OBEN VIELDS.
Well, you mid keep the town an' street,
Wi' grassless stwones to beät your veet,
An' zunless windows where your brows
Be never cooled by swaÿèn boughs;
An' let me end, as I begun,
My days in oben aïr an' zun,
Where zummer win's a-blowèn sweet,
Wi' blooth o' trees as white's a sheet;
Or swaÿèn boughs, a-bendèn low
Wi' rip'nèn apples in a row,
An' we a-risèn rathe do meet
The bright'nèn dawn wi' dewy veet,
An' leäve, at night, the vootless groves,
To rest 'ithin our thatchen oves.
An' here our childern still do bruise
The deäisy buds wi' tiny shoes,
As we did meet avore em, free
Vrom ceäre, in play below the tree.
An' there in me'th their lively eyes
Do glissen to the zunny skies,
As aïr do blow, wi' leäzy peäce
To cool, in sheäde, their burnèn feäce.
Where leaves o' spreadèn docks do hide
The zawpit's timber-lwoaded zide,
An' trees do lie, wi' scraggy limbs,
Among the deäisy's crimson rims.
An' they, so proud, wi' eärms a-spread
To keep their balance good, do tread
Wi' ceäreful steps o' tiny zoles
The narrow zides o' trees an' poles.
An' zoo I'll leäve vor your light veet
The peävement o' the zunless street,
While I do end, as I begun,
My days in oben aïr an' zun.
WHAT JOHN WER A-TELLÈN HIS MIS'ESS
OUT IN THE CORN GROUND.
Ah! mam! you woonce come here the while
The zun, long years agoo, did shed
His het upon the wheat in hile,
Wi' yollow hau'm an' ears o' red,
Wi' little shoes too thin vor walks
Upon the scratchèn stubble-stalks;
You hardly reach'd wi' glossy head,
The vore wheel's top o' dousty red.
How time's a-vled! How years do vlee!
An' there you went an' zot inzide
A hile, in aïr a-streamèn cool,
As if 'ithin a room, vull wide
An' high, you zot to guide an' rule.
You leäz'd about the stubbly land,
An' soon vill'd up your small left hand
Wi' ruddy ears your right hand vound,
An' traïl'd the stalks along the ground.
How time's a-gone! How years do goo!
Then in the waggon you did teäke
A ride, an' as the wheels vell down
Vrom ridge to vurrow, they did sheäke
On your small head your poppy crown,
An' now your little maïd, a dear,
Your childhood's very daps, is here,
Zoo let her staÿ, that her young feäce
Mid put a former year in pleäce.
How time do run! How years do roll!
SHEÄDES.
Come here an' zit a while below
Theäse tower, grey and ivy-bound,
In sheäde, the while the zun do glow
So hot upon the flow'ry ground;
An' winds in flight,
Do briskly smite
The blossoms bright, upon the gleäde,
But never stir the sleepèn sheäde.
As when you stood upon the brink
O' yonder brook, wi' back-zunn'd head,
Your zunny-grounded sheäde did zink
Upon the water's grav'lly bed,
Where weäves could zweep
Away, or keep,
The gravel heap that they'd a-meäde,
But never wash away the sheäde.
An' zoo, when you can woonce vulvil
What's feäir, a-tried by heaven's light,
Why never fear that evil will
Can meäke a wrong o' your good right.
The right wull stand,
Vor all man's hand,
Till streams on zand, an' wind in gleädes,
Can zweep awaÿ the zuncast sheädes.
TIMES O' YEAR.
Here did swäy the eltrot flow'rs,
When the hours o' night wer vew,
An' the zun, wi' eärly beams
[page 388]Brighten'd streams, an' dried the dew,
An' the goocoo there did greet
Passers by wi' dousty veet.
There the milkmaïd hung her brow
By the cow, a-sheenèn red;
An' the dog, wi' upward looks,
Watch'd the rooks above his head,
An' the brook, vrom bow to bow,
Here went swift, an' there wer slow.
Now the cwolder-blowèn blast,
Here do cast vrom elems' heads
Feäded leaves, a-whirlèn round,
Down to ground, in yollow beds,
Ruslèn under milkers' shoes,
When the day do dry the dews.
