No sun or rain can e'er again 
 
 Revive youth's faded flowers ; 
 No sad regret, nor sigh of pain, 
 
 Recall the fleeted hours.
 
 MINNIE. 
 
 Minnie's as shy as a little wild rose, 
 That fills all around with delight as it 
 
 blows ; 
 
 Its leaves, pleasant-scented, 
 Unfolding, contented 
 To sweeten the nook where it grows. 
 
 ir. 
 
 Kate flutters her wings, and a lady would be ; 
 She's ribboned, and jewelled, and flounced to the 
 knee ; 
 
 T
 
 138 MINNIE. 
 
 But she 's keen, and she '.s cold, 
 And she 's proud of her gold, 
 The dule take her ribbons, for me ! 
 
 in. 
 
 My Minnie's as poor as a little red-breast, 
 " With nought in the wide world but God and its 
 nest ;" 
 
 Yet the star of a king 
 Is a pitiful thing 
 To the jewel that glows in her breast. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Kate 's handsome and bold, and she 's haughty and 
 
 chill; 
 
 She 's a winterly smile for the heart she can kill ; 
 And she bears off the bell 
 From the girls of the dell, 
 With a clapper that never lies still.
 
 MINNIE. 139 
 
 V. 
 Though Minnie's as blithe as the skylark that 
 
 springs 
 
 From its roost in the meadow, with dew on its 
 wings 
 
 'Tis her own little nest, 
 And the mate she loves best, 
 That gladden the song that she sings. 
 
 VI. 
 
 What care I for riches, and gaudy array 
 What care I to flaunt with the heartlessly gay ? 
 If my little wild-rose 
 Love me on to life's close, 
 And sweeten its troublesome way.
 
 THE MOORLAXD MAID. 
 
 "HERE'S a limpid rindling fountain, 
 
 Yonder moorland hills among ; 
 From tlie heather-breasted mountain 
 
 Tinkling drips its liquid song ; 
 To its lonely music list'ning, 
 
 Once a maiden sat thereby ; 
 Oh, that maiden's dark eye glist'ning 
 It will haunt me till I die. 
 
 II. 
 
 In that fragrant, wild seclusion, 
 With the soaring lark above,
 
 THE MOORLAND MAID, 141 
 
 Blooming nature's glad profusion 
 
 Listen'd to our vows of love : 
 Sunny skies, and flow'rs around us, 
 
 On my rustic darling smiled ; 
 And the dewy twilight found us 
 
 Ling'ring still amid the wild. 
 
 in. 
 
 Oh, mild hour, when eve's lone planet 
 
 Gilds the pearls on every blade ; 
 Angel-zephyrs came to fan it 
 
 Blissful hour of mystic shade ; 
 Sweet the wild-birds's trilling vespers 
 
 Died upon the dewy lea ; 
 But my darling's gentle whispers 
 
 Never more will fade from me. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ah, that scene is now too sadd'ning- - 
 Saddest in its richest bloom ;
 
 THE MOORLAND MAID. 
 
 Summer flowers, the wild hills gladd'nmg, 
 Move my heart to deeper gloom ; 
 
 Birds may hail the scented blossom 
 Oft on smiling hill and plain, 
 
 But the green earth's silent bosom 
 Ne'er will yield my love again. 
 
 v. 
 Thus to meet thee, but to sever ; 
 
 Thus to love, and then to part 
 Oh, the bliss, the pain, for ever 
 
 Mingling in my lonely heart : 
 Oh, those lovely glances, darting 
 
 Modest gleams of timid glee ; 
 Oh, the last sad hour of parting, 
 
 'Tween my own true love and me. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Farewell to yon breezy mountain ; 
 Farewell to the flow'ry dell ;
 
 THE MOORLAND MAID. 143 
 
 Farewell to the rindling fountain, 
 And the lonely moorland well ; 
 
 Farewell to the streamlet, purling 
 Sweetly through yon silent glen ; 
 
 Oh, farewell, the dark-eyed darling 
 I shall never see again !
 
 PROLOGUE 
 
 (WRITTEN ON THE OCCASION OF THE MANCHESTER 
 LETTERPRESS PRINTERS' DRAMATIC ENTERTAIN- 
 MENT, APRIL 4TH, 1868.) 
 
 iHEN first, from old "Westminster's hoary 
 
 pile, 
 
 The Art of Printing dawned on Britain's isle, 
 In some dim chapel of that sacred fane 
 The venerable Caxton ruled his train, 
 Whose artful toil, foredoomed by mystic tie, 
 Flushed the young stream of England's liberty. 
 England ! where noble hearts had wrestled long, 
 In dumb contention between right and wrong,
 
 PROLOGUE. 145 
 
 'Twas there in cloistered shade, he wove the spell 
 At whose behest the chain of silence fell ; 
 And, nursing skill, with strange mutations fraught, 
 Gave freedom to the prisoned realms of thought ! 
 
 ***** 
 
 Strange were the implements, the labour strange ; 
 The little rill of art was big with change ; 
 With loving care, the initiated few 
 There, brought the infant mystery to view ; 
 And, as in dim secluded gloom they toiled, 
 Fate's folded skein of printed thought uncoiled ; 
 Whilst the hushed murmurs of the working 
 
 throng 
 
 Mingled with solemn strains of sacred song : 
 There learned churchmen pondered in amaze, 
 And kingly patrons dealt bewildered praise : 
 Ah, little dreamt they what that germ con- 
 tained, 
 What vast, upheaving powers, heaven-ordained !
 
 I4 6 PROLOGUE. 
 
 ***** 
 Rnde were the artist's tools, the product slight ; 
 Costly and few the works it brought to light ; 
 Mysterious came the first imprinted page, 
 To th' wondering gaze of an unletter'd age ; 
 And small the inducement such an art to ply, 
 When only clerks could read, and only kings 
 could buy. 
 
 But time, the soil of life's eventful field 
 Was doomed, by fate, the mighty plant to yield ; 
 Doomed to sustain, and nurture, through the 
 
 night 
 
 Of undergrowth, until it burst to sight, 
 And cheered the nations with its presence bright ! 
 Slow grew the art though often checked, it 
 
 grew ; 
 
 Now, nipt with frost, now fed with rain and dew ; 
 Slow grew the struggling art, but still, it grew. 
 In patient majesty, the nursling rose ;
 
 PROLOGUE. 147 
 
 Rooted by struggle, and made strong by blows ; 
 Till e'en its nurses watched it with surprise, 
 And tyrants trembled as they saw it rise ! 
 For, as it grew, to realms of light it led, 
 And fed the freedom upon which it fed. 
 Oh, freedom ! Spark of heaven-descended fire, 
 That never fades from noble heart's desire ! 
 The bird that in the wild wood carols free 
 No bird, imprisoned, sings so well as he ! 
 Thanks to those lofty stars of England's night, 
 Who cheered her struggling sons with steadfast 
 
 light! 
 Thanks to the men who fought and suffered 
 
 long, 
 
 To make the right triumphant over wrong ! 
 Thanks to those gallant hearts of later breed, 
 By whom the Press was from its trammels 
 
 freed, 
 Now, thousands print what millions rush to 
 
 read !
 
 148 PROLOGUE. 
 
 But stay, my roving muse, restrain thy flight 
 What is it brings the Press-gang here to-night ? 
 Come they, as erst, some wandering slave to 
 
 seize? 
 
 Ah, no, our mission is to free, and please : 
 In mutual self-reliance to combine, 
 To soothe the last sad hours of life's decline ; 
 To help the feeble and to cheer the sad ; 
 The worn-out workman's sinking heart to glad ; 
 From bitter penury the sick to save, 
 And smooth the totterer's way unto the grave. 
 And feeble, though, our histrionic skill, 
 It humbly seeks to lessen human ill. 
 Then, oh, with generous hearts, give kind 
 
 acclaim, 
 And cheer the labour for its noble aim. 
 
 Oh, Printing, Art with mystic power fraught ! 
 Thou swift dispenser of undying thought ! 
 Strew lofty lessons still, at heaven's behest :
 
 PROLOGUE. 149 
 
 And teach us Charity above the rest ! 
 
 And, till we're summoned hence, by fatal call, 
 
 Father of Nature's Chapel, 1 bless us all ! 
 
 In the old printing-offices of England, and even in many of 
 the best printing-offices of the kingdom now, the workmen form 
 a little court of law, summoned occasionally for the settlement 
 of disputes among themselves. This court they call " The 
 Chapel," and the President of the court is called " The Father 
 of the Chapel." Doubtless these names arise from the fact 
 that the first English printing-office was one of the chapels of 
 Westminster Abbey.
 
 SONGS IN THE LANCASHIRE 
 DIALECT.
 
 SONGS. 
 
 COME WHOAM TO THY CHILDER 
 
 AN' ME. 
 
 [W'VE just mended th' fire wi' a cob / 
 Owd Swaddle lias brought thi new 
 
 shoon ; 
 There's some nice bacon-collops o'th hob, 
 
 An' a quart o' ale posset i'th oon ; 2 
 Aw Ve brought thi top-cwot, 3 doesto know, 
 For th' rain's comin' deawn very dree ; 4 
 
 1 Cob, a lump of coal. 
 J Top-cwot, top-coat. 
 
 Oon, oven. 
 
 Dree, wearily-continuous.
 
 I S 4 COME WHO AM TO 
 
 An' th' har' stone 's as white as new snow ;- 
 Come whoam to thi childer an' me. 
 
 n. 
 
 When aw put little Sally to bed, 
 
 Hoo cried, 'cose her feyther l weren't theer, 
 So aw kiss'd th' little thing, an' aw said 
 
 Thae 'd bring her a ribbin fro' th' fair ; 
 An' aw gav her her doll, an' some rags, 
 
 An' a nice little white cotton-bo' ; 
 An' aw kiss'd her again ; but hoo said 
 
 'At hoo wanted to kiss thee an' o'. 
 
 ill. 
 
 An' Dick, too, aw'd sich wark 2 wi' him, 
 Afore aw could get him up stairs ; 
 
 1 Feyther, father. a Work, work.
 
 THY CHILD f!R AN' ME. *55 
 
 Thae tovvd him tliae 'd bring him a drum, 
 He said, when he 're sayin' his prayers ; 
 
 Then he looked i' my face, an' he said, 
 
 " Has th' boggarts taen houd o' my dad?" 
 
 An' he cried whol 1 his een were quite red ; 
 He likes thee some weel, does yon lad ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 At th' lung-length, 2 aw geet him laid still ; 
 
 An' aw hearken't folks' feet 'at went by ; 
 So aw iron't o' my clooas reet weel, 
 
 An' aw hanged 'em o'th maiden to dry ; 
 When aw'd mended thi stockiii's an' shirts, 
 
 Aw sit deawn to knit i' my cheer, 
 An' aw rayley did feel rayther hurt 
 
 Mon, aw'm one-ly 3 when theaw artn't theer. 
 
 1 Whol, while, until. 
 
 Th' lung-length, thd long-length, the end. 
 
 3 One-ly, lonely.
 
 156 COME WHO AM TO THY CHILD ER AN' ME. 
 
 V. 
 " Aw 've a drum an' a trumpet for Dick ; 
 
 Aw ' ve a yard o' blue ribbin for Sal ; 
 Aw Ve a book full o' babs ; l an' a stick 
 
 An' some bacco an' pipes for mysel' ; 
 Aw've brought thee some coffee an' tay 
 
 Iv thae'll feel i' my pocket, thae'll see ; 
 An' aw've bought tho a new cap to-day, 
 
 But aw olez 2 bring summat for thee ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 " God bless tho', my lass ; aw'll go whoam, 3 
 
 An' aw'll kiss thee an' th' childer o' reawnd : 
 Thae knows, that wheerever aw roam, 
 
 Aw 'm fain to get back to th' owd greawnd ; 
 Aw can do wi' a crack o'er a glass ; 
 
 Aw can do wi' a bit ov a spree ; 
 But aw ' ve no gradely 4 comfort, my lass, 
 
 Except wi' yon childer and thee." 
 
 1 Babs, babies, pictures. 3 Olez, always. 
 
 3 Whoam, home. 4 Gradely, proper, right.
 
 WHAT AILS THEE, MY SOX ROBIN? 
 
 |jj|3|gHAT ails tnee, my son Robin ? 
 $^$,$4 My heart is sore for thee ; 
 Thi cheeks are grooin' thinner, 
 
 An' th' leet has laft thi e'e - l 
 Theaw trails abeawt so lonesome, 
 
 An' looks so pale at morn ; 
 God bless tho, lad, a\v 'm soory 2 
 
 To see tho so forlorn. 
 
 1 Th' leet has laft thi e'e, the light lias left tliine eye. 
 1 Soory, sorry.
 
 158 WHAT AILS THEE, 
 
 TT. 
 
 Thi fuutstep's sadly awfcer't. 1 
 
 Aw used to know it weel, 
 N"eaw, arto fairy-stricken, lad ; 
 
 Or, arto gradely 2 ill ? 
 Or, hasto bin wi' tli' witches 
 
 I'th cloof, 3 at deep o'th neet ? 
 Come, tell mo, Kobin, tell mo, 
 
 For summat is not reet ! 
 
 ill. 
 
 " Eh, mother, dunnut fret yo ; 
 
 Aw am not like mysel' ; 
 But, 'tisn't lung o'th feeorin ' 4 
 
 That han to do wi' th' deil ; 
 There's nought 'at thus could daunt mo, 
 
 I 'th cloof, by neet nor day ; 
 
 1 Awter't, altered. 
 
 2 Gradely, properly, thoroughly. 
 
 3 Clooj, clough, glen. 
 
 4 Feeorin', frightening, things that frighten.
 
 MY SON ROB IN f 159 
 
 It 's yon blue een o' Mary's ; 
 They taen my life away." 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Aw deawt l aw've done wi comfort 
 
 To tli' day that aw mun dee, 
 For th' place hoo sets her fruit on, 
 
 It's fairy greawnd 2 to me ; 
 But, oh, it's no use speykin', 
 
 Aw connut ston her pride ; 
 An' when a true heart's breykin' 
 
 It's very hard to bide ! " 
 
 v. 
 
 Neaw, God be wi' tho, Robin ; 
 Just let her have her way ; 
 
 Aw deawt, I doubt, I think, I surmise. 
 Fairy-greawnd, enchanted ground.
 
 160 WHAT AILS THEE, MY SON ROBIN? 
 
 Hoo'll never meet thy marrow, 1 
 For monj a summer day ; 
 
 Aw 're just same wi' thi feyther, 2 
 When first he spoke to me : 
 
 So, go thi ways, an' whistle ; 
 An ' th ' lass '11 come to thee ! 
 
 1 Marrow, match. * Feyther, father.
 
 WILLY'S GRAVE. 
 
 vHE wintry wind was wailing wild, 
 
 Across the moorland wold ; 
 The cloudless vault of heaven was bright 
 
 With studs of gleaming gold ; 
 The weary cotter's heavy lids 
 
 Had closed with closing day ; 
 And, on his silent hearth, a tinge 
 Of dying fire-light lay.
 
 1 62 WILL Y ' y GRA VE. 
 
 
 II. 
 
 The ancient village seemed asleep 
 
 Beneath the starry sky ; 
 A little river, sheathed in ice, 
 
 Came gliding gently by ; 
 The grey church, in the grave-yard, 
 
 Where " the rude forefathers lay," 
 Stood, like a mother, waiting till 
 
 Her children came from play. 
 
 III. 
 
 No footstep trod the tiny town ; 
 
 The drowsy street was still ; 
 Save where the wandering night-wind sang 
 
 Its requiem wild and shrill : 
 The stainless snow lay thick upon 
 
 Those quaint old cottage eaves ; 
 And wreaths of fairy frost-work hung 
 
 Where grew last summer's leaves.
 
 WILLY'S GRAVE. 163 
 
 IV. 
 Each village home was dark and still, 
 
 And closed was every door ; 
 For gentle sleep had twined her arms 
 
 Around both rich and poor, 
 Save in one little cot, where, by 
 
 A candle's flickering ray 
 A childless mother sighing sat, 
 
 And combed her locks of grey. 
 
 v. 
 
 Her husband, and her children all, 
 
 Were in the silent bed, 
 Where, one by one, she 'd laid them down 
 
 And left them with the dead ; 
 Then, toiling on towards her rest, 
 
 A lonely pilgrim, she, 
 For God and poverty were, now, 
 
 Her only company.
 
 164 WILLY'S GRAVE. 
 
 VI. 
 Upon the shady window-sill, 
 
 A well-worn bible lay ; 
 Against the wall, a coat had hung, 
 
 For many a weary day ; 
 And, on the scanty table-top, 
 
 With crumbs of supper strewn, 
 There stood, beside a porringer, 
 
 Two little empty shoon. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The fire was waning in the grate ; 
 
 The spinning-wheel at rest ; 
 The cricket's song rang loudly in 
 
 That lonely woman's nest ; 
 As, with a napkin, thin, and worn, 
 
 And wet with many a tear, 
 She wiped the little pair of shoon 
 
 Her darling used to wear.
 
