Part 15

Where dusky light did softly vall 'Ithin the stwonen-window'd hall, Avore your father's blinken eyes, His evenen whiff o' smoke did rise, An' vrom the bedroom window's height Your little John, a-cloth'd in white, An' gwain to bed, did cry "good night" Towards the linden on the lawn.

But now, as Dobbin, wi' a nod Vor ev'ry heavy step he trod, Did bring me on, to-night, avore The geaebled house's pworched door, Noo laughen child a-cloth'd in white, Look'd drough the stwonen window's light, An' noo vaice zung, in dusky night, Below the linden on the lawn.

An' zoo, if you should ever vind My kindness seem to grow less kind, An' if upon my clouded feaece My smile should yield a frown its pleaece, Then, Jenny, only laugh an' call My mind 'ithin the geaerden wall, Where we did play at even-fall, Below the linden on the lawn.

OUR ABODE IN ARBY WOOD.

Though ice do hang upon the willows Out bezide the vrozen brook, An' storms do roar above our pillows, Drough the night, 'ithin our nook; Our evenen he'th's a-glowen warm, Drough wringen vrost, an' roaren storm, Though winds mid meaeke the wold beams sheaeke, In our abode in Arby Wood.

An' there, though we mid hear the timber Creake avore the windy rain; An' climen ivy quiver, limber, Up ageaen the window peaene; Our merry vaices then do sound, In rollen glee, or dree-vaice round; Though wind mid roar, 'ithout the door, Ov our abode in Arby Wood.

SLOW TO COME, QUICK AGONE.

Ah! there's a house that I do know Besouth o' yonder trees, Where northern winds can hardly blow But in a softest breeze. An' there woonce sounded zongs an' teaeles Vrom vaice o' maid or youth, An' sweeter than the nightengeaele's Above the copses lewth.

How swiftly there did run the brooks, How swift wer winds in flight, How swiftly to their roost the rooks Did vlee o'er head at night. Though slow did seem to us the peaece O' comen days a-head, That now do seem as in a reaece Wi' air-birds to ha' vled.

THE VIER-ZIDE.

'Tis zome vo'ks jay to teaeke the road, An' goo abro'd, a-wand'ren wide, Vrom shere to shere, vrom pleaece to pleaece, The swiftest peaece that vo'k can ride. But I've a jay 'ithin the door, Wi' friends avore the vier-zide.

An' zoo, when winter skies do lour, An' when the Stour's a-rollen wide, Drough bridge-voot rails, a-painted white, To be at night the traveller's guide, Gi'e me a pleaece that's warm an' dry, A-zitten nigh my vier-zide.

Vor where do love o' kith an' kin, At vu'st begin, or grow an' wride, Till souls a-lov'd so young, be wold, Though never cwold, drough time nor tide But where in me'th their gather'd veet Do often meet—the vier-zide.

If, when a friend ha' left the land, I shook his hand a-most wet-eyed, I velt too well the ob'nen door Would leaed noo mwore where he did bide An' where I heaerd his vaices sound, In me'th around the vier-zide.

As I've a-zeed how vast do vall The mwold'ren hall, the wold vo'ks pride, Where merry hearts wer woonce a-ved Wi' daily bread, why I've a-sigh'd, To zee the wall so green wi' mwold, An' vind so cwold the vier-zide.

An' Chris'mas still mid bring his me'th To ouer he'th, but if we tried To gather all that woonce did wear Gay feaeces there! Ah! zome ha' died, An' zome be gone to leaeve wi' gaps O' missen laps, the vier-zide.

But come now, bring us in your hand, A heavy brand o' woak a-dried, To cheer us wi' his het an' light, While vrosty night, so starry-skied, Go gather souls that time do speaere To zit an' sheaere our vier-zide.

KNOWLWOOD.

I don't want to sleep abrode, John, I do like my hwomeward road, John; An' like the sound o' Knowlwood bells the best. Zome would rove vrom pleaece to pleaece, John, Zome would goo from feaece to feaece, John, But I be happy in my hwomely nest; An' slight's the hope vor any pleaece bezide, To leaeve the plain abode where love do bide.

Where the shelven knap do vall, John, Under trees a-springen tall, John; 'Tis there my house do show his sheenen zide, Wi' his walls vor ever green, John, Under ivy that's a screen, John, Vrom wet an' het, an' ev'ry changen tide, An' I do little ho vor goold or pride, To leaeve the plain abode where love do bide.

There the benden stream do flow, John, By the mossy bridge's bow, John; An' there the road do wind below the hill; There the miller, white wi' meal, John, Deafen'd wi' his foamy wheel, John, Do stan' o' times a-looken out o' mill: The while 'ithin his lightly-sheaeken door. His wheaten flour do whiten all his floor.

When my daily work's a-done, John, At the zetten o' the zun, John, An' I all day 've a-play'd a good man's peaert, I do vind my ease a-blest, John, While my conscience is at rest, John; An' while noo worm's a-left to fret my heart; An' who vor finer hwomes o' restless pride, Would pass the plain abode where peace do bide?