Soon shall grass, a-vrosted bright,
Glisten white instead o' green,
An' the wind shall smite the cows,
Where the boughs be now their screen.
Things do change as years do vlee;
What ha' years in store vor me?
Eclogue.
RACKETÈN JOE.
Racketèn Joe; his Sister; his Cousin Fanny; and the Dog.
RACKETÈN JOE.
Heigh! heigh! here. Who's about?
HIS SISTER.
Oh! lauk! Here's Joe, a rantèn lout,
A-meäkèn his wild randy-rout.
RACKETÈN JOE.
Heigh! Fanny! How d'ye do? (slaps her.)
FANNY.
Oh! fie; why all the woo'se vor you
A-slappèn o' me, black an' blue,
My back!
HIS SISTER.
A whack! you loose-eärm'd chap,
To gi'e your cousin sich a slap!
FANNY.
I'll pull the heäir o'n, I do vow;
HIS SISTER.
I'll pull the ears o'n. There.
THE DOG.
Wowh! wow!
FANNY.
A-comèn up the drong,
How he did smack his leather thong,
A-zingèn, as he thought, a zong;
HIS SISTER.
An' there the pigs did scote
Azide, in fright, wi' squeakèn droat,
Wi' geese a pitchèn up a note.
Look there.
FANNY.
His chair!
HIS SISTER.
He thump'd en down,
As if he'd het en into ground.
RACKETÈN JOE.
Heigh! heigh! Look here! the vier is out.
HIS SISTER.
How he do knock the tongs about!
FANNY.
Now theäre's his whip-nob, plum
Upon the teäble vor a drum;
HIS SISTER.
An' there's a dent so big's your thumb.
RACKETÈN JOE.
My hat's awore so quaer.
HIS SISTER.
'Tis quaer enough, but not wi' wear;
But dabs an' dashes he do bear.
RACKETÈN JOE.
The zow!
HIS SISTER.
What now?
RACKETÈN JOE.
She's in the plot.
A-routèn up the flower knot.
Ho! Towzer! Here, rout out the zow,
Heigh! here, hie at her. Tiss!
THE DOG.
Wowh! wow!
HIS SISTER.
RACKETÈN JOE.
She's out.
FANNY.
Noo doubt.
HIS SISTER.
Athirt the bank,
Look! how the dog an' he do pank.
FANNY.
Staÿ out, an' heed her now an' then,
To zee she don't come in ageän.
ZUMMER AN' WINTER.
When I led by zummer streams
The pride o' Lea, as naïghbours thought her,
While the zun, wi' evenèn beams,
Did cast our sheädes athirt the water;
Winds a-blowèn,
Streams a-flowèn,
Skies a-glowèn,
Tokens ov my jaÿ zoo fleetèn,
Heighten'd it, that happy meetèn.
Then, when maïd an' man took pleäces,
Gaÿ in winter's Chris'mas dances,
Showèn in their merry feäces
Kindly smiles an' glisnèn glances;
Stars a-winkèn,
Day a-shrinkèn,
Sheädes a-zinkèn,
Brought anew the happy meetèn,
That did meake the night too fleetèn.
TO ME.
At night, as drough the meäd I took my waÿ,
In aïr a-sweeten'd by the new-meäde haÿ,
A stream a-vallèn down a rock did sound,
Though out o' zight wer foam an' stwone to me.
Behind the knap, above the gloomy copse,
The wind did russle in the trees' high tops,
Though evenèn darkness, an' the risèn hill,
Kept all the quiv'rèn leaves unshown to me,
Within the copse, below the zunless sky,
I heärd a nightèngeäle, a-warblèn high
Her lwoansome zong, a-hidden vrom my zight,
An' showèn nothèn but her mwoan to me.
An' by a house, where rwoses hung avore
The thatch-brow'd window, an' the oben door,
I heärd the merry words, an' hearty laugh
O' zome feäir maid, as eet unknown to me.