 WIL LY'S GRA VE. 165 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Her widowed heart had often leaped 
 
 To hear his prattle small ; 
 He was the last that she had left 
 
 The dearest of them all ; 
 And, as she rocked her to and fro, 
 
 While tears came dreeping down, 
 She sighed, and cried, " Oh, Willy, love, 
 
 These little empty shoon ! " 
 
 IX. 
 
 With gentle hand she laid them by, 
 
 She laid them by with care ; 
 For, Willy, he was in his grave, 
 
 And all her thoughts were there : 
 She paused before she dropped the sncck, 
 
 That closed her lambless fold, 
 It grieved her heart to bar the door, 
 
 And leave him in the cold.
 
 166 WILLY'S GRAVE. 
 
 X. 
 A thread-bare cloak she lapped around 
 
 Her limbs, so thin and chill ; 
 She left her lonely cot behind, 
 
 "While all the world was still ; 
 And throngh the solitary night, 
 
 She took her silent way, 
 With weeping eyes, towards the spot 
 
 Where little Willy lay. 
 
 XI. 
 
 The pallid moon had climbed aloft 
 
 Into the welkin blue ; 
 A snow-clad tree across the grave 
 
 Its leafless shadow threw ; 
 And, as that mournful mother sat 
 
 Upon a mound thereby, 
 The bitter wind of winter sighed 
 
 To hear her lonely cry !
 
 WILLY'S GRAVE. 167 
 
 XII. 
 
 My, little Willy's cowd an' still, 
 
 He 's not a cheep for rae ! 
 Th' last tremblin' leaf has dropt away 
 
 Pro' this poor withered tree ! 
 God help my heart ! my comfort's gone ! 
 
 I 'm lonely under th' sky ! 
 He '11 never clip my neck again, 
 
 An' tell me not to cry ! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 My darlin' lad ! He 's laid i' th dust ! 
 
 My little "Willy 's dead ! 
 An' o' that made me cling to life, 
 
 Lies in his frosty bed ! 
 He 's gone ! He 's gone ! My poor bare neest ! 
 
 Oh, what 's this world to me ! 
 My little love ! I 'm lonely neaw ! 
 
 When mun I come to thee !
 
 168 WILLY'S GRAVE. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 He 's crept into his last dark nook, 
 
 And laffc me pinin' here ! 
 An' never-moor his two blue e'en 
 
 For me mun twinkle clear ! 
 He '11 never say his prayers again 
 
 At his poor mammy's knee ! 
 Oh, Willy, love ! I 'm lonely now ; 
 
 When mun I come to thee ! 
 
 XV. 
 
 The snow-clad yew-tree stirred with pain 
 
 To hear that plaintive cry ; 
 The old church listened ; and the spire 
 
 Kept pointing to the sky ; 
 With kindlier touch, the frosty wind 
 
 Played in her locks of grey ; 
 And the queenly moon, upon her head, 
 
 Shone with a softened ray.
 
 WILLY'S GRAVE. 169 
 
 XVI. 
 
 She rose to leave that lonely bed ; 
 
 Her heart was grieving sore ; 
 One step she took, and then, her tears 
 
 Fell faster than before : 
 She turned and gave another look, 
 
 One lingering look she gave, 
 Then, sighing, left him lying in 
 
 His little wintry grave.
 
 THE GRINDLESTONE. 
 
 Air " Derry Down" 
 
 T wur Body o' Joseph's, a joiner by trade, 
 A comical cowt, an' a keen-bitten blade ; 
 He're as fause as a boggart, as th' neighbours 
 
 weel knew, 
 Though, when he'd a mind, he could look like 
 
 a foo'. 
 
 Derry down. 
 
 II. 
 
 But th' bravest an' breetest o' th' childer o' men 
 May haply be hamper't a bit, now an' then ; 
 Body's axe wanted grindin', one wark-a-day morn, 
 When there nobry about to gi' th' grindle a turn. 
 
 Derry down.
 
 THE GR1NDLESTONE. 171 
 
 III. 
 Then he grunted, an' mumble't, an' glendur't 
 
 around, 
 
 An' he tooted about o'er the neighbourin' ground ; 
 Still, never a soul to turn th' stone could he find, 
 An' it made him a little bit thrutched in his mind. 
 
 Derry down. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Till a soft lookin' urchin coom wanderin' by, 
 Wi' his thumb in his mouth, an' a tear in his eye ; 
 Wi' his slate an' his satchel, he're creepin' to schoo', 
 An', bi th' look of his een, Dody know'd he're 
 
 a foo". 
 
 Derry down. 
 
 v. 
 
 "Bi th' maskins," says Dody, "I'm losen't at last ! " 
 An' he beckon't o' th' lad that wur wanderin' past ! 
 " Come hither, my tight little maister o' men ! " 
 Then he poo'd out a sixpence, an' fobbed it again. 
 
 Derry down.
 
 17* THE GRINDLESTONE. 
 
 VI. 
 
 " There's a grindlestone here dosto think thou 
 
 can turn ; 
 
 If thou doesn't know how, I can help tho to larn. 
 I connot howd th' axe an' turn th' hondle mysel' ; 
 Thou'rt a nice lad o' somebry's come, give us a 
 
 twell ! " 
 
 Derry down. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Th' lad laid howd o' th' hondle, an' shap't like a 
 
 mon ; 
 For he lippen't o' sixpence, when th' turning wur 
 
 done ; 
 
 So, he twirl't at this grindle o' Dody o' Joe's, 
 Till saut-water trickl't off th' end of his nose. 
 
 Derry down. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Dody felt at his axe, an' he said, " Thou young 
 
 foo'; 
 Thou'lt get a rare twiltin' for stoppin' fro' schoo' ;
 
 THE GRINDLESTONE. 173 
 
 Hie tho' off, like a red-shank, or th' dur may be 
 
 teen'd : " 
 An' lie gav' him a bit of a lifter beheeud. 
 
 Deny down. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Th' lad dried fro his for-yed the breet briny drip ; 
 An' he pike'd up his books, wi' a wimpei'in' lip ; 
 An' he crope off to schoo', turnin' o'er in his mind 
 Th' first lesson he'd larn't i' the pranks o' monkind. 
 
 Derry down. 
 
 x. 
 As yo wander'n through life, ten 'at one that yo'n 
 
 find 
 
 A good lot o' folk that han axes to grind ; 
 Give a turn when yo con ; but remember to th' end, 
 It's turnin' th' wrang road to turn on a friend. 
 
 Derry down.
 
 GOD BLESS THESE POOR FOLK! 
 
 OD bless these poor folk that are strivin' 
 
 By means that are honest an' true, 
 For some'at J to keep 'em alive in 
 
 This world that we're scramblin' through : 
 As th' life ov a mon's full o' feightin', 2 
 A poor soul that wants to feight fair, 
 Should never be grudged ov his heytin ', 3 
 For th' hardest o'th battle's his share. 
 Chorus. As th' life ov a mon. 
 
 Some'at, somewhat. 2 Feightin , fighting. 
 
 3 Heytin' eating.
 
 GOD BLESS THESE POOR FOLK. 175 
 
 II. 
 This world's kin to trouble ; i'th best on't, 
 
 There's mony sad changes come reawnd; 
 We wandern abeawt to find rest on 't, 
 
 An' th' worm yammers 1 for us i'th greawnd, 
 May he that'll wortch 2 while he's able, 
 
 Be never long hungry nor dry ; 
 An' th' childer at sit at his table, 
 
 God bless 'em wi' plenty, say I. 
 
 Chorus. As th' life ov a mon. 
 
 m. 
 
 An' he that can feel it a pleasur' 
 
 To leeten misfortin an' pain, 
 May his pantry be olez full measur'. 
 
 To cut at, and come to again ; 
 
 1 Yammer, to make an eager noise with the jaws, like hungry 
 children at meal-time. 
 7 Wortch, work.
 
 176 GOD BLESS THESE POOR FOLK. 
 
 May God bless his cup and his cupbort, 1 
 A theawsan' for one that he gives ; 
 
 An' his heart be a bumper o' comfort, 
 To th' very last minute he lives ! 
 
 Clwrus. As th' life ov a mon. 
 
 IV. 
 
 An' he that scorns ale to his victual, 
 
 Is welcome to let it alone ; 
 There's some can be wise with a little, 
 
 An' some that are foolish wi' noan ; 
 An' some are so quare i' their natur, 
 
 That nought wi' their stomachs agree ; 
 But, he that would liefer 2 drink wayter, 
 
 Shall never be stinted by me. 
 
 Chorus. As th' life ov a mon. 
 
 1 Cupbort, cupboard. * Leifer, rather.
 
 GOD BLESS THESE POOR FOLK. 177 
 
 V. 
 
 One likes to see hearty folk wortchiu', 
 
 An' weary folk havin' a rest ; 
 One likes to yer poor women singin' 
 
 To th' little things laid o' their breast : 
 Good cooks are my favourite doctors ; 
 
 Good livers my parsons shall be ; 
 An' ony poor craytur at's clemmin, 1 
 
 May come have a meawthful wi' me. 
 
 Chorus. As th' life ov a mon. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Owd Time, he's a troublesome codger, 
 Keeps midgin' 2 us on to decay, 
 
 An' whispers, " Yo're nobbut 3 a lodger; 
 Get ready for goin' away ;" 
 
 1 Clemmin, starving for want of food. 
 
 2 Nudgin, elbowing, jogging, pushing. 
 
 3 Nobbut, nought but, only. 
 
 A A
 
 I 7 8 GOD BLESS THESE POOR FOLK. 
 
 Then let's ha' no skulkin' nor sniv'lin', 
 
 Whatever misfortins befo ' ; 
 God bless him that fends 1 for his livin', 
 
 An' houds up his yed 2 through it o' ! 
 
 Olwrus. As th' life ov a mon. 
 
 Fends, provides, works for. 
 
 Houds up his yed, holds up his head.
 
 COME, MARY, LINK THI ARM I' MINE. 
 
 jOME, Mary, link thi arm i' mine, 
 
 An ' lilt away wi' me ; 
 An' dry that little drop o' brine, 
 
 Fro' th' corner o' thi e'e ; 
 Th' mornin' dew i'th heather-bell's 
 
 A bonny bit o' weet ; 
 That tear a different story tells, 
 It pains my heart to see't. 
 
 So, Mary, link thi arm i' mine. 
 
 II. 
 
 No lordly ho' o'th country-side's 
 So welcome to my view,
 
 iSo COME, MARY, 
 
 As th' little corner where abides 
 
 My bonny lass an' trne ; 
 But there's a nook beside yon spring, 
 
 An' iv theaw'll share't wi' me ; 
 Aw'll buy tho th' bonny'st gowden ring 
 
 That ever theaw did see ! 
 
 So, Mary, link thi arm i' mine. 
 
 in. 
 My feyther's gan mo forty peawnd, 
 
 I ' silver an' i' gowd ; 
 An' a pratty bit o ' garden greawnd, 
 
 0' th' mornin' side l o'th fowd ; 
 An' a honsome bible, clen an' new, 
 
 To read for days to come ; 
 There's leaves for writin' names in, too, 
 
 Like th' owd un at's awhoam. 
 
 So, Mary, link thi arm i' mine. 
 
 1 Th' mornin' side, the east side, the side from which morning 
 comes.
 
 LINK THI ARM V MINE. 181 
 
 IV. 
 
 Eawr Jenny's bin a-buyin' in, 
 
 An' every day hoo brings 
 Knives an' forks, an' pots ; an' irons 
 
 For smoothin' caps an' things ; 
 My gronny 's sent a cliist 1 o' drawers, 
 
 Sunday clooas to keep ; 
 An' little Fanny's bought a glass 
 
 "Where thee an' me can peep. 
 
 So, Mary, link thi arm i' mine. 
 
 v. 
 Eawr Turn has sent a bacon-flitch ; 
 
 Eawr Jem a load o' coals ; 
 Eawr Charlie's bought some pickters, an' 
 
 He's hanged 'em upo' th' woles ;" 
 Owd Posy's white-weshed th' cottage through ; 
 
 Eawr Matty's made it sweet ; 
 
 Chist, chest. 2 H'o/es, walls.
 
 1 82 COME, MART, 
 
 An Jack's gan me his Jarman flute, 
 To play bi tb' fire at neet ! 
 
 So, Mary, link thi arm i' mine. 
 
 VI. 
 
 There 's cups an' saucers ; porritch-pons, 1 
 
 An' tables, greyt an' smo' ; 
 There 's brushes, mugs, an' ladin'-cans ; 
 
 An eight-day's clock an' o' ; 
 There's a cheer 2 for thee, an' one forme, 
 
 An' one i' every nook. ; 
 Thi mother's has a cushion on't 
 
 It 's th' nicest cheer i'th rook. 3 
 
 So, Mary, link thi arm i' mine. 
 
 VII. 
 
 My gronny 's gan me th' four-post bed, 
 Wi' curtains to 't an' o' ; 
 
 1 Porritch-pons, porridge-pans. * Cheer, chair. 
 
 3 Rook, lot, collection, number.
 
 LINK Till ARM P MINE. 183 
 
 An' pillows, sheets, an' bowsters, too, 
 
 As white as driven snow ; 
 It isn't stuffed wi' fither-deawn ; ] 
 
 But th' flocks are clen an' new ; 
 Hoo says there 's honest folk i'th teawn 
 
 That 's made a warse un 2 do. 
 
 So, Marj, link thi arm i' mine. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Aw peeped into my cot last neet ; 
 
 It made me hutohin' fain ; 3 
 A bonny fire were winkin' breet 4 
 
 I' every window-pane ; 
 Aw marlocked 5 upo' th' white hearth-stone. 
 
 An* drummed o'th kettle lid ; 
 
 1 Fither-deawn, the down of feathers. 
 8 A warse un, a worse one. 
 
 3 Hutchin' fain, fidgetting glad. 
 
 4 Erect, bright. 
 
 * Marlocked, frolicked. .
 
 184 COME, MARY, LINK THI ARM P MINE. 
 
 An' sung, " My neest l is snug an' sweet ; 
 Aw'll go and fotcla my brid 2 !" 
 
 So, Mary, link tlii arm i' mine. 
 
 1 Need, nest. 
 
 2 Fetch my bnd, fetch my bird.
 
 CHIREUP. 
 
 OUNG Chirrup wur a mettled cowt : l 
 
 His heart an' limbs \vur true ; 
 At foot race, or at wrostlin'-beawt, 
 
 Or aught he buckled to ; 
 At wark or play, reet gallantly 
 
 He laid into his game : 
 An' he're very fond o' singin'-brids 2 
 That 's heaw he geet his name. 
 
 1 A mettled cowt, a spirited colt. 
 * Singin'-brids, singing-birds. 
 
 B B
 
 1 86 CHIRRUP. 
 
 II. 
 
 Ho' re straight as ony pickin'-rod, ' 
 
 An' limber as a snig : 2 
 An' th' heartiest cock o'th village clod, 
 
 At ony country rig : 
 His shinin' een wur clear an' blue ; 
 
 His face wur frank an' bowd ; 
 An' th' yure abeawt his monly broo * 
 
 Wur crispt i' curls o' gowd. 
 
 in. 
 Young Chirrup donned his clinker't shoon, 4 
 
 An' startin' off to th' fair, 
 He swore by th' leet o'th harvest moon, 
 
 He'd have a marlock 5 there ; 
 
 1 Picking-rod, the straight wooden rod with which hand-loom 
 weavers pick, or throw the shuttle. 
 a Limber as a snig, nimble as an eel. 
 
 * Th' yure abeawt his monly broo, the hair about his manly brow. 
 
 Donned his clinker't shoon, put on his strong shoes, nailed 
 with the great nails known by the name of " clinkers." 
 
 4 Marlock, a frolic.
 
 CHIRRUP. 187 
 
 He poo'd a sprig fro th' hawthorn- tree, 
 
 That blossomed by the way ; 
 " Iv ony mon says wrang 1 to me, 
 
 Aw '11 tan his hide to-day ! " 
 
 IV. 
 
 Full sadly mony a lass would sigh, 
 
 As wand'rin' slyly near, 
 They tooted 2 at his een to spy 
 
 Iv love wur lurkin' theer ; 
 So fair an' free he stept the green, 
 
 An' trollin' eawt a song, 
 Wi' leetsome heart, an' twinklin' een, 
 
 Went chirrupin' along. 
 
 v. 
 
 Young Chirrup woo'd a village maid, 
 An' hoo wur th' flower ov o', 
 
 Wrang, wrong. 2 Tooted, peeped carefully.
 
 i88 CHIRRUP. 
 
