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Songs of the Ridings

Chapter 17: The Flowers of Knaresborough Forest
By F. W. Moorman
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Poetry

About This Book

The collection contains twenty-five dialect poems, mainly dramatic monologues and character sketches that portray Yorkshire peasants, artisans, and farmers. Using local speech and rural scenes—farm work, hearthside gatherings, lamplighters, and seasonal customs—the verses evoke community life, regional pride, and anxieties about education and social change. The poems aim to make poetry accessible to working people by preserving local voice and rendering individual psychology through plain, dramatic address, showing both affectionate observation and critical reflection.

The Flowers of Knaresborough Forest

But now they are moaning, on ilka green loaning
The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away.
Jane Elliot (1727-1805).

O! day-time is weary, an’ dark o’ dusk dreary
    For t’ lasses i’ t’ mistal, or rakin’ ower t’ hay;
When t’ kye coom for strippin’, or t’ yowes for their clippin’,
    We think on our sowdiers now gone reet away.

The courtin’-gate’s idle, nae lad flings his bridle
    Ower t’ yak-stoup,[1] an’ sleely cooms seekin’ his may;
The trod by the river is green as a sliver,[2]
    For the Flowers o’ the Forest have all stown away.

At Marti’mas hirin’s, nae ribbins, nae tirin’s,
    When t’ godspenny’s[3] addled, an’ t’ time’s coom for play;
Nae Cheap-Jacks, nae dancin’, wi’ t’ teamster’ clogs prancin ,
    The Flowers o’ the Forest are all flown a way.

When at neet church is lowsin’, an’ t’ owd ullet is rousin’
    Hissel i’ our laithe,[4] wheer he’s slummered all t’ day,
Wae’s t’ heart! but we misses our lads’ saftest kisses,
    Now the Flowers o’ the Forest are gone reet away.

Ploo-lads frae Pannal have crossed ower the Channel,
    Shipperds frae Fewston have taen the King’s pay,
Thackrays frae Dacre have sold ivery acre;
    Thou’ll finnd ne’er a delver[5] frae Haverah to Bray.

When t’ north wind is howlin’, an’ t’ west wind is yowlin’,
    It’s for t’ farm lads at sea that us lasses mun pray;
Tassey-Will o’ t’ new biggin, keepin’ watch i’ his riggin ,
    Lile Jock i’ his fo’c’sle, torpedoed i’ t’ bay.

Mony a lass now is weepin’ for her marrow that’s sleepin’,
    Wi’ nae bield for his corp but the cowd Flanthers clay;
He’ll ne’er lift his limmers,[6] he’ll ne’er wean his gimmers[7]:
    Ay, there’s Flowers o’ the Forest are withered away.

[1] Oak-post.

[2] Branch of a leafing tree.

[3] Earnest money.

[4] Barn.

[5] Quarryman.

[6] Wagon-shafts.

[7] Ewe lambs.