High over head the white-rimm'd clouds went on,
Wi' woone a-comèn up, vor woone a-gone;
An' feäir they floated in their sky-back'd flight,
But still they never meäde a sound to me.
An' there the miller, down the stream did float
Wi' all his childern, in his white-saïl'd bwoat,
Vur off, beyond the stragglèn cows in meäd,
But zent noo vaïce, athirt the ground, to me.
An' then a buttervlee, in zultry light,
A-wheelèn on about me, vier-bright,
Did show the gaÿest colors to my eye,
But still did bring noo vaïce around to me.
I met the merry laugher on the down,
Bezide her mother, on the path to town,
An' oh! her sheäpe wer comely to the zight,
But wordless then wer she a-vound to me.
Zoo, sweet ov unzeen things mid be sound,
An' feäir to zight mid soundless things be vound,
But I've the laugh to hear, an' feäce to zee,
Vor they be now my own, a-bound to me.
TWO AN' TWO.
The zun, O Jessie, while his feäce do rise
In vi'ry skies, a-sheddèn out his light
On yollow corn a-weävèn down below
His yollow glow, is gaÿ avore the zight.
By two an' two,
How goodly things do goo,
A-matchèn woone another to fulvill
The goodness ov their Meäkèr's will.
How bright the spreadèn water in the lew
Do catch the blue, a-sheenèn vrom the sky;
How true the grass do teäke the dewy bead
That it do need, while dousty roads be dry.
By peäir an' peäir
Each thing's a-meäde to sheäre
The good another can bestow,
In wisdom's work down here below.
The lowest lim's o' trees do seldom grow
A-spread too low to gi'e the cows a sheäde;
The aïr's to bear the bird, the bird's to rise;
Vor light the eyes, vor eyes the light's a-meäde.
[page 394]'Tis gi'e an' teäke,
An' woone vor others' seäke;
In peäirs a-workèn out their ends,
Though men be foes that should be friends.
THE LEW O' THE RICK.
At eventide the wind wer loud
By trees an' tuns above woone's head,
An' all the sky wer woone dark cloud,
Vor all it had noo raïn to shed;
An' as the darkness gather'd thick,
I zot me down below a rick,
Where straws upon the win' did ride
Wi' giddy flights, along my zide,
Though unmolestèn me a-restèn,
Where I laÿ 'ithin the lew.
My wife's bright vier indoors did cast
Its fleäme upon the window peänes
That screen'd her teäble, while the blast
Vled on in music down the leänes;
An' as I zot in vaïceless thought
Ov other zummer-tides, that brought
The sheenèn grass below the lark,
Or left their ricks a-wearèn dark,
My childern voun' me, an' come roun' me,
Where I lay 'ithin the lew.
The rick that then did keep me lew
Would be a-gone another Fall,
An' I, in zome years, in a vew,
Mid leäve the childern, big or small;
[page 395]But He that meäde the wind, an' meäde
The lewth, an' zent wi' het the sheäde,
Can keep my childern, all alwone
O' under me, an' though vull grown
Or little lispers, wi' their whispers,
There a-lyèn in the lew.
THE WIND IN WOONE'S FEÄCE.
There lovely Jenny past,
While the blast did blow
On over Ashknowle Hill
To the mill below;
A-blinkèn quick, wi' lashes long,
Above her cheäks o' red,
Ageän the wind, a-beätèn strong,
Upon her droopèn head.
Oh! let dry win' blow bleäk,
On her cheäk so heäle,
But let noo raïn-shot chill
Meäke her ill an' peäle;
Vor healthy is the breath the blast
Upon the hill do yield,
An' healthy is the light a cast
Vrom lofty sky to vield.
An' mid noo sorrow-pang
Ever hang a tear
Upon the dark lash-heäir
Ov my feäirest dear;
An' mid noo unkind deed o' mine
Spweil what my love mid gaïn,
Nor meäke my merry Jenny pine
At last wi' dim-ey'd païn.
TOKENS
Green mwold on zummer bars do show
That they've a-dripp'd in Winter wet;
The hoof-worn ring o' groun' below
The tree, do tell o' storms or het;
The trees in rank along a ledge
Do show where woonce did bloom a hedge;
An' where the vurrow-marks do stripe
The down, the wheat woonce rustled ripe.