 Wi' kisses kind, i'th woodlan' shade, 
 
 An' whispers soft an' low ; 
 I' Mally's ear twur th' sweetest chime 
 
 That ever mortal sung ; 
 An' Mally's heart beat merry time 
 
 To th' music ov his tung. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The kindest mates, this world within, 
 
 Mun sometimes meet wi' pain ; 
 But, iv this pair could life begin, 
 
 They 'd buckle to again ; 
 For, though he're hearty, blunt, an' tough, 
 
 An' Mally sweet an' mild, 
 For three-ecore year, through emoo.h an' rough, 
 
 Hoo lad ' him like a child. 
 
 1 Lad, led.
 
 THE DULE 'S I' THIS BONNET O' MINE. 
 
 dule 's i' this bonnet o' mine ; 
 ^ My ribbins '11 never be reet ; 
 Here, Mallj, aw 'm like to be fine, 
 For Jamie '11 be coniin' to-neet ; 
 He met me i'th lone l tother day, 
 
 Aw're gooin' for wayter* to th' well, 
 An' he begged that aw'd wed him i' May ; 
 Bi' th mass, 3 iv he '11 let me, aw will. 
 
 1 Lone, lane. 2 Wayter, water. 
 
 8 Bi'th mass, \>y the mass ; an expression brought down from 
 Catholic times.
 
 190 THE DULE'S P THIS 
 
 II. 
 When he took my two honds into his, 
 
 Good Lord, heaw they trembled between ; 
 An' aw durstn't look up in his face, 
 
 Becose 1 on him seein' my e'en ; 
 My cheek went as red as a rose ; 
 
 There 's never a mortal can tell 
 Heaw happy aw felt ; for, thea knows, 
 
 Aw couldn't ha' axed 2 him mysel'. 
 
 in. 
 But th' tale wur at th' end o' my tung, 
 
 To let it eawt wouldn't be reet, 
 For aw thought to seem forrud 3 wur wrong ; 
 
 So aw towd him aw 'd tell him to-neet ; 
 But, Mally, thae knows very weel, 
 
 Though it isn't a thing one should own, 
 
 1 Recose, because. 2 Axed, asked. 3 Forrud, forward.
 
 BONNET 0' MINE. 191 
 
 If aw 'd th' pikein' l o'th world to mysel', 
 Aw 'd oather 2 ha' Jamie or noan. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Neaw, Mally, aw've towd tho my mind ; 
 
 What wouldto do iv 'twur thee ? 
 " Aw 'd tak him just while he 're inclined, 
 
 An' a farrantly bargain 3 he 'd be ; 
 For Jamie 's as gradely 4 a lad 
 
 As ever stept eawt into th' sun ; 
 So, jump at thy chance, an' get wed, 
 
 An' do th' best tho con, when it 's done ! " 
 
 v. 
 Eh, dear, but it 's time to be gwon, 
 
 Aw should'nt like Jamie to wait, 
 Aw connut for shame be to soon, 
 
 An' aw wouldn't for th' world be to late ; 
 
 1 Pikein', picking, choosing 1 . 2 Oather, either. 
 
 3 A farrantly bargain, a decent bargain, a good bargain. 
 * Gradely, proper, right.
 
 IQZ THE DULE'S P THIS BONNET O' MINE. 
 
 Aw 'm o' ov a tremble to th' heel, 
 Dost tliink at my bonnet '11 do ? 
 
 " Be off, lass, thae looks very weel ; 
 He wants noan o' th bonnet, thae foo ! "
 
 TICKLE TIMES. 
 
 i ERE 'S Robin looks fearfully gloomy, 
 
 An' Jamie keeps starin' at tli' greawnd, 
 He's thinkin' o'th table at 's empty, 
 
 An' th' little things yammerin' ] reawnd ; 
 It looks very dark just afore us, 
 
 But, keep your hearts eawt o' your shoon, c 
 Though clouds may be thickenin' o'er us, 
 There 's lots o' blue heaven aboon ! 
 
 1 Yammerin', making an eager, hungry noise at meal-time. 
 * Shoon, shoes. 
 
 C C
 
 194 TICKLE TIMES. 
 
 II. 
 But, when a mon 's honestly willin', 
 
 An' never a stroke to be had, 
 And clemmin' 1 for want ov a shillin',- 
 
 N"o wonder 'at he should be sad ; 
 It troubles his heart to keep seein' 
 
 His little brids 2 feedin' o'th air ; 
 An' it feels very hard to be deein', 3 
 
 An' never a mortal to care. 
 
 in. 
 But life 's sich a quare 4 bit o' travel, 
 
 A marlock 5 wi' sun an' wi' shade, 
 An' then, on a bowster 6 o' gravel, 
 
 They lay'n us i' bed wi' a spade ; 
 
 1 Clemmin', starving for want of meat. 
 
 3 Little brids, little birds, little children. 
 
 3 Deein', dying. 4 Quare, queer. 
 
 s Marlock, frolic. 6 Bowster, bolster.
 
 TICKLE TIMES. 195 
 
 It 's no use a peawtin' an' fratchin' l 
 As tli' whirligig 's twirlin' areawml. 
 
 Have at it again ; and keep scratchin' 
 As lung as yor yed 's upo' greawnd. 
 
 IV. 
 
 TV one could but grope i'tli inside on't, 
 
 There 's trouble i' every heart ; 
 An' thoose that 'n tli' biggest o'th pride on't, 
 
 Oft leeten 2 o'th keenest o'th smart. 
 Whatever may chance to come to us, 
 
 Let 's patiently hondle or share, 
 For there 's mony a fine suit o' clooas, 3 
 
 That covers a murderin' care. 
 
 v. 
 
 There 's danger i' every station,- - 
 I'th palace as much as i'th cot ; 
 
 1 Peawtin' an' fratchin', pouting, and quarrelling. 
 
 2 Oft leeten, oft light upon. 
 
 3 Choas, clothes.
 
 196 TICKLE TIMES. 
 
 There 's hanker l i' every condition, 
 
 An' canker 2 i' every lot ; 
 There 's folk that are weary o' livin' 
 
 That never fear't hunger nor cowd ; 
 An' there's mony a miserly nowmun, 3 
 
 At 's deed ov a surfeit o' gowd. 
 
 VI. 
 
 One feels, neaw at times are so nipphi', 
 
 A mon's at a troublesome schoo', 
 That slaves like a horse for a livin', 
 
 An' flings it away like a foo ; 
 But, as pleasur 's sometimes a misfortin', 
 
 An' trouble sometimes a good thing, 
 Though we livin' o'th floor, same as layrocks, 4 
 
 We'n go up, like layrocks, to sing ! 
 
 ' Hanker, to fret for, to long for something. 
 8 Canker, a sore place, dissatisfaction. 
 
 3 Nmvmun, a silly fellow. 
 
 4 Layrocks. larks.
 
 JAMIE'S FROLIC. 
 
 NE neet aw crope whoam when my 
 
 weighvin' were o'er, 
 To brush mo, an' wesh mo, an' fettle rny jure ; l 
 Then, trailin' abeawt, wi' mj heart i' my shoon, 
 Kept tryin' my hond at a bit ov a tune, 
 As Mally sit roekin', 
 An' damin' a stockin', 
 An' tentin' her bakin' i'th o'on. 
 
 1 Fettle my yure, put my hair to rights. 
 5 Tentin', minding, taking care of.
 
 198 JAMIE'S FROLIC. 
 
 Li. 
 
 Th' chylt were asleep, an' my clooas were reet, 
 Th' baggin' l were ready, an' o' lookin' sweet ; 
 But, aw're mazy, an' nattle, 2 an' fasten't to tell 
 What the dule it could be that 're ailin' mysel' ; 
 An' it made me so naught, 
 That, o' someheaw, aw thought, 
 " Aw could just like a snap at eawr Mall." 
 
 in. 
 
 Poor lass, hoo were kinder becose aw were quare ; 
 " Come, Jamie, an' sattle thisel' 3 in a cheer ; 
 Thae's looked very yonderly 4 mony a day ; 
 It's grievin' to see heaw thae'rt wearin' away, 
 
 ' n \ *he afternoon meal. 
 
 2 Nattle, snappish, short-tempered. 
 
 3 Sattle thisel\ settle thyself. 
 
 4 Yonderly, absent-minded, thinking far away.
 
 JAMIE'S FROLIC. 199 
 
 An' trailin' abeawt, 
 Like a hen at 's i' th meawt ; * 
 Do, pritho, poo up to thi taj ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Thae wants some new flannels, thae 's getten a 
 
 cowd, 
 
 Thae 'rt noather so ugly, my lad, nor so owd, 
 But, thae 'rt makin' thysel' into nought but a slave. 
 Wi' weighvin', an ' thinkin', an' tryiii' to save ; 
 Get summat to heyt, " 
 Or thae '11 go eawt o' sect, 
 For thae 'rt wortchin' 3 thisel' into th' grave.'' 
 
 v. 
 Thinks I, " Th' lass 's reet, an aw houd with her 
 
 wit;" 
 So, aw said, for aw wanted to cheer her a bit, 
 
 1 1'th meawt, in the moult, moulting. 
 
 8 Get summat to heyt, get somewhat to eat. 
 
 1 Wortchin', working.
 
 200 JAMIE'S FROLIC. 
 
 " Owd crayter, aw Ve noan made my mind up to 
 
 dee, 
 
 A. frolick '11 just be the physic for me ! 
 Aw '11 see some fresh places, 
 An' look at fresh faces, 
 An' go have a bit ov a spree ! " 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then, bumpin' an' splashin' her kettle went 
 
 deawn ; 
 " I'th name o' good Katty, 1 Jem, wheer arto 
 
 beawn? 
 
 An' what sort o' faces dosfc want, con to tell ? 
 Aw deawt thae 'rt for makin' a foo o' thisel', 
 The dule may tent th' oon ; 
 Iv aw go witheawt shoon, 
 Aw '11 see where thae gwos to, mysel' ! " 
 
 1 I'th name o good Katty, an ancient saying, " In the name of 
 good St. Catharine."
 
 JAMIE'S FROLIC. 2O i 
 
 VII. 
 
 Thinks I, " Th' fat 's i'th fire, aw mun make it 
 
 no wur, 
 For there's plenty o' feightin' to do eawt o'th 
 
 dur, 
 
 So, aw '11 talk very prattily to her, as heaw, 
 Or else hoo '11 have houd o' my toppin l in neaw ; " 
 An' bith leet in her e'en, 
 It were fair to be seen 
 That hoo're ready to rive me i' teaw. " 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Iv truth mun be towd, aw began to be fain 
 
 To study a bit o' my cwortin' 3 again ; 
 
 So aw said to her, " Mally, this world 's rough enoo ! 
 
 To fo' eawt 4 wi' thoose one likes best, winnut do, 
 
 1 Toppin', the hair on the front of the brow. 
 
 2 Eive me i 1 teaw, tear me into two. 
 
 3 Cwortin', courting. 
 
 Tufo' eawt, to fall out, to quarrel. 
 D n
 
 2 o2 JAMIE'S FROLIC. 
 
 It's a very sore smart, 
 An' it sticks long i'th heart," 
 An', egad, aw said nought but what 's true ! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Lord, heaw a mon talks when his heart 's in his 
 
 tung! 
 
 Aw roos't her, 1 poor lass, an' showed hoo wur wrung, 
 Till hoo took mo bith hond, with a tear in her e'e, 
 An' said, " Jamie, there 's nob'dy as tender as thee ! 
 Forgi mo, lad, do ; 
 For aw'm nobbut a foo, 
 An' bide wi' mo, neaw, till aw dee ! " 
 
 x. 
 
 So, we'n bide one another, whatever may come ; 
 For, there 's no peace i'th world iv there 's no peace 
 a-whoam ; 
 
 1 Aw nws't her, I praised her.
 
 JAMIE'S FROLIC. 203 
 
 An' neaw, when a random word gi's her some pain, 
 Or makes her a little bit cross in her grain, 
 
 Sunshine comes back, 
 
 As soon as aw crack 
 O' beginning my cwortin' again.
 
 OWD FINDER. 
 
 JWD Finder were a rackless l foo, 
 An' spent his days i' spreein' ; 
 At th' end ov every drinkin-do, 
 
 He're sure to crack o' deein' ; 2 
 " Go, sell my rags, an' sell my shoon ; 
 
 Aw's never live to trail 'em ; 
 My ballis-pipes 3 are eawt o' tune, 
 An' th' wynt 4 begins to fail 'em ! " 
 
 1 Packless, reckless. 
 
 2 Crack o' deein', hint at dying. 
 
 3 Ballis-pipes, bellows-pipes, lungs. 
 
 4 Th' wynt, the wind, the breath.
 
 OWD FINDER. 205 
 
 II. 
 
 " Eawr Matty's very fresh an' yung ; 
 
 'Twould any mon bewilder ; 
 Hoo'll wed again afore its lung, 
 
 For th' lass is fond o' childer ; 
 My bit o' brass '11 fly, yo'n see, 
 
 When th' coffin-lid has screened me, 
 It gwos again my pluck to dee, 
 
 An' lev J her wick beheend me." 
 
 in. 
 " Come, Matty, come, an' cool my yed ; 
 
 Aw'm finish'd, to my thinkin' ;" 
 Hoo happed him nicely up, an' said, 
 
 " Thae's brought it on wi' drinkhi' ;" 
 " Nay, nay," said he, " my fuddle 's done ; 
 
 We 're partin' tone fro tother ; " 
 
 1 Lev, leave. 
 
 8 Tone fro tother, the one from the other.
 
 20 6 OWD FINDER. 
 
 So, promise me that when aw 'm gwon, 
 Thea'll never wed another ! " 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Th' owd tale," said hoo, an' laft her stoo ; 
 
 " Its rayly past believin' ; 
 Thee think o' th world thea 'rt goin' to, 
 
 An' lev this world to th' livin' ; 
 What use to me can deeod folk be ? 
 
 Thae 's kilt tinsel' wi' spreein' ; 
 An' iv that 's o' thae wants wi' me, 
 
 Get forrud wi' thi deein' ! " l 
 
 v. 
 
 He scrat his yed, he rubbed his e'e, 
 An' then he donned his breeches ; 
 
 Get forrud wi' thi deein', get forward with tliy dying.
 
 OH'D FINDER. 2O7 
 
 " Eawr Matty gets as fause," ' said he 
 
 " As one o' Pendle witches ; " 
 Iv ever aw 'm to muster wit, 
 
 It mnn be now or never ; 
 Aw think aw '11 try to live a bit ; 
 
 It would'nt do to lev her ! " 
 
 i Pause, cunning. 
 
 3 Pendle witches, Pendle Forest was notoriously associated 
 with the old witch superstitions of Lancashire.
 
 TH' GOBLIN PARSON. 
 
 [' wynt wur still i'th shade o'th hill, 
 
 An' stars began o' glowin' 
 I'th fadin' leet, one summer neet, 
 When th' dew wur softly foin' ; 
 Wi' weary shanks, by primrose banks, 
 
 Where rindlin' weet 1 wur shinin', 
 Aw whistle't careless, wanderin' slow, 
 Toward my cot inclinin'. 
 
 1 Rindlin' weet, a little wandering, musical rill.
 
 TH' GOBLIN PARSON. 209 
 
 II. 
 Through th' woodlan' green aw tooted l keen, 
 
 For th' little window winkin' ; 
 Th' stars may shine, they 're noan as fine 
 
 As Matty's candle blinkin' ; 
 O'er th' rosy hedge aw went to th' ridge 
 
 O'th lonesome-shaded plantin', 2 
 To get another blink o'th leet 
 
 That set my heart a-pantin'. 
 
 in. 
 Then deawn bi'th well i'th fairy-dell, 
 
 Wi' trees aboon it knittin', 
 Where, near an' far, ther nowt astir 
 
 But bats i'th eawl-leet 3 flittin' ; 
 An' feeorfu' seawnds that rustle't reawncl 
 
 I' mony a goblin-flitter, 
 
 1 Tooted, peeped. 
 a Plantin', plantation. 
 
 3 Eawl-leet, twilight, when owls begin to cry, 
 E E
 
 2io Til' GOBLIN PARSON. 
 
 As swartnin' dark to flaysome wark ' 
 They flew wi' fiendisli titter. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Theer, reet anent, aw geet a gleiit- 
 
 At brought a shiver o'er me, 
 For, fair i'th track ther summat black 
 
 Coom creepin' on afore me ; 
 It wur not clear but it wur thecr 
 
 Wi' th' gloomy shadow blendin', 
 N"eaw black an' slim, neaw grey an' grim, 
 
 Wi' noather side nor en din'. 
 
 v. 
 Cowd drops wur tremblin' o' my broo, 
 
 As there aw stoode belated ; 3 
 Aw durstn't turn, aw durstn't goo, 
 
 But shut my e'en, an' waited ; 
 
 1 Flaysome wark, fearful work. 
 
 * Iteet anent aw geet a glent, right a-head I got a glimpse. 
 