By a windor in the west, John, There upon my fiddle's breast, John, The strings do sound below my bow's white heaeir; While a zingen drush do sway, John, Up an' down upon a spray, John, An' cast his sheaede upon the window square; Vor birds do know their friends, an' build their nest, An' love to roost, where they can live at rest.

Out o' town the win' do bring, John, Peals o' bells when they do ring, John, An' roun' me here, at hand, my ear can catch The maid a-zingen by the stream, John, Or carter whislen wi' his team, John, Or zingen birds, or water at the hatch; An' zoo wi' sounds o' vaice, an' bird an' bell, Noo hour is dull 'ithin our rwosy dell.

An' when the darksome night do hide, John, Land an' wood on ev'ry zide, John; An' when the light's a-burnen on my bwoard, Then vor pleasures out o' door, John, I've enough upon my vloor, John: My Jenny's loven deed, an' look, an' word, An' we be lwoth, lik' culvers zide by zide, To leaeve the plain abode where love do bide.

HALLOWED PLEAeCES.

At Woodcombe farm, wi' ground an' tree Hallow'd by times o' youthvul glee, At Chris'mas time I spent a night Wi' feaeces dearest to my zight; An' took my wife to tread, woonce mwore, Her maiden hwome's vorseaeken vloor, An' under stars that slowly wheel'd Aloft, above the keen-air'd vield, While night bedimm'd the rus'len copse, An' darken'd all the ridges' tops, The hall, a-hung wi' holly, rung Wi' many a tongue o' wold an' young.

There, on the he'th's well-hetted ground, Hallow'd by times o' zitten round, The brimvul mug o' cider stood An' hiss'd avore the bleaezen wood; An' zome, a-zitten knee by knee, Did tell their teaeles wi' hearty glee, An' others gamboll'd in a roar O' laughter on the stwonen vloor; An' while the moss o' winter-tide Clung chilly roun' the house's zide, The hall, a-hung wi' holly, rung Wi' many a tongue o' wold an' young.

There, on the pworches bench o' stwone, Hallow'd by times o' youthvul fun, We laugh'd an' sigh'd to think o' neaemes That rung there woonce, in evenen geaemes; An' while the swayen cypress bow'd, In chilly wind, his darksome sh'oud An' honeyzuckles, beaere o' leaeves, Still reach'd the window-sheaeden eaves Up where the clematis did trim The stwonen arches mossy rim, The hall, a-hung wi' holly, rung Wi' many a tongue o' wold an' young.

There, in the geaerden's wall-bound square, Hallow'd by times o' strollen there, The winter wind, a-hufflen loud, Did sway the pear-tree's leafless sh'oud, An' beaet the bush that woonce did bear The damask rwose vor Jenny's heaeir; An' there the walk o' peaeven stwone That burn'd below the zummer zun, Struck icy-cwold drough shoes a-wore By maidens vrom the hetted vloor In hall, a-hung wi' holm, where rung Vull many a tongue o' wold an' young.

There at the geaete that woonce wer blue Hallow'd by times o' passen drough, Light strawmotes rose in flaggen flight, A-floated by the winds o' night, Where leafy ivy-stems did crawl In moonlight on the windblown wall, An' merry maidens' vaices vled In echoes sh'ill, vrom wall to shed, As shiv'ren in their frocks o' white They come to bid us there "Good night," Vrom hall, a-hung wi' holm, that rung Wi' many a tongue o' wold an' young.

There in the narrow leaene an' drong Hallow'd by times o' gwain along, The lofty ashes' leafless sh'ouds Rose dark avore the clear-edged clouds, The while the moon, at girtest height, Bespread the pooly brook wi' light, An' as our child, in loose-limb'd rest, Lay peaele upon her mother's breast, Her waxen eyelids seal'd her eyes Vrom darksome trees, an' sheenen skies, An' halls a-hung wi' holm, that rung Wi' many a tongue, o' wold an' young.

THE WOLD WALL.

Here, Jeaene, we vu'st did meet below The leafy boughs, a-swingen slow, Avore the zun, wi' evenen glow, Above our road, a-beamen red; The grass in zwath wer in the meaeds, The water gleam'd among the reeds In air a-steaelen roun' the hall, Where ivy clung upon the wall. Ah! well-a-day! O wall adieu! The wall is wold, my grief is new.

An' there you walk'd wi' blushen pride, Where softly-wheelen streams did glide, Drough sheaedes o' poplars at my zide, An' there wi' love that still do live, Your feaece did wear the smile o' youth, The while you spoke wi' age's truth, An' wi' a rwosebud's mossy ball, I deck'd your bosom vrom the wall. Ah! well-a-day! O wall adieu! The wall is wold, my grief is new.