Each mark ov things a-gone vrom view—
To eyezight's woone, to soulzight two.
The grass ageän the mwoldrèn door
'S a tóken sad o' vo'k a-gone,
An' where the house, bwoth wall an' vloor,
'S a-lost, the well mid linger on.
What tokens, then, could Meäry gi'e
Thät she'd a-liv'd, an' liv'd vor me,
But things a-done vor thought an' view?
Good things that nwone ageän can do,
An' every work her love ha' wrought,
To eyezight's woone, but two to thought.
TWEIL.
The rick ov our last zummer's haulèn
Now vrom grey's a-feäded dark,
An' off the barken raïl's a-vallèn,
Day by day, the rottèn bark.—
But short's the time our works do stand,
So feäir's we put em out ov hand,
Vor time a-passèn, wet an' dry,
Do spweïl em wi' his changèn sky,
[page 397]The while wi' strivèn hope, we men,
Though a-ruèn time's undoèn,
Still do tweil an' tweil ageän.
In wall-zide sheädes, by leafy bowers,
Underneath the swayèn tree,
O' leäte, as round the bloomèn flowers,
Lowly humm'd the giddy bee,
My childern's small left voot did smite
Their tiny speäde, the while the right
Did trample on a deäisy head,
Bezïde the flower's dousty bed,
An' though their work wer idle then,
They a-smilèn, an' a-tweilèn,
Still did work an' work ageän.
Now their little limbs be stronger,
Deeper now their vaïce do sound;
An' their little veet be longer,
An' do tread on other ground;
An' rust is on the little bleädes
Ov all the broken-hafted speädes,
An' flow'rs that wer my hope an' pride
Ha' long agoo a-bloom'd an' died,
But still as I did leäbor then
Vor love ov all them childern small,
Zoo now I'll tweil an' tweil ageän.
When the smokeless tun's a-growèn
Cwold as dew below the stars,
An' when the vier noo mwore's a-glowèn
Red between the window bars,
We then do lay our weary heads
In peace upon their nightly beds,
An' gi'e woone sock, wi' heavèn breast,
An' then breathe soft the breath o' rest,
[page 398]Till day do call the sons o' men
Vrom night-sleep's blackness, vull o' sprackness,
Out abroad to tweil ageän.
Where the vaïce o' the winds is mildest,
In the plaïn, their stroke is keen;
Where their dreatnèn vaïce is wildest,
In the grove, the grove's our screen.
An' where the worold in their strife
Do dreatèn mwost our tweilsome life,
Why there Almighty ceäre mid cast
A better screen ageän the blast.
Zoo I woon't live in fear o' men,
But, man-neglected, God-directed,
Still wull tweil an' tweil ageän.
FANCY.
In stillness we ha' words to hear,
An' sheäpes to zee in darkest night,
An' tongues a-lost can haïl us near,
An' souls a-gone can smile in zight;
When Fancy now do wander back
To years a-spent, an' bring to mind
Zome happy tide a-left behind
In' weästèn life's slow-beatèn track.
When feädèn leaves do drip wi' raïn,
Our thoughts can ramble in the dry;
When Winter win' do zweep the plaïn
We still can have a zunny sky.
Vor though our limbs be winter-wrung,
We still can zee, wi' Fancy's eyes,
The brightest looks ov e'th an' skies,
That we did know when we wer young.
In païn our thoughts can pass to eäse,
In work our souls can be at plaÿ,
An' leäve behind the chilly leäse
Vor warm-aïr'd meäds o' new mow'd haÿ.
When we do vlee in Fancy's flight
Vrom daily ills avore our feäce,
An' linger in zome happy pleäce
Ov mè'th an' smiles, an' warmth an' light.
THE BROKEN HEART.
News o' grief had overteäken
Dark-ey'd Fanny, now vorseäken;
There she zot, wi' breast a-heavèn,
While vrom zide to zide, wi' grievèn,
Vell her head, wi' tears a-creepèn
Down her cheäks, in bitter weepèn.