 * Belated, benighted.
 
 TH' GOBLIX PARSON. 211 
 
 An' just as aw begun to pray, 
 
 There coom fro' th' creepin' spectre 
 
 A weel known voice, that said, " Well, James ! " 
 'Twur nowt but th' village rector. 
 
 VI. 
 
 " Well, James," said he, " I 'm fain to see 
 
 Yor pew so weel attended, 
 But then, yo shouldn't fo' asleep 
 
 Afore my sarmon 's ended ; 
 To dreawsy ears it 's useless quite 
 
 To scatter holy teychin' ;' 
 Why don't yo bring a bit o' snuff, 
 
 An' tak it while I 'm prey chin'. 2 " 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Well, well," said aw, " there 's mony a way 
 0' keepin' e'en fro closin', 
 
 1 Teychin ', teaching. 2 Preychin', preaching
 
 212 TH' GOBLIN PARSON. 
 
 A needle would keep th' body wake, 
 
 An' th' soul may still be dozin' ; 
 But this receipt would set it reet, 
 
 Iv th' mixture wur a warm un, 
 Yo' get some stingin' gospel-snuff, 
 
 An' put it into th' sarmon." 
 
 VIII. 
 
 He stare't like mad, but th' good owd lad 
 
 Then grip't my hond, warm-hearted, 
 An' said, " Yo're reet, yo're reet good neet ! " 
 
 An' that wur heaw we parted. 
 It touched my heart, an' made it smart, 
 
 He spoke so mild and pratty ; 
 Aw blest him as he walked away, 
 
 An' then went whoam to Matty.
 
 COME, JAMIE, LET'S UNDO 
 THI SHOOK 
 
 gOME, Jamie, let 's undo thi shoon ; 
 An' don ' sumniat dry o' thi feet ; 
 "WT toilin' i'th sheaw'r up an' deawn ; 
 
 Aw'm fleyed 2 at thi stockin's are weet ; 
 An', here, wi' mj yung uns i'th neest, 
 
 Aw bin heark'nin' to th' patter o' th rain, 
 An' longing for th' wanderin' brid 
 To comfort my spirits again. 
 
 1 Dim, to do on, to put on. 
 
 2 Fleiied, afraid.
 
 214 COME, JAMIE, 
 
 II. 
 
 To-day, when it pelted at th' height, 
 
 " Aw '11 ston it no longer," said I ; 
 For, rayly, ' it didn't look reet 
 
 To keawer - under cover so dry ; 
 So, though it were rainin' like mad, 
 
 Aw thought for my heart gav a swell,- 
 *' Come deawn asto will, but yon lad 
 
 Shall not have it o' to his-sel' ! " 
 
 in. 
 So, whippin' my bucket i'th rain, 
 
 Aw ga' th' bits o' windows a swill ; 
 An', though aw geet drenched to my skin, 
 
 Aw 're better content wi' mysel' ; 
 But, theaw stons theer smilin" o'th floor, 
 
 Like a sun-fleawer drippin' wi' weet ; 
 
 llayly, really. 
 8 Keawer, to sit, to rest in a couching posture.
 
 LET'S UNDO Till SHOON. 215 
 
 Eh, Jamie, theaw knowsn't, aw'm sure, 
 Heaw fain aw 'm to see tho to-neet ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Eh, lass, what's a sheawer to me ? 
 
 Aw've plenty o' sun in my breast, 
 Mi wark keeps me hearty an' free, 
 
 An' gi's me a relish for rest ; 
 Aw'm noan made o' sugar nor saut, 
 
 That melts wi' a steepin' o' rain ; 
 An', as for my jacket, it 's nought, 
 
 Aw '11 dry it by th' leet o' thi e'eu ! ' 
 
 v. 
 Come, sit tho deawn close by my side, 
 
 Aw 'm full as a cricket wi' glee ; 
 Aw 'm trouble't wi' nothin' but pride, 
 
 An' o' on it owin' to thee ; 
 
 Th' leet o' the een, the light of thine eyes.
 
 216 COME, JAMIE, LET'S UNDO THI SHOON. 
 
 Theaw trim little pattern for wives ; 
 Come, give a poor body a kiss ! 
 
 Aw wish every storm ov our lives 
 May end up as nicely as tiiis !
 
 WHILE TAKIN' A WIFT O' MY PIPE. 
 
 DECILE takin' a wift o' my pipe, tothcr ncot, 
 
 A thowt trickled into my pate, 
 That sulkin' becose everything isn't sweet, 
 
 Is nobbut a foolish consate ; l 
 Iv mon had bin made for a bit of a spree, 
 
 An' th' world were a marlockin' schoo', 2 
 Wi' nought nobbut heytin', an' drinkin', an' glee, 
 An' haliday gam 3 to go through, 
 He'd sicken afore 
 His frolic were o'er, 
 An' feel he'd bin born for a foo. 
 
 1 Consate, conceit. 
 
 9 MarlocJdn' schoo', a frolicking school. 
 s Haliday gam, holiday game, holidaj fun. 
 F F
 
 21 8 WHILE TAK1X' A 
 
 ir. 
 Poor crayter, he 's o' discontentment an' deawt, 
 
 Whatever his fortin may be ; 
 He 's just like a chylt ' at goes cryin' abeawt, 
 
 " Eawr J ohnny's moor traycle nor me ; " 
 One minute he 's trouble't, next minute he 's fain, 
 
 An' then, they're so blended i' one, 
 It 's hard to tell whether he 's laughin' through pain, 
 Or whether he 's peawtin' for fun ; 
 He stumbles, an' grumbles, 
 He struggles, an' juggles, 
 He capers a bit, an' he 's gone. 
 
 in. 
 It 's wise to be humble i' prosperous ways, 
 
 For trouble may chance to be nee ; 
 It 's wise for to struggle wi' sorrowful days, 
 
 Till sorrow breeds sensible glee ; 
 
 ' Chylt-, child. '" Aee, near.
 
 WIFT O' MY PIPE. 119 
 
 He's rich that, contented wi' little, lives weel, 
 
 An' nurses that little to moor ; 
 He 's weel off at 's rich, iv he nobbut can feel 
 He 's brother to thoose that are poor ; 
 An' to him 'at does fair, 
 Though his livin' be bare, 
 Some comfort shall ever be sure. 
 
 IV. 
 
 We'n nobbut a lifetime a-piece here below, 
 
 An' th' lungest is very soon spent ; 
 There 's summat aboon measur's cuts 1 for us o', 
 
 An' th' most on 'em nobbut a fent ; 2 
 Lung or short, rough or fine, little matter for 
 that, 
 
 We'n make th' best o'th stuff till it's done, 
 
 1 Cuts, a name for a weaver's piece, or web of clork 
 5 Fent, a part or fragment of the web of cloth.
 
 220 WHILE TAKIN' A WIFT O' MY PIPE. 
 
 An* when it leets eawt to get rivven l a bit, 
 Let 's dam it as weel as we con ; 
 
 When th' order conies to us 
 
 To doff these owd clooas, 2 
 There '11 surely be new uns to don. 
 
 1 liiwen, torn. 
 
 3 Ctooas, clothes.
 
 GOD BLESS THI SILVER YURE ! 
 
 gJONE, lad, though thi hond's 
 
 Like reawsty l iron to feel, 
 There 's very few i'th lond 
 
 Aw like to gripe 2 as weel. 
 Tha'll never dee i'th dumps 
 
 Becose o' bein' poor, 
 Thae good owd king o' trumps, 
 
 God bless thi silver yure ! 
 
 Poo up to th' side o'th hob, 3 
 An' rest thi weary shanks, 
 
 1 Rfawsty, rusty. 2 Gripe, grip. 
 
 2 Hob, a ledge close to the lire-grate.
 
 GOD BLESS THI 
 
 An' dunnot fret thy nob 
 Wi' fortin an' her pranks ; 
 
 These folk at's preawd an' rich 
 May tremble at her freawn ; 
 
 They'n further far nor sich 
 As thee to tumble deawn. 
 
 in. 
 Thaew never longs for wine, 
 
 Nor dainties rich an' rare, 
 For sich a life as thine 
 
 Can sweeten simple fare ; 
 Contented wi' thi meal, 
 
 Thae 's wit enough to know 
 That daisies liven weel 
 
 Where tulips connot grow. 
 
 IV. 
 
 An 1 though thi clooas 2 are rough, 
 An' gettin' very owd, 
 
 1 Liven, do live. J Clows, clothes.
 
 SILVER TURE! 223 
 
 They'll onswer weel enough 
 
 To keep thi limbs fro' cowd , 
 A foo would pine away 
 
 I' sich a suit as thine, 
 But, thaer't the stuff to may 
 
 A fustian jacket fine. 
 
 v. 
 A tattered clout may lap 
 
 A very noble prize ; 
 A king may be, by hap, 
 A beggar i' disguise. 
 When tone has laft his feast, 
 An' tother done his crust, 1 
 Then, which is which, at last, 
 These little piles o' dust ? 
 
 When tone has laft his feast, 
 An' tother done his crust." 
 When the one has left his "easf, 
 And the other done his crust."
 
 224 GOD BLESS TIL I 
 
 VI. 
 An' though thy share o' life, 
 
 May seem a losin' game, 
 Thae's striven fair i'th strife, 
 
 An' kept a dacent aim ; 
 No meawse-nooks l i' thi mind, 
 
 Nor malice i' thi breast, 
 Thae 's still bin true an' kind, 
 
 An' trusted fate wi' th' rest. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Through trouble, toil, an' wrung, 
 
 Thae's whistle't at thi wark, 
 Thae's wrostle't life so lung, 
 
 Thi limbs are gettin stark ; 
 But, sich a heart as thine 's 
 
 A never failin' friend ; 
 It cheers a mon's decline, 
 
 An' keeps it sweet to th' end. 
 
 1 Meawse-nooks, secret places.
 
 SILVER YUREt 225 
 
 t 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Thy banner '11 soon be furled, 
 
 An' then they 'n ha' to tell, 
 " He travelled th' dirty world, 
 
 An' never soil't his-sel' ! " 
 An' when aw come to dee, 
 
 An' death has taen his tow, 1 
 Aw hope to leet 2 o' thee, 
 
 God bless thy snowy pow ! 3 
 
 ' Tow, toll. 
 
 3 Leet, to alight upon, to meet with. 
 
 3 Pow, poll.
 
 MARGIT'S COMIN'. 
 
 L H ! Sam, whatever doesto meeon ? 
 
 Aw see thae 'rt theer i'th nook again 
 Where aw Ve a gill thae 's nine or ten ; 
 
 Hast dropt into a fortin ? 
 Aw wonder heaw a mon can sit 
 An' waste his bit o' wage an' wit : 
 Iv aw 're thi wife, aw 'd make tho flit, 
 Wi' little time to start in. 
 
 n. 
 
 But, houd ; yo'r Margit's up i'th tcawn ; 
 A\v yerd lier ax for thce at th' Crown ;
 
 MARGIT'S COMIX', 
 
 An' just meet neaw, aw scamper't deawii ; 
 
 It 's true as aught i'th Bible ! 
 Thae knows yo'r Margit weel, ov owd ; l 
 Her tung, it makes mo fair go cowd, 
 Sin' th' day hoo broke my nose i'th fowd 
 Wi' th' edge o'th porritch thible. 2 
 
 in. 
 
 It 's ten to one hoo '11 3 co' in here, 
 An' poo 4 tho eawt o'th corner cheer ; 
 So, sit fur 5 back, where th' runiiin's clear ; 
 
 Aw '11 keep my een o'th window ; 
 Thae'm, f) mind thi hits, an' when a\v sheawt, 
 Be limber-legged, 7 an' lammas K eawt ; 
 An', though hoo '11 not believe, aw deawt, 
 
 Aw '11 swear aw never sin tho. 
 
 1 Ov owd, of old. 
 
 2 Porritch thible, a. piece of wood to stir boiling porridgi- with 
 
 3 Hoo'll, she'll, she will. * Poo, pull. 
 
 s fur, further. p 'lime in, tlmi mu-it. 
 
 7 Limber-legged, nimble-legged. " Z.ummu.s to run away.
 
 228 MARGIT'S COMIN'. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Aw '11 bite my tung, l aw will, bith mon ; 
 Aw'll plug my ears up, till hoo 's gone ; 
 A grooin' tree 2 could hardly ston 
 
 A savage woman flytin' ; 
 Iv folk were nobbut o' i'tli mind 
 To make their bits o' booses 3 kind, 
 There 'd be less wanderin' eawt to find 
 
 A corner to be qtiiet in. 
 
 v. 
 
 It 's nearly three o'clock bith chime : 
 This ale o' Jem's is very prime ; 
 Aw '11 keawer mo deawn till baggin-time, 4 
 An' have a reech 5 o' bacco ; 
 
 1 Tung, tongue. 
 
 2 A grooin' tree, a growing tree. 
 
 3 Booses, resting-places, generally applied to the stalls of a 
 cattle-shed. 
 
 * Aw'll keawer mo deaicn till baggin' time, I will sit me clown 
 till the afternoon meal-time. 
 5 Reech, a smoke.
 
 MARGIT'S CUMIN'. 
 
 Aw guess thae's yerd o' Clinker lad 1 
 
 An' Liltin' Jenny gcttiii wed ; 
 
 An' Collop gooin' wrang i'th yed, 3 
 
 But, that's nought mich to crack o'.* 
 
 VI. 
 
 There 's news that chaps 'at wore a creawn, 
 Are getting powler't 5 up an' deawn 
 They 're puncin' 6 'em fro teawn to teawn, 
 
 Like foot-bo's in a pastur ; r 
 Yon Garibaldi 's gan 'em silk ; 8 
 Th' owd lad ; he's fairly made 'em swilk ; 9 
 
 1 Time's yerd <>' Clinker /arf, thou hast beard of Clinker's lad. 
 * Gettin wed, getting married. 
 
 3 If rang i'th yed, wrong in the head, crazy. 
 
 4 That's not mich to crack o', that 's not much to talk of, or to 
 wonder at. 
 
 5 Powler't, jolted, knocked to and fro. 
 
 6 Punciti', kicking. 
 
 7 Like foot-bo's in a pastur', like footballs in a field. 
 
 8 Gan 'em silk, given them silk, thrashed them finely, thoroughly. 
 
 9 Swilk, to make a noise inside, like a half-filled barrel, when 
 shaken.
 
 230 MAKGIT'S COMIN'. 
 
 An' neaw, they sen lie 's sellin' milk l 
 To raise new clooas for Ayster. 2 
 
 VII. 
 
 There 's some are creepin' eawt o'th slutch, 3 
 An' some are gettin' deawn i'th doitch ; 4 
 Bith mon, 5 aw never yerd of sich 
 
 A world for change o' fortin' ! 
 They 're gooin' groanin' eawt o'th seet, 
 They 're comin' cryin' into th' leet ; 
 But, howd ! aw yerd, o' Monday neet, 
 
 A tale abeawt a cwortin'. 6 
 
 1 He 's sellin' milk, an allusion to Garibaldi's farming in the. 
 isle of Caprera. 
 
 2 To raise new clooas for Ayster, to raise new clothes for Easter. 
 Country people in Lancashire generally make a superstitious 
 struggle to wear some kind of new clothing on Easter Sunday. 
 
 J Slutch, mire. 
 
 4 Doitch, ditch. 
 
 5 Bith mon, by the man, an ancient allusion to the Saviour of 
 mankind. 
 
 6 Cwnrtin', courting.
 
 MARGIT'S COMIN'. 231 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Poo up ! ' aw '11 tell it iv aw con ; 
 Thae knows that little bow-legged rnon 
 But, heigh, owd lad ! yo'r Margit's yon, 
 
 Hoo 's comin' like a racer ! 
 Some foo 2 has put her upo' th' track ; 
 Cut, Sam ; hoo '11 have us in a crack ! 
 Aw said hoo 'd come let 's run eawt th' back ; 
 
 Bith mass, 3 aw dar not face her ! 
 
 1 I'oo up, pull up. s Foo, fool. 
 
 3 Hitk muss, by the mass.
 
 TH' SWEETHEART GATE. 
 
 HERE'S mony a gate 1 eawt of eawr 
 teawn-end, 
 
 But nobbnt one 2 for me ; 
 It winds by a rindlin' wayter side, 
 
 ATI' o'er a posied lea ; 
 It wanders into a shady dell ; 
 
 An' when I've done for th' day, 
 I never can sattle 3 this heart o' mine, 
 
 Beawt 4 walkin' deawn that way. 
 
 1 Gate, road, way. 
 
 8 Nobbut one, nought but one, only one. 
 
 3 Sattle, settle, put to rest. 
 
 * Beawt, without.
 
 TH' SWEETHEART GATE. 233 
 
 II. 
 It 's noather, 5 garden, nor posied lea, 
 
 Nor wayter rindlin' 6 clear ; 
 But deawn i' th vale there's a rosy nook, 
 
 An' my true love lives theer : 
 It's olez 7 summer where th' heart's content, 
 
 Tho' wintry winds may blow ; 
 An' there's never a gate 8 so kind to th' fuut,9 
 
 As th' gate one likes to go. 
 
 in. 
 When I set off o' sweetheartin', I 've 
 
 A theawsan' things to say ; 
 But th' very first glent 10 o' yon chimbley-top, 
 
 It drives 'em o' away ; 
 
 6 Noather, neither. 
 
 6 Wayter rindlin, water wandering musically. 
 
 7 Olez, always. 
 
 8 Gate, road, path, way. 
 
 9 To th' fuut, to the foot. 
 
 10 Glent, a glimpse. 
 
 G G
 
 234 
 
 TV/' SWEETHEART GATE. 
 
 An* when I meet wi' my bonny lass, 
 
 It sets my heart a-jee ; 
 There's summut i'th leet' 1 o' yon two blue e'en 
 
 That plays the dule wi' me ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 When th' layrock's finished his wark aboon, 12 
 
 An' laid his music by, 
 He flutters deawn to his mate, an stops 
 
 Till dayleet stirs i'th sky. 13 
 Though Matty sends me away at dark, 
 
 I know that hoo's reet u full well ; 
 An' it's heaw I love a true-hearted lass, 
 
 No mortal tung 15 can tell. 
 
 Th' leet, the light. 
 
 12 When th' layrock's finished his wark aboon, when the lark has 
 finished his work above. 
 
 13 Till dayleet stirs i'th sky, till the dawning of the day. 
 
 14 Hoo's reet, she's right. 
 
 15 Tung, tongue.
 
 TH' SWEETHEART GATE. 235 
 
 V. 
 
 I wish that Michaelmas Day were past, 
 
 When wakin' time 16 comes on ; 
 An' I wish that Candlemas Day \vere here, 
 
 An' Matty an' me were one : 
 I wish this wanderin' wark were o'er 
 
 This maunderin' 17 to an' fro ; 
 That I could go whoam to my own true love, 
 
 An' stop at neet an' o'. 18 
 
 16 Wakin' time, the time when workmen begin to work hy 
 candle-light. 
 
 17 Ma under in', wandering aimlessly, dreamily. 
 
 18 That aw could go vihoam to my own true loie, 
 
 An stop at n*et an' o'. 
 
 That I could go home to my own true love, 
 And stop at night and all.
 
 OWD ENOCH. 
 
 [WD ENOCH o' Dan's laid his pipe deawn 
 
 o' th' hob, 1 
 And his thin fingers played i' th white thatch of 
 
 his nob; 2 
 
 " I 'm gettin' done up," to their Betty he said ; 
 "Dost think thae could doff mo, 3 an' dad me 4 to 
 bed?" 
 
 Derry down, &c. 
 
 1 Hob, a ledge, close to the fire-grate. 
 
 3 White thatch ov his nob, the white hair of his head. 
 
 3 Doff mo, do off for me, or take off my clothes for me. 
 
 4 Dad me, help me by the hand, as a " dad," or father does a 
 little child in its first efforts to walk.
 
 OWD ENOCH. 237 
 
 II. 
 
 Then hoo gect him to bed, an' hoo happed him up 
 weel, 5 
 
 An' hoo said to him, " Enoch, lad ; heaw doesto 
 feel?" 6 
 
 " These limbs o' mine, Betty, they 're cranky an' 
 sore ; 7 
 
 It's time to shut up when one's gotten four- 
 score." 
 
 Derry down. 
 
 ill. 
 
 As hoo potter 't abeawt 8 his poor winterly pate, 
 Th' owd crayter looked dreawsily up at his 
 mate, 
 
 5 Happed him tip weel, lapped, or folded him up well. 
 
 6 Heaw doesto feel? How dost thou feel? 
 
 7 Cranky an' sore, rusty and shaky, and painful. 
 
 8 Potter'i abeawt, fumbled, or fingered, caressingly.
 
 OWD ENOCH. 
 
 * There 's nought on me laft, lass, do o' at tho 
 
 con, 9 
 
 But th' cratchinly 30 frame o' what once wur a 
 mon." 
 
 Derry down. 
 
 IV. 
 Then he turn 't his-sel' o'er, like a chylt tir 't wi' 
 
 play, 11 
 
 An' Betty crept reawnd, while he 're dozin' away ; 
 As his e'e-lids sank deawn, th' owd lad mutter't 
 
 " Well done ! 
 
 I think there 's a bit o' seawnd sleep comin' 
 on." 
 
 Derry down. 
 
 9 There's nought on me laft, lass, do o' at tho con, there's 
 nothing of me left, lass, do all that thou can'st. 
 
 10 Cratchingly, ill-conditioned, shakely-held together. 
 
 11 He turn't his-sel' o'er, like a chylt tir't wi' play, he turned 
 himself over, Uke a child tired with play.
 
 OWD ENOCH. 239 
 
 V. 
 
 Then hoo thought hoo'd sit by till he 'd had his 
 
 nap o'er, 
 If hoo 'd sit theer till then, hoo'd ha' risen no 
 
 more ; 
 For he cool 't eawt o'th world, an' his e 'en lost 
 
 their leet, 12 
 Like a cinder i 'th fire-grate, i 'th deeod time o'th 
 
 neet. 13 
 
 Deny down. 
 
 VI. 
 
 As Betty sit rockin' bith' side of his bed, 
 Hoo looked neaw an' then at owd Enoch's white 
 yed; 
 
 12 He cool'teawto 'th world, an' his e'en hst their leet, he cooled 
 out of this world, be died, and his eyes lost their light. 
 
 13 I'th deeod time o'th neet, in the dead, or silent, time of the 
 night.
 
 24 OWD ENOCH. 
 
 An' hoo thought to her-sel' that hoo 'd not lung 
 
 to stay 
 Iv ever th' owd prop of her life should give 
 
 way. 
 
 Derry down. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Then, wond'rin' to see him so seawnd an' so 
 
 still, 
 Hoo touched Enoch's hond, an' hoo fund it wur 
 
 chill ; 
 Says Betty, " He's cowd ; I '11 put summat moor 
 
 on!" 14 
 
 But o' wur no use, 15 for Owd Enoch wur gone ! 
 
 Derry down. 
 
 14 He's cowd ; aw 'II put summat moor on, he is cold ; I will put 
 something more, or more clothing, upon him. 
 
 15 0' wur no use, all was no use.
 
 OWD ENOCH. 
 
 241 
 
 VII. 
 
 An' when they put Enoch to bed deawn i'th 
 
 greawnd, 16 
 A rook o' poor neighbours stoode bare-ycdded 
 
 reawnd; 17 
 They dropt sprigs o ' rosemary ; an ' this wur their 
 
 text : 
 " Th' owd crayter's laid by, 18 we may haply be 
 
 th'next!" 
 
 Derry down. 
 
 IX. 
 
 So, Betty wur left to toar on bi hersel' ; 19 
 
 An' heaw hoo poo'd through it no mortal can tell ; 
 
 16 Deawn i' th' greawnd, down in the ground. 
 
 17 Stoode bare-yedded reaicnd, stood bare-headed around. 
 
 18 Th' owd crayter's laid by, the old creature is laid aside. 
 The words " owd crayter," are commonly used as a phrase of 
 affection. 
 
 19 To toar on bi tier-sel', to drag on wearily by herself, or, alone 
 
 I I
 
 OWD ENOCH. 
 
 But th' doctor dropt in to look at her one day, 
 When hoo're rockin' bith' side of an odd cup o' 
 tay.* 
 
 Derry down. 
 
 x. 
 
 " Well, Betty," said th' doctor, " heaw dun yo get 
 
 on ? 
 
 I 'm soory to yer 'at yo'n lost yo'r owd mon : 
 What complaint had he, Betty?" Says hoo, "I 
 
 caun't tell ; 
 
 We ne'er had no doctor ; he dee'd of his-sel'." 21 
 
 Derry down. 
 
 XI. 
 
 " Ay, Betty," said th' doctor ;. " there's one thing 
 
 quite sure ; 
 Owd age is a thing that no physic can cure : 
 
 30 Bith side ov an odd cup o' lay, by the side of a lonely cup 
 of tea. 
 
 81 We ne'er had no doctor ; he dee'd ov his-sel', we never had
 
 OWD ENOCH. 043 
 
 Fate will have . her way, lass, do o' that we 
 
 con, 
 When th' time's up, we's ha' to sign o'er, an' be 
 
 gone." 22 
 
 Deny down. 
 
 XII. 
 
 " Both winter an' summer th' owd mower's at 
 
 wark, 23 
 
 Sidin' folk eawt o' seet, 21 both bi dayleet an' dark ? 
 He's slavin' away while we're snorin' i' bed ; 
 An' he'd slash at a king, if it coom in his yed." 25 
 
 Derry down. 
 
 any doctor to Lim; he died of himself, or, without the aid of 
 medicine. 
 
 22 We's ha' to sign o'er, an' be gone, we shall have to consign, 
 or hand over our worldly affairs, and be gone. 
 
 43 Th' owd mower's at u-aik, the old mower, death, is at work. 
 
 84 Sidin' foolk eawt o' seet, putting people aside, out of sight. 
 
 25 If it coom in his yed, if it came into his head, or, if he 
 chanced to think of it.
 
 244 OWD ENOCH. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 " These sodiurs, an' parsons, an' maisters o' 
 
 lond, 26 
 He lays 'em i' th greawnd, wi' their meawths full o* 
 
 sond, 
 Rags or riches, an' owd greasy cap, or a 
 
 creawn 
 
 He sarves o' alike, for he switches 'em deawn." 
 
 Derry down. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " The mon that's larn't up, an' the mon that's a 
 
 foo 2 ? 
 It mays little odds, for they both han to goo ; " 8 
 
 26 Maisters o' lond, masters of land, landowners. 
 
 27 The mon that's larnt-up, an' the mon that's ajoo, the man that 
 is learned-up to the height of possibility, or, that knows every- 
 thing, and the man that is a fool. 
 
 28 It mays little odds, for they both han to goo, it makes little 
 difference, for they both have to go.
 
 OWD ENOCH. 245 
 
 When they come'n within th' swing of his scythe 
 
 they man fo' 
 If yo'n root aiming th' swathe, yo'n find doctors 
 
 an' o." *> 
 
 Derry down. 
 
 * lv t/ii'n root amung th' swathe, yo'n find doctors an' o', if 
 you will examine the swathe left by the scythe of death, 
 you will find that even those whose business it is to save 
 the lives of others, die, like the rest.
 
 EAWR FOLK. 
 
 R Johnny gi's his mind to books ; 
 
 Er Abram studios plants, 
 He caps the dule ' for moss an" ferns, 
 
 An grooin' polyants ; 2 
 For aught abeawt mechanickin', 
 
 Er Ned's the very lad ; 
 My uncle Jamie roots i'th stars, "* 
 Enough to drive him mad. 
 
 1 Cops the dule, beats the devil, or excels the devil. 
 
 2 Grooin' polyants, cultivating the polyanthus. 
 
 3 Hoots i'th stars, studies astronomy.
 
 
 EAWR FOLK. 
 
 II. 
 
 Er Alick keeps a badger 's shop, 4 
 
 An teyches Sunday schoo' ; 5 
 Er Joseph's welly blynt, 6 poor lad : 
 
 Er Timothy 's a foo ; 
 He's tried three different maks 7 o' trades, 
 
 An' olez missed his tip ; 8 
 But, then, he's th' prattist 9 "whistler 
 
 That ever cock'd a lip ! 
 
 in. 
 Er Matty helps my mother, an' 
 
 Hoo sews, an' tents er Joe ; Io 
 At doin' sums, an' sich as that, 
 
 My feyther licks 'em 'o ; 
 
 4 A badger's shop, a grocer's shop. 
 
 * Teyches Sunday schoo', teaches in a Sunday school. 
 
 6 Welly blynt, well-nigh blind. 
 
 7 Mttks, makes, shapes, kinds. 
 
 8 Missed his tip, missed his aim, broken down. 
 
 Prattist, prettiest, most pleasing. 
 
 10 Tents er Joe, takes care of our Joe.
 
 EAWR FOLK. 
 
 Er Charley, well, there connot be 
 
 Another pate like his, 
 It's o' crom-full o' ancientry, 11 
 
 An' Roman haw-pennies ! 12 
 
 IV. 
 
 Er Tummy's taen to preitchin', 13 
 
 He 's a topper at it, too ; 
 But then, what's th' use cr Bill comos in, 
 
 An' swears it winnot do ; 
 When t'one's bin strivin' o' he con 14 
 
 To awter wicked men, 
 Then t'other mays some marlocks, 15 an' 
 
 Convarts 'em o'er ajrain. 
 
 11 Crom-full o' ancientry, cram- full of antiquarian lore. 
 
 12 Homan haw-pennies, Roman half-pennies, Roman coins. 
 
 13 Taen to preitchin', taken to preaching, become a preacher. 
 
 14 When t'one's bin strivin' o' he con, when the one has been 
 striving all he can. 
 
 15 T'other mays some marlocfo, the other makes some frolics.
 
 EAWR FOLK. 
 
 249 
 
 V. 
 
 Er Abel's th' yung'st ; an' next to Joe, 
 
 My mother like's him. t' best : 
 Hoo gi's him brass, aboon his share,'' 6 
 
 To keep him nicely drest ; 
 He 's gettiu' in wi' th' quality, 1 7 
 
 An' when his clarkin's done, 
 He 's olez oather 18 cricketin', 
 
 Or shootin' wi' a gun. 
 
 VI. 
 
 My Uncle Sam's a fiddler ; an' 
 
 I fain could yer 19 him play 
 Fro' set o' sun till winter neet 
 
 Had melted into day ; 
 
 16 Hoo gi's him brass aboon his share, she gives him more money 
 than his share. 
 
 17 He's gettin' in w i' th' quality, he is becoming acquainted with 
 people in high life. 
 
 18 Olez oalher, always either. 
 
 19 Aw fain could yer him play, I gladly could listen to his 
 playing. 
 
 K K
 
 250 EAWR FOLK. 
 
 For eh, sich glee sich tenderness- 
 Through every changin' part, 
 
 It's th' heart that stirs his fiddle, 
 An' his fiddle stirs his heart ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 so 
 
 An', when he touches th' tremblin'- strong, 
 
 It knows his thowt 21 so weel, 
 It seawnds as if an angel tried 
 
 To tell what angels feel ; 
 An', sometimes, th' wayter in his e'en 2C 
 
 That fun has made to flow, 
 Can hardly roll away, afore 
 
 It's blent wi' drops o' woe. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Then, here's to Jone, an' Ab, an' Ned, 
 An' Matty, an' er Joe, 
 
 w Th' tremblin' streng, the vibrating fiddle-string. 
 
 * Thowt, thought. 
 
 Th' wayter in his e'en, the water in his eyes.
 
 EAWR FOLK. 25! 
 
 An', my feytlier, an' my mother ; an* 
 
 Er tother lads an' o' ; 
 An' thee, too, o\vd musiciancr, 
 
 Aw wish lung life to thee, 
 A mon that plays a fiddle weel 
 
 Should never awse C3 to dee ! 
 
 83 Should never aicae, should never attempt.
 
 FORGIVE ONE ANOTHER, 
 
 i. 
 
 jOME here, my bold cronies, I'll not keep 
 
 yo' lung, 
 Come hither, an' hearken io me ; 
 I'll chant yo a neighbourly snatch of a sung, 
 An' th' end o' my ditty shall be, 
 Let's forgive one another ! 
 
 We're a wanderin' baud, in a ticklesome land, 
 Where never a mortal can stay,
 
 FORGIVE ONE ANOTHER. z 53 
 
 When yo see'n folk 'at's weary, lads, lend 'em a' 
 
 hand, 
 
 An', oh, as we're joggin' away, 
 Let's forgive one another ! 
 
 HI. 
 
 This will-o'-the-wisp in a poor body's breast. 
 
 It nutters the life of a nion ; 
 It plays him wild marlocks that rob him o' rest,- 
 
 A mortal may do what he cor., 
 Let's forgive one another ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Like harp-strings, we're made of a different tone, 
 An' th' minstrel, he sits up aboon ; 
 
 To him, every note o' the gamut's weel known, 
 Let's hope that he'll keep us i' tune, 
 To forgive one another !
 
 Z54- FORGIVE ONE ANOTHER. 
 