There wer still the ribbon-bow
She tied avore her hour ov woe,
An' there wer still the han's that tied it
Hangèn white,
Or wringèn tight,
In ceäre that drown'd all ceäre bezide it.
When a man, wi' heartless slightèn,
Mid become a maïden's blightèn,
He mid ceärlessly vorseäke her,
But must answer to her Meäker;
He mid slight, wi' selfish blindness,
All her deeds o' lovèn-kindness,
God wull waïgh em wi' the slightèn
That mid be her love's requitèn;
He do look on each deceiver,
He do know
What weight o' woe
Do breäk the heart ov ev'ry griever.
EVENÈN LIGHT.
The while I took my bit o' rest,
Below my house's eastern sheäde,
The things that stood in vield an' gleäde
Wer bright in zunsheen vrom the west.
There bright wer east-ward mound an' wall,
An' bright wer trees, arisèn tall,
An' bright did break 'ithin the brook,
Down rocks, the watervall.
There deep 'ithin my pworches bow
Did hang my heavy woaken door,
An' in beyond en, on the vloor,
The evenèn dusk did gather slow;
But bright did gleäre the twinklèn spwokes
O' runnèn carriage wheels, as vo'ks
Out east did ride along the road,
Bezide the low-bough'd woaks,
An' I'd a-lost the zun vrom view,
Until ageän his feäce mid rise,
A-sheenèn vrom the eastern skies
To brighten up the rwose-borne dew;
But still his lingrèn light did gi'e
My heart a touchèn jaÿ, to zee
His beams a-shed, wi' stratchèn sheäde,
On east-ward wall an' tree.
When jaÿ, a-zent me vrom above,
Vrom my sad heart is now agone,
An' others be a-walkèn on,
Amid the light ov Heavèn's love,
Oh! then vor lovèn-kindness seäke,
Mid I rejäice that zome do teäke
My hopes a-gone, until ageän
My happy dawn do breäk.
VIELDS BY WATERVALLS.
When our downcast looks be smileless,
Under others' wrongs an' slightèns,
When our daily deeds be guileless,
An' do meet unkind requitèns,
You can meäke us zome amends
Vor wrongs o' foes, an' slights o' friends;—
O flow'ry-gleäded, timber-sheäded
Vields by flowèn watervalls!
Here be softest aïrs a-blowèn
Drough the boughs, wi' zingèn drushes,
Up above the streams, a-flowèn
Under willows, on by rushes.
Here below the bright-zunn'd sky
The dew-bespangled flow'rs do dry,
In woody-zided, stream-divided
Vields by flowèn watervalls.
Waters, wi' their giddy rollèns;
Breezes wi' their plaÿsome wooèns;
Here do heal, in soft consolèns,
Hearts a-wrung wi' man's wrong doèns.
Day do come to us as gaÿ
As to a king ov widest swaÿ,
In deäisy-whitèn'd, gil'cup-brightèn'd
Vields by flowèn watervalls.
Zome feäir buds mid outlive blightèns,
Zome sweet hopes mid outlive sorrow.
After days of wrongs an' slightèns
There mid break a happy morrow.
We mid have noo e'thly love;
But God's love-tokens vrom above
Here mid meet us, here mid greet us,
In the vields by watervalls.
THE WHEEL ROUTS.
'Tis true I brought noo fortune hwome
Wi' Jenny, vor her honey-moon,
But still a goodish hansel come
Behind her perty soon,
Vor stick, an' dish, an' spoon, all vell
To Jeäne, vrom Aunt o' Camwy dell.
Zoo all the lot o' stuff a-tied
Upon the plow, a tidy tod,
On gravel-crunchèn wheels did ride,
Wi' ho'ses, iron-shod,
That, as their heads did nod, my whip
Did guide along wi' lightsome flip.
An' there it rod 'ithin the rwope,
Astraïn'd athirt, an' straïn'd along,
Down Thornhay's evenèn-lighted slope
An' up the beech-tree drong;
Where wheels a-bound so strong, cut out
On either zide a deep-zunk rout.
An' when at Fall the trees wer brown,
Above the bennet-bearèn land,
When beech-leaves slowly whiver'd down.