 V. 
 At neet, when a mother's her childer undrest, 
 
 They paddle'n up close to her knee, 
 To whisper a prayer afore gooiii' to rest ; 
 An', th' sweetest o' th' strain, unto me, 
 Is, forgive one another ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Some liken to wrangle o'er nought but a name, 
 An' who wur their mams an' their dads ; 
 
 Bat, gentle or simple, it ends up the same, 
 " We're o' Johnny Butter oth lads ! " l 
 Let's forgive one another ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 When thinkin' o' life, an' its troublesome way, 
 We'n very leet need to be proud ; 
 
 1 " We're o Johnny Butter olh lads," a. common saying in 
 Lancashire, meaning that we are all God Almighty's children. 
 
 2 Very leet need, very light need, very little need.
 
 FORGIVE ONE ANOTHER. 255 
 
 Strike bonds while yo're wick ; for yo'n not long 
 
 to stay ; 
 
 It's late, when yo're lapped in a shreawd 
 To forgive one another 
 
 VIII. 
 
 An' neaw, as we never may o' meet again, 
 For, th' futur' no mortal can see, 
 
 I'll stick to my text, lads ; an', as it began, 
 So th' end o' my ditty shall be, 
 Let's forgive one another !
 
 BUCKLE TO. 
 
 OOD lorjus days, 1 what change there is 
 
 Upon this mortal ground ; 
 As time goes fljin' o'er one's yed, 2 
 
 Heaw quarely things come reawnd ; 
 What ups an' deawns, an' ins an eawts ; 
 
 What blendin' ill an' well 
 There is i' one poor crayter's 3 life, 
 It is not for to tell ! 
 
 1 Good lorjnsdays, Good lord of our days. 
 
 2 Yed, head. 3 Cruyter, creature.
 
 nUCKl.E TO. 257 
 
 II. 
 When mornin' blinks, mon lies an' thinks 
 
 Abeawt the comin' day ; 
 He lays his bits o' schames so sure, 
 
 They connot roll astray ; 
 He cracks his thumbs, an' thinks o'll leet,* 
 
 Just heaw it 's planned to go ; 
 But, when he looks things up at neet, 5 
 
 He seldom finds it so. 
 
 in. 
 An' when a storm comes, dark an' leawd, 
 
 Wi' mony a weary sigh, 
 He toots abeawt, 6 i'th slifter't cleawd, 7 
 
 To find a bit o' sky ; 
 
 * Thinks o 'II leet, thinks everything will light or befall. 
 1 Nee t, night. 
 
 6 Toots abeawt, peeps about, searches. 
 
 i Slifter'd cleaud, slifter, a slit, or loophole; slifter'd cleawd, a 
 slit, or broken, or slightly-scattered cloud. 
 I, L
 
 2 5 8 BUCKLE TO. 
 
 He mopes an' moans, he grunts an' groans, 
 A.n' thinks his comfort 's o'er ; 
 
 But, th' minute th' welkin 's 8 breet again, 
 He 's peearter 9 than before. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Good luck to th' mortal that can ston 
 
 Good luck, beawt bein' preawd ; 
 That keeps his yed fro grooin' whot, 10 
 
 His heart fro grooin' cowd ; u 
 That walks his chalks, an' heeds no talks, 
 
 But does the best he con ; 12 
 An' when things are not to his mind, 
 
 Can bide it like a mon. 13 
 
 8 Th' welkin, the sky. 9 Peearter, perter, prouder. 
 
 10 Grooin' whot, growing hot. 
 
 11 Groom' cowd, growing cold. 
 
 18 Con, can. is Mon, man.
 
 BUCKLE TO. 259 
 
 V. 
 Then, let 's be lowly when its fine, 
 
 An' cheerful when its dark ; 
 Mon ne ? er wur made to mope an' whine, 
 
 But buckle to his wark ; 14 
 It sweetens th' air, it leetens care, 
 
 I never knew it fail : 
 Go at it, then, an' let 's toe fair ; 15 
 Owd Time '11 tell a tale. 
 
 14 Wark, work. 
 
 15 Toe fair, toe the mark fairly. Do justice; act " upon tlie 
 square."
 
 NEET-FO'. 
 
 RwH wynt blows keen through th' shiverm' 
 thorns, 
 
 An' th' leet 1 looks wild i'th sky ; 
 Come, Tet, stir up that fire ; an' draw 
 
 That keyther'* gently by ; 
 I Ve done my weshin', gronny ; an' 
 
 I Ve tidied every thing, 
 An', neaw I '11 sit me deawn to sew, 
 
 An' hearken th' kettle sing. 
 
 1 L*t:t, light. 
 
 Keytlier, cradle.
 
 NEKT-FO'. 261 
 
 II. 
 Bring in some coals ; an' shut that dur, 
 
 Its quite a wintry day ; 
 Reitch deawn that ham : for Robin likes 
 
 A relish to his tay. :< 
 Sweep th' grate ; an' set yon table cawt ; 
 
 Put th' tay-pot upo' th' oon ; 4 
 Its gettin' on for baggin'-time, 5 
 
 An' he '11 be comin' soon. 
 
 III. 
 
 Th' fire bruns 6 clear ; an' th' heawse begins 
 
 A-lookin' brisk an' breet, 
 As th' time draws near when he gets back 
 
 Fro' teawn at th' edge o' neet ; 
 
 3 Tay, tea. 
 
 4 Upo' th' oon, upon the oven. 
 
 s Baggin'-time, tea-time, or time of the afternoon meal. 
 6 Hruns, burns.
 
 6z NEET-FO'. 
 
 It makes one hutch 7 wi' glee to yer 
 
 A favourite fuut come whoam ; 
 An' its very fine to hearken, when 
 
 One thinks it's sure to come. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Th' cat pricks up her ears at th' sneck, 8 
 
 Wi' mony a leetsome toot ; 9 
 An' th' owd arm-cheer i'th corner seems 
 
 As if it yerd his fuut ; 
 Th' window blinks ; an' th' clock begins 
 
 A-tickin' leawd an' fain ; 
 An' th' tin things winkin' upo' th' wole, "' 
 
 They groon as breet again. 11 
 
 v. 
 
 Th' kettle's hummin' o'er wi' fun 
 Just look at th' end o'th speawt ; 
 
 7 Hutch, to twitch, to shrug, to wriggle the body uneasily. 
 
 8 Sneck, an old-fashioned wooden latch. 
 
 Toot, to peep. 10 Wole, the wall. 
 
 11 They groon as breet again, they become twice as bright.
 
 NEET-Fff, 
 
 Its like a little sooty lad 
 
 That's set his lips to sheawt : 
 
 Th' wayter-drops 'at fo'n fro' th' tap, 
 Are gettin' wick wi' glee ; 
 
 An' yo're fain, gronny, too, I know, 
 But noan as fain as me ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Keep th' rockers gooin' soft and slow, 
 
 An' shade that leet away ; 
 I think this little duck 's o'th mend, 
 
 Hoo sleeps so weel to-day ; 
 Doze on, my darlin' ; keep 'em shut, 
 
 Those teeny 12 windows blue ; 
 Good Lord ; if aught should happen thee, 
 
 What could thi mammy do ! 
 
 12 Teeny, tiny. 
 
 263
 
 264 NEET-* 0\ 
 
 VII. 
 .Here, gronny, put this cover on, 
 
 An' tuck it nicely in ; 
 Keep th' keytlier stirrin' gently ; an' 
 
 Make very little din : 
 An' lap thoose dimpled honds away 
 
 Fro' th' frosty winter air ; 
 They lie'n a-top o'th bit o' quilt, 
 
 Like two clock-hommers theer ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But stop ; hoo 's laughin' ' Come, hie up, 
 
 My bonny little puss ! 
 God bless it ! Daddy 's noan far off ; 
 
 Let mammy have a buss ! 
 He 's here ! He 's here ! Tet, bring that cheer ! 
 
 Eh, dear ; these darlin's two ! 
 If it wur not for this chylt an' him 
 
 What could a body do !
 
 A LIFT ON THE WAY. 
 
 what 's th' use o' fratchin' 1 lads, this 
 life 's noan so lung, 
 So, if yo'n gether reawnd, aw '11 try my hond at a 
 
 sung; 
 It may shew a guidin' glimmer to some wand'rer 
 
 astray, 
 
 Or, haply, gi' some poor owd soul a lift on the way : 
 A lift on the way ; 
 A lift on the way ; 
 Or, haply, gi' some poor owd soul a lift on the way. 
 
 1 Fratchin ', quarrelling. 
 MM
 
 266 A LIFT ON THE WAY. 
 
 II. 
 Life's road 's full o' ruts ; it 's very slutchy 2 an' 
 
 it 's dree ; 3 
 An' mony a worn-eawt limper lies him deawn there 
 
 to dee ; 
 Then, fleawnd'rin low i'th gutter, he looks reawnd 
 
 wi' dismay, 
 
 To see if aught i'th world can give a lift on the 
 way: 
 
 A lift on the way ; 
 A lift on the way ; 
 
 To see if aught i'th world can give a lift on the 
 way. 
 
 in. 
 There's some folk 'at mun trudge it, an' there's 
 
 some folk 'at may ride, 
 But, never mortal mon con tell what chance may 
 
 betide ; 
 
 2 Sliitchij. miry. 3 Dree, wearily-continuous.
 
 A LIFT ON THE WAY. 2 6 7 
 
 To-day, he may be blossomin', like roses i' May ; 
 To-morn, he may be beggin' for a lift on the way : 
 
 A lift on the way ; 
 
 A lift on the way ; 
 To-morn, he may be beggin' for a lift on the way. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Good- will, it 's a jewel, where there 's little else to 
 
 spare ; 
 An' a mon may help another though his pouch 
 
 may be bare ; 
 A gen'rous heart, like sunshine, brings good cheer 
 
 in its ray, 
 An' a friendly word can sometimes give a lift on 
 
 the way : 
 
 A lift on the way ; 
 
 A lift on the way ; 
 
 An' a friendly word can sometimes give a lift on 
 
 the way.
 
 268 A LIFT ON THE WAY. 
 
 V. 
 Like posies that are parchin' in the midsummer 
 
 sun, 
 There's mony a poor heart faints afore the 
 
 journey be run ; 
 Let's lay the dust wi' kindness, till the close of 
 
 the day, 
 
 An' gi' these droopin' travellers a lift on the way : 
 
 A lift on the way ; 
 
 A lift on the way ; 
 An' gi' these droopin' travellers a lift on the way. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Oh, soft be his pillow, when he sinks deawn to his 
 
 rest, 
 That can keep the lamp o' charity alive in his 
 
 breast ; 
 
 May pleasant feelin's haunt him as he's dozin' away, 
 An' angels give him, up aboon, 4 a lift on the way : 
 
 4 Almon, above.
 
 A LIFT ON THE WAY. 
 
 269 
 
 A lift on the way ; 
 A lift on the way ; 
 An' angels give him, up aboon, a lift on the way. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Jog on, my noble comrades, then; an' so mote it 
 
 be, 5 
 That hond in hoiid we travel till the day that we 
 
 dee; 
 An' neaw, to end my ditty, lads, let's heartily 
 
 pray 
 That heaven may give us ev'ry one a lift on the 
 
 way ! 
 
 A lift on the way ; 
 
 A lift on the way ; 
 
 That heaven may give us ev'ry ore a lift on the 
 
 way ! 
 
 & &o mate it be, so might it be.
 
 YESTERNEET. 
 
 GEET up a-milkin' this mornin', 
 
 I geet up afore it wur leet ; 
 I ne'er slept a minute for thinkin' 
 
 What Robin said yesterneet ; 
 I've brokken two basins i'th dairy ; 
 I've scoaded 1 my gronny wi' tay ; 
 It's no use o' tryin' a-spinnin' 
 
 My wheel's eawt o' trim to-day. 
 Chorus. It's oh, yon Robin, yon Robin ; 
 
 His e'en ne'er twinkle't so breet, 
 As they did when he meazur't my finger 
 For th' little gowd ring last neet ! 
 
 1 Scouded, scalded.
 
 YESTERNEET. 271 
 
 II. 
 Eawr Dorothy's singin' i'th shippon f 
 
 Eawr Jonathan's leawngin' i'th fowcl ;' 
 Eawr Tummy's at th' fair, where he lippens 4 
 
 0' swappin' his cowt for gowcl ; 5 
 My gronny's asleep wi' her knittin', 
 
 An' th' kittlin's playin' wi' th' yarn ; 
 Eawr Betty's gone eawt wi' a gallon 
 
 To th' chaps at their wark i'th barn. 
 
 .Cliorus. But oh, yon Robin, yon Robin. 
 
 ill. 
 
 Th' lasses an' lads are i'th meadow ; 
 They're gettin' their baggin' 6 i'th hay ; 
 
 2 Shippon, sheep-pen, cattle-shed. 
 
 3 Leawngin' i'thfowd, lounging in the fold. 
 
 * Lippenn, expects. 
 
 * Swappin' his coirt for gowd, exchanging or selling his colt 
 fur gold. 
 
 6 &''"' the auernoon meal.
 
 7* YESTERNEET. 
 
 I yer 'em as lectsome as layrocks," 
 
 I' th skj on a shiny day ; 
 But, little care I for their marlocks ; 8 
 
 I dunnot want folk to see, 
 Though I'm fitter for cryin' than laughin', 
 
 There's nob'dy as fain as me. 
 
 Chorus. For oh, yon Robin, yon Robin ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 When I crept into th' nook wi' my sewiir, 
 My mother peeped reawnd so sly ; 
 
 Hoo know'd I wur glentin' at th' coppice, 
 Where Robin comes ridin' by ; 
 
 Then hoo coom to me, snurchin' an' too tin', 
 An' whisperin', " Heaw dost feel ? 
 
 7 Layrocks, larks. 
 
 8 Marlocks, frolics, pranks.
 
 YESTERNEET. 273 
 
 Dost think I should send for a doctor ?" 
 But, th' doctor hoo knows reet weel. 
 
 Glwrus. It's oh, yon Robin, yon Robin ! 
 
 v. 
 My feyther sits dozin' i'th corner, - 
 
 He's dreamin' o'th harvest day : 
 When Robin comes in for his daughter,- 
 
 Eh, what'll my feyther say ! 
 Th' rosebuds are peepin' i'th garden : 
 
 ATI' th' blossom's o'th apple tree ; 
 Oh, heaw will life's winter time find us.- 
 
 Yon Robin o' mine, an' me ! 
 
 Chorus. Oh, yon Robin, yon Robin ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then, hey for kisses an' blushes, 
 An' hurryin' to an' fro ;
 
 274 YESTERNEET. 
 
 An' hey for sly, sweet whispers, 
 
 That nob'dy but me rrmn know ! 
 Then, hey for rings, an' for ribbins, 
 
 An' bonnets, an' posies fine ! 
 An' eh, it's o' in a flutter, 
 
 This little fond heart o' mine ! 
 Clwrus. For oh, yon Robin, yon Robin ; 
 His e'en ne'er twinkle't so breet, 
 As they did when he meazur't my finger 
 For th' little gowd ring last neet !
 
 BONNY NAN. 
 
 EIGH, Neil, o\vd mon, 1 I feel as fain 
 
 As th' breetest brid 'at sings i' May ; 
 Come, sit tho deaAvn ; I '11 wear 2 a creawn ; 
 
 We'n have a roozin rant' 1 to-day ! 
 Let's doance an' sing; I Vc bought a ring 
 
 For bonny Nan i'th Owler dale ; 4 
 Then heigh for fun ; my mopin 's done ! 
 An' neaw I 'm brisk as bottle't ale ! 
 
 ' Owd mon, old man, a friendly phrase, applied to both old 
 and young. 
 
 1 I'll wear a, creawn, I'll spend five shillings. 
 
 3 Eoozin' rant, a rousing frolic. 
 
 * Ith Older dale, in the dale of the Owler trees.
 
 276 BONNY NAN. 
 
 Oh, guess, owd brid, 
 What 's beawn to be ; 
 
 For I like Nan, 
 An' hoo likes me ! 
 
 li. 
 
 Twelve months i' weeds, when Robin dee'd, 
 
 Hoo look'd so deawn, wi' ne'er a smile ; 
 I couldn't find i' heart or mind 
 
 To cheep 5 o' weddin' for a while ; 
 I thought I 'd bide ; but still I sighed 
 
 For th' mournin' cleawd to clear away ; 
 I watched her e'en groo breet 6 again, 
 
 A layrock tootin' eawt for day ! 7 
 
 * Cheep, to chirp, to hint at, to allude to slyly. 
 
 6 Groo breet, grow bright. 
 
 7 A layrock tootin' eawt for day, a skylark peeping out for the 
 dawn of morning.
 
 BONNY NAN. 277 
 
 Then, guess, owd brid, 
 
 "What 's beawn to be ; 
 For I like Nan, 
 
 An' hoo likes me ! 
 
 ill. 
 My Nanny 's fair, an' trim, an' rare ; 
 
 A modest lass, an' sweet to see ; 
 Her e'en are blue, her heart it 's true, 
 
 An' Nanny 's hardly twenty-three ; 
 An' life's so strung, when folk are yung ; 
 
 That waitin' lunger wouldno do ; 8 
 These moor-end lads, hoo turns their yecls, 
 
 Hoo 's bin a widow lunjr enoo !' 
 
 * Waitin' lunger u'ouldno do, it would not do to wait any 
 longer. 
 
 9 These moor-end lads, hoo turns their yeds, she is turning the 
 heads of these lads who live at the edges of the wild moors. 
 
 10 ffioo's Din a widow lung enoo, she has been a widow long 
 enough.
 
 278 BONNY NAN. 
 
 Then guess, owd brid, 
 
 What 's beawii to be ; 
 For I like Nan, 
 
 An' hoo likes me ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 I've sin, at neet, abeawt a leet, 11 
 
 A midge keep buzzin' to an' fro, 
 Then dart at th' shine, 'at looked so fine, 
 And bran his wings at th' end of o' ; 12 
 That midge 's me, it 's plain to see, 
 
 My wings are brunt, an' yet, I'm fain ; 
 For, wheer I leet, 13 I find so sweet, 
 I 's never want to fly again ! 
 Then guess, owd brid, 
 
 What 's beawn to be ; 
 For I like !N"an, 
 An' hoo likes me ! 
 
 11 At neet abeawt a leet, at night about a light. 
 
 12 An' brim his wingi at th' end m> o', and burn his wings at the 
 end of all. u Leet, alight, drop upon.
 
 I'VE WORN" MY BITS 0' SHOON 
 AWAY. 
 
 r E worn my bits o' shoon j away, 
 
 Wi' roving up an' deawn, 
 To see yon moorlan' valleys, an' 
 
 Yon little country teawn : 
 The dule tak shoon, and stockin's too ! 
 
 My heart feels hutchiu'-fain ; 
 An', if I trudge it bar-fuut, 2 lads, 
 I '11 see yon teawn again ! 
 
 Shoon, shoes. 
 
 2 Bar-Juut, bare-foot.
 
 280 I'VE WORN 
 
 II. 
 
 It s what care I for cities grand, 
 
 We never shall agree ; 
 I'd rayther live where th' layrock 3 sings ; 
 
 A. country teawn for me ! 
 A country teawn, where one can meet 
 
 Wi' friends, an' neighbours known ; 
 Where one can lounge i'th market-place, 
 
 An' see the meadows mown. 
 
 in. 
 
 Yon moorland hills are bloomin' wild 
 
 At th' endin' o' July ; 
 Yon woodlan' cloofs, an' valleys green,- 
 
 The sweetest under th' sky ; 
 
 ' Th' layruck, the sky-lark.
 
 MY SITS O' SHOON AWAY. 2 gi 
 
 Yon dainty rindles, 4 dancin' deawn 
 Fro' th' meawntains into th' plain ; 
 
 As soon as th' new moon rises, lads, 
 I'm. off to th' moors again ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 There's hearty lads among yon hills, 
 
 An' in yon country teawn ; 
 They'n far moor sense nor preawder folk, "' 
 
 I'll peawnd it for a creawn ; 6 
 They re wick an' warm at wark an' fun, 7 
 
 Wherever they may go, 
 The primest breed o' lads i'th world, 
 
 Good luck attend 'em o' ! 
 
 4 Dainty rindles, pretty rills of singing water. 
 
 * Moor sense than preauder folk, more sense than prouder 
 people. 
 
 8 I'll peawnd it for a creawn, I will uphold it for a crown. 
 
 7 Wick an' uvr/n at wark an' fun, lively and earnest at work 
 and fun. 
 

 
 282 I'VE WORN MY SITS 0' SHOONAWAY. 
 
 V. 
 
 Last neet I laft the city thrung, 8 
 
 An' climbed yon hillock green ; 
 An' turned my face to th' moorlan' hills, 
 
 Wi' th' wayter i' my e'en ; 
 Wi' th' wayter wellin' i' my e'en ; 
 
 I'll bundle up, an' go, 
 An' I'll live an' dee i' my own countrie. 
 
 Where moorlan' breezes blow ! 
 
 8 iMst neet I laft the city thrung, last night I left the cit_y 
 throng. 
 
 i Wi'th wayter i' my e'en, with the water in mine eyes.
 
 GENTLE JUNE. 
 
 SEE'D a thowtful 1 chap one day, 
 His face were mild, his toppin' 2 
 Wi' wander in' fuut lie went astray, 
 
 Deawn you lone : 3 
 T axed a lame owd mon i'th road, 
 To tell me what that chap were co'd ; 4 
 Says he, " I thowt oitch body"' knowed 
 Gentle Jone !" 
 
 ' I see'd a thoictful, I saw a thoughtful. 
 
 * Ttqtpin', the hair on the front of the head. 
 
 n Lone, lane. 
 
 Co'd, called. 
 
 3 Oitch body, each body, each jn:rson.
 
 284 GENTLE JONE. 
 
 II. 
 
 " Owd lad," said I, " just look heaw ronk" . 
 These daisies groo'n at th' edge o'th bonk ; 7 
 Let's keawer us deawn, an' have a conk, 8 
 
 Just whol 9 noon." 
 He poo'd a reech 10 o' bacoo eawt, 
 An' cheese an' moufin in a cleawt -, 1 ' 
 An' then began to tell abeawt 
 
 Gentle Jone ! 
 
 in. 
 
 Says he, " Some folk o' brass 12 arc fond ; 
 They're cowd i'th heart, an' cramp't i'th hond ; 13 
 
 6 Ronk, rank, abundant. 
 
 7 Bonk, a bank of land, a gentle slope. 
 
 8 Conk, a chat. 
 
 * Whol, while, until. 
 10 Peech, a smoke. 
 
 " Moufin in a cleawt, muffin in a clout, or kerchief, or cloth. 
 18 lirass, money. 
 
 13 They're cowd i'th heart, an cramp't i'th hond, they are cold in 
 the heart, and cramped in the hand.
 
 GENTLE JONE. 2 g 5 
 
 But yon's the fleawer of o' this lond, 
 
 Gentle Jone ! 
 
 His heart 's as true as guinea-gowd ; u 
 He 's good to folk at 's ill an' owd ; lft 
 Childer poo'n his lap i'th fowd, 1C 
 
 Gentle Jone ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 " I Ml bet a creawn he 's off to th' vale, 
 To yer some cray tor's soory 17 tale ; 
 I never knowed his kindness fail, 
 
 Gentle Jone ! 
 
 O'er hill, an' cloof, 18 an' moss, an' moor, 
 He 's reef, weel l9 known to folk at 's poor ; 
 A welcome fuut at every door, 
 
 Gentle Jone ! 
 
 14 Guinea-gowd, guinea gold, or gold without alloy. 
 Owd, old. 16 Fowd, fold. " Soory, sorry. 
 
 18 Cloof, clough glen. I9 Reel weel, right well.
 
 GENTLE JONE. 
 
 V. 
 
 " He taks delight i' roving round, 
 
 To root i' nooks where sorrow's found ; 
 
 He comes like rain to drufty 20 ground, 
 
 Gentle Jone ! 
 
 He 's very slow at thinkin' ill ; 
 He'll pass a faut 21 wi' reet good will ; 
 An' doin' good 's his pastime still, 
 
 Gentle Jone ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 "An 1 when I broke this poor owd limb, 
 I should ha' dee'd except for him." 
 He said no moor ; his e'en geet dim, 
 Mine were th' same : 
 
 80 Drufty, droughty, parched. 
 
 51 Pass a faut, forgives a fault, or an offenc .
 
 GENTLE JONE. 287 
 
 " Owd brid," said I, " let's have a gill ! " 
 " N"aw, naw," said he, "I 'm noan so weel ;'" 
 It 's time to paddle deawn this hill, 
 To th' owd dame." 
 
 VII. 
 
 'Twere nearly noon, i'th month o' May ; 
 We said we 'd meet another day ; 
 An' then th' owd crayter limped away 
 
 Deawn th' green lone 
 An' neaw, let 's do the thing that 's reet, 
 An' then, when death puts eawt er lect, 2s 
 We's haply ston a chance to meet 
 
 Gentle Jone ! 
 
 22 Noan so well, not very well. 
 
 23 Put eawt er leet, puts out our light.
 
 TUM KINDLE. 
 
 |p|UM Rindle lope l fro' the chirabley nook, 
 
 As th' winter sun wur sinkin* ; 
 I'm tire't o' keawrin' 2 here i'th' smooke, 
 
 An' wastin' time i' thinkin' : 
 It frets my heart, an' racks my broo 
 
 It sets my yed a-stewin' : 
 A mon that wouldn't dee a foo, 
 Mun tip, an' start a-doin' ! 
 
 Lope, leaped. 
 
 Keawrin' sitting, crouching.
 
 TUM KINDLE. 289 
 
 II. 
 
 Then, Mally, reitch 3 mj Sunday shoon, 
 
 To rom my bits o' toes in ; 
 An' bond mo th' jug, fro' top o'th' oon, 
 
 An' let mo dip my nose in ! 
 An', come, an' fill it up again ; 
 
 An' dunnot look so dcawldy ; * 
 There's nought can lick a marlock, 5 when 
 
 One's brains are gettin' meawldy. 
 
 in. 
 Aw'll laithe 6 a rook o' neighbour lads, 
 
 Frisky cowts, 7 an' bowd uns ; 
 An' let 'em bring their mams an' dads ; 
 
 We'n have it pranked wi' owd uns ! 
 
 3 Peitch, reach. 4 DeawlJy, down-hearted. 
 
 * Murlock, frolic. ' Laithe, invite. 
 
 1 Cowts, colts. 
 
 P P
 
 290 TUM RINDLE. 
 
 An' th' lads an' lasses they sha'n sing, 
 An' fiiut it, leet an' limber ; 8 
 
 An' Robin Lilter, he shall bring 
 His merry bit o' timber ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 An' Joe shall come, an' Jone, an' Ben ; 
 
 An' poor owd limpin' 'Lijah ; 
 An' Mall, an' Sail, an' Fan, an' Nan, 
 
 An' curly-pated 'Bijah ; 
 An' gentle Charlie shall be theer ; 
 
 An' little Dick, the ringer ; 
 An' Moston Sam, aw like to yer 
 
 A snowy-yedded singer ! 
 
 v. 
 
 I'll poo mi gronny eawt o'th' nook, 
 An' send for Dolly Maybo', 
 
 8 Fuut it leet on' limber, foot it light and nimble.
 
 TUM RINDLE. 291 
 
 For, when hoo's gradely donned, 9 hoo'll look 
 As grand as th' queen o' Shayba ; 
 
 An' little Nell shall doance 10 wi' me, 
 Eawr Nelly's yung an' bonny ; 
 
 An' when aw've had a doance wi' thee, 
 Aw'll caper wi' my gronny ! 
 
 VI. 
 Then, Mally, fill it up again ; 
 
 An' dunnot look so deawldy ; 
 There's nought can lick a marlock, when 
 
 One's brains are gettin' meawldy ! 
 We're yung an' hearty ; dunnot croak, 
 
 Let's frisk it neaw, or never ; 
 So, here's good luck to country folk, 
 
 An* country fun, for ever ! 
 
 9 Gradelu donned, properly dressed. 
 
 10 Doance, dance.
 
 THESE MAUND'RIN' E'EN. 
 
 ijH, these maund'rin' l e'en, 
 
 Full o' wild meander, 
 After Mally Green, 
 
 Olez 2 upo' th' wander ! 
 Top to toe, aw 'm queer ; 
 
 Weel aw may one look wizzen't, 3 
 Foolish when hoo 's hear 
 Crazy when hoo isn 't ! 
 
 Chorus Oh, these, &c. 
 
 Maunderin', wandering. 
 Wizzen't, shrivelled. 
 
 2 Olez, always.
 
 THESE MAUND'RIN' E'E&\ 
 
 II. 
 True love though so shy, 
 
 In a corner, creepin', 
 Through some slifter, 4 sly, 
 
 Connot ho\vd 5 for peepiu' ; 
 Cruttle 6 ne'er so still, 
 
 Thinkin' noan 's to know him 
 Smoor 7 it as he will, 
 
 Summat 's 8 sure to show him. 
 Chorus Oh, these, etc. 
 
 in. 
 Neaw his cheeks are seen, 
 
 Flushed wi' tell-tale burn in', 
 Neaw, his faithful e'en, 
 
 To his darlin' turnin' ; 
 
 4 Slifter, crevice. 
 
 * Connot howd, cannot help, cannot resist. 
 6 Cruttle, crouch. 7 Smoor, smother. 
 
 8 Summat, something.
 
 294 THESE MAUN&R1N* E'EN. 
 
 Wheer the heart will be, 
 
 Th' wits are sure to wander ; 
 
 What one likes to see, 
 At it they mun glendur. 9 
 
 Chorus Oh, these, &c. 
 
 IV. 
 
 To her, neet an' day, 
 
 Still my fancy sallies, 
 Oh, I dar not say, 
 
 That it 's same wi' Mally's 
 If my yed 's a foo, 
 
 T'mends it noan to skelp 10 it, 
 What 's a lad to do 
 
 When he connot help it ? 
 
 Chorus Oh, these, &c. 
 
 Glendur, stare. 10 Skelp, beat, strike, chastise.
 
 THESE MAUXD'RIN' E'EN. 295 
 
 V. 
 
 If one's heart's so warm 
 
 That it 's hard to bide it, 
 It mun come to harm, 
 
 With a foo 's to guide it ; 
 Oh, my bonny lass, 
 
 End this jinglin' blether 11 
 Th' heart an' yed, bith mafs, 
 
 Tak it o' together ! 
 
 Chorus Oh, these, &o. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Tak' my e 'en, an' then, 
 
 I 's know wheer to find 'em ; 
 
 Ne 'er to rove again, 
 
 While they 'n thee to bind 'em ; 
 
 " Blether, disorderly din.
 
 296 THESE MAUND'RIN' E'EN. 
 
 Swap 12 my love for thine, 
 Link 'em ne 'er to sever ; 
 
 Make this heart o' mine 
 Hutchin' fain 13 for ever! 
 
 Chorus Oh, these, &c. 
 
 l ' J Swap, exchange. 
 
 13 Hutchin fain, restlessly glad, fidgety with joy.
 
 COME, LIMBER LADS. 
 
 jOMB, limber l lads, so leet an' gay, 
 Aw'm fain we're wick an' hearty ; 
 To-neet we'n have a haliday 
 To-morn we's find it warty : - 
 Like sailors, thrut 3 bith stormy main 
 
 Into a nook together 
 One hour o' friendly fun, an' then, 
 Again for wind and weather. 
 
 1 Limber, lithe, active. 
 ' Thrut, thrown. 
 
 * Warty, wark-day, work-day.
 
 298 COME, LIMBER LADS. 
 
 II. 
 Owd Time though, when a mon's i 'th dumps, 
 
 He's seldom in a hurry 
 Nips up his shins, an' off he stumps, 
 
 The minute one gets merry ; 
 Life's road though noan as dree 4 as his 
 
 It's harder wark to travel ; 
 One leets o' few sich nooks as this, 
 
 An' th' journey ends i' th gravel. 
 
 in. 
 Then clink and sing, my lucky lads, 
 
 An' frisk it while yo're able ; 
 There's cheepin' layrocks 5 round the board, 
 
 An' plenty upo' th' table. 
 Come, crack yo'r jokes, an' let 'em leet, 
 
 O' sly deception scornin'; 
 
 4 Dree, wearily, continuous. 
 
 & Cheepin layrocks, chirruping larks.
 
 COME, LIMBER LADS. 299 
 
 We'n prank it out wi' glee to-neet, 
 An' strike to wark i' th mornin'. 
 
 IV. 
 
 If o' that wanders under th' sky 
 
 Be grass, that winnot linger, 
 Let every mortal blade that's dry 
 
 Cock up his little finger. 
 Then, fill for him that's full o' fun 
 
 An' let it be a thumper ; 
 An' th' lad that thinks he's welly 6 done, 
 
 We'n rooze him wi' a bumper ! 
 
 v. 
 An' now, to end this friendly rant, 
 
 Turn up yo'r tots 7 to th' ceilin' ; 
 Let's hope that he may ne'er feel scant 
 
 That's never scant o' feeling ! 
 
 6 Welly, well-n'y, well-nigh. 
 
 7 Tots, little drinking vessels.
 
 3 oo COME, LIMBER LADS. 
 
 Good luck to th' lad that wants a wife, 
 Wi' rosy chens 8 to bind him ! 
 
 An' th' mon that wants a foo bith life 
 I' th lookin'-glass he'll find him ! 
 