By evenèn winds a-fann'd;
The routs wer each a band o' red,
A-vill'd by drifted beech-leaves dead.
An' when, in Winter's leafless light,
The keener eastern wind did blow.
An' scatter down, avore my zight,
A chilly cwoat o' snow;
The routs ageän did show vull bright,
In two long streaks o' glitt'rèn white.
But when, upon our weddèn night,
The cart's light wheels, a-rollèn round,
Brought Jenny hwome, they run too light
To mark the yieldèn ground;
Or welcome would be vound a peäir
O' green-vill'd routs a-runnèn there.
Zoo let me never bring 'ithin
My dwellèn what's a-won by wrong,
An' can't come in 'ithout a sin;
Vor only zee how long
The waggon marks in drong, did show
Wï' leaves, wi' grass, wi' groun' wi' snow.
NANNY'S NEW ABODE.
Now day by day, at lofty height,
O zummer noons, the burnèn zun
'Ve a-show'd avore our eastward zight,
The sky-blue zide ov Hameldon,
An' shone ageän, on new-mow'd ground,
Wi' haÿ a-piled up grey in pook,
An' down on leäzes, bennet-brown'd,
An' wheat a-vell avore the hook;
Till, under elems tall,
The leaves do lie on leänèn lands,
In leäter light o' Fall.
An' last year, we did zee the red
O' dawn vrom Ash-knap's thatchen oves,
An' walk on crumpled leaves a-laid
In grassy rook-trees' timber'd groves,
Now, here, the cooler days do shrink
To vewer hours o' zunny sky,
While zedge, a-weävèn by the brink
O' shallow brooks, do slowly die.
[page 404]An' on the timber tall,
The boughs, half beäre, do bend above
The bulgèn banks in Fall.
There, we'd a spring o' water near,
Here, water's deep in wink-draïn'd wells,
The church 'tis true, is nigh out here,
Too nigh wi' vive loud-boomèn bells.
There, naïghbours wer vull wide a-spread,
But vo'k be here too clwose a-stow'd.
Vor childern now do stun woone's head,
Wi' naïsy plaÿ bezide the road,
Where big so well as small,
The little lad, an' lump'rèn lout,
Do leäp an' laugh theäse Fall.
LEAVES A-VALLÈN.
There the ash-tree leaves do vall
In the wind a-blowèn cwolder,
An' my childern, tall or small,
Since last Fall be woone year wolder.
Woone year wolder, woone year dearer,
Till when they do leave my he'th,
I shall be noo mwore a hearer
O' their vaïces or their me'th.
There dead ash leaves be a-toss'd
In the wind, a-blowèn stronger,
An' our life-time, since we lost
Souls we lov'd, is woone year longer.
Woone year longer, woone year wider,
Vrom the friends that death ha' took,
As the hours do teäke the rider
Vrom the hand that last he shook.
No. If he do ride at night
Vrom the zide the zun went under,
Woone hour vrom his western light
Needen meäke woone hour asunder;
Woone hour onward, woone hour nigher
To the hopeful eastern skies,
Where his mornèn rim o' vier
Soon ageän shall meet his eyes.
Leaves be now a-scatter'd round
In the wind, a-blowèn bleaker,
An' if we do walk the ground
Wi' our life-strangth woone year weaker.
Woone year weaker, woone year nigher
To the pleäce where we shall vind
Woone that's deathless vor the dier,
Voremost they that dropp'd behind.
LIZZIE.
O Lizzie is so mild o' mind,
Vor ever kind, an' ever true;
A-smilèn, while her lids do rise
To show her eyes as bright as dew.
An' comely do she look at night,
A-dancèn in her skirt o' white,
An' blushèn wi' a rwose o' red
Bezide her glossy head.
Feäir is the rwose o' blushèn hue,
Behung wi' dew, in mornèn's hour,
Feäir is the rwose, so sweet below
The noontide glow, bezide the bow'r.
Vull feäir, an' eet I'd rather zee
The rwose a-gather'd off the tree,
An' bloomèn still with blossom red,
By Lizzie's glossy head.
Mid peace droughout her e'thly day,
Betide her way, to happy rest,
An' mid she, all her weanèn life,
Or maïd or wife, be loved and blest.
Though I mid never zing anew
To neäme the maïd so feäir an' true,
A-blushèn, wi' a rwose o' red,
Bezide her glossy head.
BLESSENS A-LEFT.
Lik' souls a-toss'd at sea I bore
Sad strokes o' trial, shock by shock,
An' now, lik' souls a-cast ashore
To rest upon the beäten rock,
I still do seem to hear the sound
O' weäves that drove me vrom my track,
An' zee my strugglèn hopes a-drown'd,
An' all my jaÿs a-floated back.
By storms a-toss'd, I'll gi'e God praïse,
Wi' much a-lost I still ha' jaÿs.
My peace is rest, my faïth is hope,
An' freedom's my unbounded scope.
Vor faïth mid blunt the sting o' fear,
An' peace the pangs ov ills a-vound,
An' freedom vlee vrom evils near,
Wi' wings to vwold on other ground,
Wi' much a-lost, my loss is small,
Vor though ov e'thly goods bereft,
A thousand times well worth em all
Be they good blessèns now a-left.
What e'th do own, to e'th mid vall,
But what's my own my own I'll call,
My faïth, an' peäce, the gifts o' greäce,
An' freedom still to shift my pleäce.
When I've a-had a tree to screen
My meal-rest vrom the high zunn'd-sky,
Or ivy-holdèn wall between
My head an' win's a-rustlèn by,
I had noo call vor han's to bring
Their seäv'ry daïnties at my nod,
But stoop'd a-drinkèn vrom the spring,
An' took my meal, wi' thanks to God,
Wi' faïth to keep me free o' dread,
An' peäce to sleep wi' steadvast head,
An' freedom's hands, an' veet unbound
To woone man's work, or woone seäme ground.
FALL TIME.
The gather'd clouds, a-hangèn low,
Do meäke the woody ridge look dim;
An' raïn-vill'd streams do brisker flow,
Arisèn higher to their brim.
In the tree, vrom lim' to lim',
Leaves do drop
Vrom the top, all slowly down,
Yollow, to the gloomy groun'.
The rick's a-tipp'd an' weather-brown'd,
An' thatch'd wi' zedge a-dried an' dead;
An' orcha'd apples, red half round,
Have all a-happer'd down, a-shed
Underneath the trees' wide head.
Ladders long,
Rong by rong, to clim' the tall
Trees, be hung upon the wall.
FALL.
Now the yollow zun, a-runnèn
Daily round a smaller bow,
Still wi' cloudless sky's a-zunnèn
All the sheenèn land below.
Vewer blossoms now do blow,
But the fruit's a-showèn
Reds an' blues, an' purple hues,
By the leaves a-glowèn.
Now the childern be a-pryèn
Roun' the berried bremble-bow,
Zome a-laughèn, woone a-cryèn
Vor the slent her frock do show.
Bwoys be out a-pullèn low
Slooe-boughs, or a-runnèn
Where, on zides of hazzle-wrides,
Nuts do hang a-zunnèn.
Where do reach roun' wheat-ricks yollow
Oves o' thatch, in long-drawn ring,
There, by stubbly hump an' hollow,
Russet-dappled dogs do spring.
Soon my apple-trees wull fling
Bloomèn balls below em,
That shall hide, on ev'ry zide
Ground where we do drow em.
THE ZILVER-WEED.
The zilver-weed upon the green,
Out where my sons an' daughters play'd,
Had never time to bloom between
The litty steps o' bwoy an' maïd.
But rwose-trees down along the wall,
That then wer all the maïden's ceäre,
An' all a-trimm'd an' traïn'd, did bear
Their bloomèn buds vrom Spring to Fall.
But now the zilver leaves do show
To zummer day their goolden crown,
Wi' noo swift shoe-zoles' litty blow,
In merry plaÿ to beät em down.
An' where vor years zome busy hand
Did traïn the rwoses wide an' high;
Now woone by woone the trees do die,
An' vew of all the row do stand.