 8 Chens, chains.
 
 THE GARLAND. 
 
 Air " Cupid's Garden." 
 
 { WAS when the dawn of mornin' 
 
 Began to stir i'th sky, 
 I donned mysel' to wander 
 Afore the dew wur dry ; 
 To wauder in the gay greenwood, 
 
 Reet early I did rove, 
 I could not sleep upon my bed 
 For thinkin of my love.
 
 THE GARLAND. 
 
 II. 
 
 Down in a bonny dingle, 
 
 Where sometimes we did stray, 
 Our vows of love to mingle, 
 
 At close of summer day ; 
 It's there, where oft among her hair 
 
 The flowers of spring I've wove, 
 I sat me down to think upon 
 
 The girl that I do love. 
 
 in. 
 
 It's there I made a garlan', 
 
 My darlin' for to don, 
 And the posies that were in it, 
 
 They shined like the sun ; 
 The dewy posies, wild and sweet, 
 
 All in the leafy grove ; 
 It breaks my heart to think upon 
 
 The girl that I do love.
 
 THE GARLAND. 303 
 
 IV. 
 
 The cowslip, and the speedwell, 
 
 With a dewdrop in its e'e, 
 An' the wild rose, an' the bluebell, 
 
 They blend so bonnilie ; 
 An' the honey-suckle, wand'rin wild, 
 
 With violets blue, I wove, 
 They made me for to think upon 
 
 The girl that I do love. 
 
 v. 
 An' when I poo'd my posies, 
 
 The small birds they did sing ; 
 An' when I wove my garlan', 
 
 They made the woods to ring ; 
 On every tree, the wild birds' glee, 
 
 Rang throngh the leafy grove, 
 As I came away, at dawn of day, 
 
 Still thinkin' of my love.
 
 304 THE GARLAND. 
 
 VI. 
 Oh, the mornin' sun it rises 
 
 To cheer my heart's delight, 
 An' the silver moon she wanders 
 
 Among the clouds at night ; 
 An' the twinklin' stars that look so fine, 
 
 All in the heavens above, 
 At wark or play, by neet an' day, 
 
 I'm thinkin' of my love. 
 
 THE END.
 
 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS TO THE LARGE 
 
 PAPER EDITION OF WAUGH'S 
 
 POEMS AND SONGS. 
 
 Acton, H. M., Esq., 3, Cross Street, Manchester. 
 
 Alston, John A., Esq., Xorthwood House, Grange 
 Court, Gloucester. 
 
 Armitage, Elkanah, Esq., The Rookery, Pendleton. 
 
 Arthur, James E., Esq., Blackburn. 
 
 Ash worth, J. Wilding, Esq., Son-el Bank, Eccles Old 
 Road, Pendleton, Manchester. 
 
 Ashworth, W., Esq., 26, Grafton Street, Preston. 
 
 Aspden, Th. A., Esq., Eldon Place, Blackburn. 
 
 Backhouse, T. J., Esq., York Cliffe, Billington, near 
 Blackburn. 
 
 Barlow, Mark, Esq., Hooley Range, Heaton Chapel, 
 near Manchester. 
 
 Barton, Richard, Esq., West Leigh Lodge, Leigh. 
 
 Beard, Jas., Esq., The Grange, Burnage Lane, Man- 
 chester. 
 
 R R
 
 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 Beaumont, George, Esq., Jun., 11, Piccadilly, Man- 
 chester. 
 Bennett, Captain II. A., Esq., Nelson House, Chorlton- 
 
 on-Medlock, Manchester. 
 
 Binns, J. A., Esq., Oak Lane, Manningham, Bradford. 
 Bleasdell, Rev. John, B. A., Enville Place, Ashton- 
 
 under-Lyne. 
 Bolton, Joseph A., Esq., Rose Cottage, Alderley Edge, 
 
 near Manchester. 
 Bolton Subscription Library. 
 Bowes, John, Esq., Warrington. 
 
 Bridson, Henry, Esq., Warfleet, Dartmouth, S. Devon. 
 Bridson, W. Paul, Esq., Stoneclough, Manchester. 
 Bright, Right Hon. John, Esq., M. P., Rochdale. 
 Bright, Councillor Thomas, Esq., 94, Mill Street, An- 
 
 coats, Manchester. 
 
 Bromiley, John, Esq., 14, Cateaton Street, Manchester. 
 Brook, Peter Win., Esq., Marsden House, High Lane. 
 Brookes, W. M., Esq., Sutton Schools, Isle of Ely. 
 Brookes, W. Cunliffe, Esq., Bank, Manchester. 
 Brown, Councillor W., Smedley House, Cheetham. 
 Browning, Thomas, Esq., King Street, Manchester. 
 Buckley, Samuel, Esq., F. R. C. S., 2, Stonewall Terrace, 
 
 Cheetham Hill, Manchester. 
 Burton, J. H., Esq., 5, Trafalgar Square, Ashton- 
 
 under-Lyne. 
 Byrom, Thomas, Esq., 27, Dicconson Street, Wigan.
 
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 London. 
 
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 Charter, John, Esq., Clifton House, Ileaton Norria, 
 
 Manchester. 
 
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 Clark, William, Esq., Dickinson Road, Rusholme, 
 
 Manchester. 
 
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 Collinge, Benjamin, Esq., Collinge Street, Rochdale. 
 Cooke, Thomas, Esq., Rusholme Hall, Manchester. 
 Corbett, Edward, Esq., 24, Barton Arcade, Manchester. 
 Cox, Joseph, Esq., 219, Chester Road, Huline, Man- 
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 Manchester. 
 Crompton, Samuel, Esq., M. D., 24, St. Ann's Square, 
 
 Manchester. 
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 Carke in Cartmel, Camforth. 
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 Dillon, Jas., Esq., Union Bank, York Street, Manchester. 
 
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 Edmondson, R. H., Esq., Brookfield, Lymm. 
 
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 Evans, John, Esq., 17, Brazenose Street, Manchester. 
 
 Farrar, James, Esq., 12, Market Street, Bury. 
 
 Fenton, Robert, Esq., Marland, near Rochdale. 
 
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 Fildes, Henry Strettell, Esq., North View, Stretford, 
 near Manchester. 
 
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 Foster, Peter, Esq., Holly Bank, Turton. 
 
 Fox, T. F. Embleton, Esq., Northorpe Hall, Kirton-in- 
 Lindsay, Lincolnshire. 
 
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 Street, Rusholme, Manchester. 
 
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 Gillespie, Thomas J., Esq., Park House, Newton-le- 
 Willows. 
 
 Gillibrand, T. W., Esq., 50, George Street, Manchester. 
 
 Gouldthorp, William, Esq., 37, Cross Street, Manchester. 
 
 Grantham, John, Esq., 2, Rothsay Place, Old Trafford, 
 Manchester. 
 
 Gratrix, Samuel, Esq., Alport Town, Manchester.
 
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 Greenhalgh, James, Esq., Solicitor, Bolton. 
 Grimshaw, W. J., Esq., Wellfield, Stand, near Manchester. 
 Hadfield, Charles, Esq., Editor of the Examiner, 
 
 Warrington. 
 
 Hadfield, George, Esq., Manchester. 
 Hall, John, Esq., Solicitor, Chorley Road, Bolton-le- 
 
 Moors. 
 
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 Hall, William, Esq., Eccles. 
 Hamer, W. E., Esq., 8, Old Exchange Arcade, St. Ann's 
 
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 Harrison, William, Esq., F. S. A., D. L., and J. P., Sam- 
 
 lesbury Hall, near Preston. 
 
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 Hecht, Edward, Esq., Wynnstay Grove, Fallow Field, 
 
 Manchester. 
 
 Hewitt, William, Esq., Fallow Field, Manchester. 
 Higgin,W. H. Esq., Q.C., St. James's Square, Manchester. 
 Hill, John, Esq., Woodlea, Cheadle Ilulme, near Man- 
 chester.
 
 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 Holt, Edwin, Esq., Exchange Street, Cheetham, Man- 
 
 Chester. 
 
 Holt, John, Esq., Long Street, Middleton. 
 Hough, Ezra, Esq., Bolton. 
 
 Houghton, Robert, Esq., Lowton House, Lowton. 
 Johnson, Wm., Esq., 25, Lansdowne Terrace, Alexandra 
 
 Road, Manchester. 
 
 Johnson, Miss, 11, Portland Street, Southport. 
 Kershaw, James, Esq., Holly House, Bury Old Road, 
 
 Manchester. 
 
 Knowles, Henry, Esq., 191, Regent Road, Salford. 
 Lamb, James, Esq., John Dalton Street, Manchester. 
 Leake, Robert, Esq., The Dales, Whitefield, Manchester. 
 Lee, George, Esq., Corporation Brewery, Tipping Street, 
 
 Ardwick, Manchester. 
 Leech, J. J., Esq., Marple, Cheshire. 
 Lees, Samuel, Esq., Broughton Park, Cheetham Hill, 
 
 Manchester. 
 
 Lees, Samuel, Esq., Park Bridge, Ashton-under-Lyne. 
 Lynde, James H., Esq., 17, Cooper Street, Manchester. 
 Macdonald, James, Esq., F. R. G. S., 17, Russell Square, 
 
 London, W. C. 
 
 Markendale, Richard, Esq., Godly, near Manchester. 
 Mart, Joseph Forcaux, Esq., J. P., 28, Crescent, Salford. 
 Manchester, J., Esq., Brazenose Club. 
 Mangnall, William, Esq., Prestwich, Manchester. 
 Mayhew, Walter, Esq., Woodlands, Wigan.
 
 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 McKerrow, John Begg, Esq., Norcliffe, Broughton Park, 
 
 Manchester. 
 McMinnies, John Gordon, Esq., J. P., Summer House, 
 
 Warrington. 
 Meakin, W. H., Esq., 52, Claremont Grove, Fitzwarren 
 
 Street, Seedley, Pendleton, Manchester. 
 Meredith, Charles, Esq., 49, King Street, Manchester. 
 Morgan, W,, Esq., Liverpool. 
 
 Miickley, W. J., Esq., Withington, near Manchester. 
 O'Neill, Arthur, Esq., 336, Oxford Road, Manchester. 
 Partington, Thomas, Esq., Miles Platting Institute, 
 
 Manchester. 
 Patteson, Alderman Henry, Esq., J. P., Ansou Road, 
 
 Victoria Park, Manchester. 
 
 Peacock, Rich., Esq., Gorton Hall, Gorton, Manchester. 
 Pearson, George, Esq., Southside, Wimslow, Cheshire. 
 Pearson, J., Esq., Golborne Park, Newton-le-Willows. 
 Picton, James A., Esq., J.P., F.S. A., Sandyknowe, 
 
 Wavertree, near Liverpool. 
 Pierce, Frederick M., Esq., M.D., 361, Oxford Road, 
 
 Manchester. 
 
 Poole, A. C., Esq., Fallowneld, Manchester. 
 Pope, Samuel, Esq., Q. C., 59, Lancaster Gate, London, W. 
 Potter, Chas., Esq., Artist, Werneth, Oldhani. 
 Ramwell, Robert, Esq., German Mill, Bolton. 
 Ramsbotham, James, Esq., Crowborough "Warren, near 
 
 Tunbridre Wells.
 
 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 Reynolds, W. II., Esq., The Willows, Grappinhall. 
 
 Ridgway, John, Esq., Lymm. 
 
 Ridgway, J. C., Esq., Sankey Bridge, Warrington. 
 
 Rigby, Samuel, Esq., Bruche Hall, Warrington. 
 
 Roberts, Herbert, Esq., Warrington. 
 
 Roberts, John M., Esq., Cornbrook, Manchester. 
 
 Roberts, R., Esq., 150, Oldfield Road, Salford. 
 
 Robinson, Francis, Esq., 12, Old Millgate, Manchester. 
 
 Rose, Thomas, Esq., 14, Bank Street, Cross Street, 
 
 Manchester. 
 
 Rothwell, Edward, Esq., Wimvick, Newton-le-Willows. 
 Rothwell, Selim, Esq., Beech View, Bolton Road, 
 
 Pendleton, Manchester. 
 Rothwell, Selim, Esq., India Buildings, 20, Cross Street, 
 
 Manchester. 
 Rowley, C., Esq., Jun., The Glen, Church Lane, Ilar- 
 
 purhey, Manchester. 
 Rowson, James A., Esq., Latchford. 
 Royds, Ernest E. M., Esq., Leehurst, Rochdale. 
 Salford Free Library. 
 
 Saunders, William, Esq., Hareden, Clitheroe. 
 Scorah, Henry, Esq., 240, Infirmary lload, Sheffield. 
 Shackleton, William, Esq., Vale Manse, Todmorden. 
 Shaw, R. R., Esq., Lome Street, Chorlton-on-Medlock, 
 
 Manchester. 
 
 Sheffield, G., Esq., The Laurels, Wimslow. 
 Shiers, Geo. Alfred, Esq., The Grange, Chelford, Cheshire.
 
 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 Shiers, Richard, Esq., The Grange, Chelforcl, Cheshire. 
 Slagg, John, Esq., 12, Pall Mall, Manchester. 
 Smith, J. Stores, Esq., Chesterfield. 
 Stainforth, S. K., Esq., Poynton, Stockport. 
 Steinthal, S. Alfred, Esq., 81, Xelson Street, Manchester. 
 Stokes, R., Esq., Mab Holes. 
 
 Sutton, E., Esq., 41, John Dalton Street, Manchester. 
 Swindells, Rupert, Esq., 2, Dray ton Terrace, Old 
 
 Trafford, Manchester. 
 Swinglehurst, Henry, Esq., J. P., Ilincaster House,- 
 
 near Milnthorpe. 
 Tatton, Thomas Egerton, Esq., Wythcnshawe Hall, 
 
 Cheshire. 
 
 Taylor, Edward, Esq., Islington Square, Salford. 
 Taylor, Henry, Esq., 8, John Dalton Street, Manchester. 
 Taylor, Samuel,Esq., 14, St. James's Square, Manchester. 
 Thompson, James, Esq., Wetton Bank, Blackburn. 
 Tiller, J. G., Esq., 9, Rook Street, Manchester. 
 Tong, Jonathan, Esq., Bruze Hill, Kersal, Manchester . 
 Turner, Charles, Esq., Idle. 
 Turner, William Alfred, Esq., The Laurels, Pendleton, 
 
 Manchester. 
 
 Wardle, William, Esq., 33, Withy Grove, Manchester. 
 Watts, John, Esq., Ph.D., 21, Brown Street, Manchester. 
 Welch, Thomas, Esq., Green Vale, Westhoughton. 
 Wilkinson, Thomas Read, Esq., Manchester and Salford 
 Bank, Manchester. 
 
 S S
 
 LIST OF SUBSCRIBERS. 
 
 Williams, Jacob, Esq., 4, Carlton Buildings, Manchester. 
 
 Wilson, Charles, Esq., Langley House, Prestwich. 
 
 Windsor, James Smith, Esq., Gloucester Road, South- 
 port. 
 
 Winmarligh, Right Hon. Lord, Winmarligh, Garstang. 
 
 Wood, Richard, Esq., Clairville, Whalley Range, Man- 
 chester. 
 
 Wood, R. H., Esq., F. S.A., Penrhos House, Rugby.
 
 LIST OF 
 
 BOOKSELLERS WHO HAVE SUBSCRIBED 
 
 TO THE LARGE PAPER EDITION 
 
 OF WAUGH'S POEMS 
 
 AND SONGS. 
 
 Mr. Almond, Blackburn. 
 
 Mr. Battle, Manchester. 
 
 Mr. Bradshaw, Pendleton, Manchester. 
 
 Mr. Cornish, Manchester. 
 
 Mr. Day, Manchester. 
 
 Mr. Downing, Birmingham. 
 
 Mr. John Heywood, Manchester. 
 
 Mr. Johnson, Manchester. 
 
 Mr. Oakey, Preston. 
 
 Messrs. Palmer and Howe, Manchester. 
 
 Mr. Pearse, Rochdale. 
 
 Mr. Pearse, Warrington. 
 
 Mr. Platt, Wigan.
 
 BOOKSELLERS WHO HAVE SUBSCRIBED. 
 
 Mr. Shott, Manchester. 
 
 Mr. Slater, Manchester. 
 
 Messrs. W. H. Smith and Son, Manchester. 
 
 Mr. Stewart, Southport. 
 
 Messrs. Tubbs and Brooks, Manchester. 
 
 Mr. Wall, Wigan. 
 
 Mr. Wardleworth, Accrington. 
 
 Mr. Wardleworth, Bury. 
 
 Mr. Winterburn, Bolton. 
 
 Mr. Young, Liverpool. 
 
 CHISWICK PRESS : PRINTED BY WHITTINGHAM AND WILKINS, 
 TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE.
 
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