But now when winter's rain do vall, An' wind do beaet ageaen the hall, The while upon the wat'ry wall In spots o' grey the moss do grow; The ruf noo mwore shall overspread The pillor ov our weary head, Nor shall the rwose's mossy ball Behang vor you the house's wall. Ah! well-a-day! O wall adieu! The wall is wold, my grief is new.

BLEAeKE'S HOUSE IN BLACKMWORE.

John Bleaeke he had a bit o' ground Come to en by his mother's zide; An' after that, two hunderd pound His uncle left en when he died; "Well now," cried John, "my mind's a-bent To build a house, an' pay noo rent." An' Meaery gi'ed en her consent. "Do, do,"—the maidens cried "True, true,"—his wife replied. "Done, done,—a house o' brick or stwone," Cried merry Bleaeke o' Blackmwore.

Then John he call'd vor men o' skill, An' builders answer'd to his call; An' met to reckon, each his bill; Vor vloor an' window, ruf an' wall. An' woone did mark it on the groun', An' woone did think, an' scratch his crown, An' reckon work, an' write it down: "Zoo, zoo,"—woone treaedesman cried, "True, true,"—woone mwore replied. "Aye, aye,—good work, an' have good pay," Cried merry Bleaeke o' Blackmwore.

The work begun, an' trowels rung, An' up the bricken wall did rise, An' up the slanten refters sprung, Wi' busy blows, an' lusty cries! An' woone brought planks to meaeke a vloor, An' woone did come wi' durns or door, An' woone did zaw, an' woone did bore, "Brick, brick,—there down below, Quick, quick,—why b'ye so slow?" "Lime, lime,—why we do weaeste the time, Vor merry Bleaeke o' Blackmwore."

The house wer up vrom groun' to tun, An' thatch'd ageaen the rainy sky, Wi' windows to the noonday zun, Where rushy Stour do wander by. In coo'se he had a pworch to screen The inside door, when win's wer keen, An' out avore the pworch, a green. "Here! here!"—the childern cried: "Dear! dear!"—the wife replied; "There, there,—the house is perty feaeir," Cried merry Bleaeke o' Blackmwore.

Then John he ax'd his friends to warm His house, an' they, a goodish batch, Did come alwone, or eaerm in eaerm, All roads, a-meaeken vor his hatch: An' there below the clavy beam The kettle-spout did zing an' steam; An' there wer ceaekes, an' tea wi' cream. "Lo! lo!"—the women cried; "Ho! ho!"—the men replied; "Health, health,—attend ye wi' your wealth, Good merry Bleaeke o' Blackmwore."

Then John, a-prais'd, flung up his crown, All back a-laughen in a roar. They prais'd his wife, an' she look'd down A-simperen towards the vloor. Then up they sprung a-dancen reels, An' up went tooes, an' up went heels, A-winden roun' in knots an' wheels. "Brisk, brisk,"—the maidens cried; "Frisk, frisk,"—the men replied; "Quick, quick,—there wi' your fiddle-stick," Cried merry Bleaeke o' Blackmwore.

An' when the morrow's zun did sheen, John Bleaeke beheld, wi' jay an' pride, His bricken house, an' pworch, an' green, Above the Stour's rushy zide. The zwallows left the lwonesome groves, To build below the thatchen oves, An' robins come vor crumbs o' lwoaves: "Tweet, tweet,"—the birds all cried; "Sweet, sweet,"—John's wife replied; "Dad, dad,"—the childern cried so glad, To merry Bleaeke o' Blackmwore.

JOHN BLEAeKE AT HWOME AT NIGHT.

No: where the woak do overspread, The grass begloom'd below his head, An' water, under bowen zedge, A-springen vrom the river's edge, Do ripple, as the win' do blow, An' sparkle, as the sky do glow; An' grey-leav'd withy-boughs do cool, Wi' darksome sheaedes, the clear-feaeced pool, My chimny smoke, 'ithin the lew O' trees is there arisen blue; Avore the night do dim our zight, Or candle-light, a-sheenen bright, Do sparkle drough the window.

When crumpled leaves o' Fall do bound Avore the wind, along the ground, An' wither'd bennet-stems do stand A-quiv'ren on the chilly land; The while the zun, wi' zetten rim, Do leaeve the workman's pathway dim; An' sweet-breath'd childern's hangen heads Be laid wi' kisses, on their beds; Then I do seek my woodland nest, An' zit bezide my vier at rest, While night's a-spread, where day's a-vled, An' lights do shed their beams o' red, A-sparklen drough the window.

If winter's whistlen winds do vreeze The snow a-gather'd on the trees, An' sheaedes o' poplar stems do vall In moonlight up athirt the wall; An' icicles do hang below The oves, a-glitt'ren in a row, An' risen stars do slowly ride Above the ruf's upslanten zide; Then I do lay my weary head Asleep upon my peaceful bed, When middle-night ha' quench'd the light Ov embers bright, an' candles white A-beamen drough the window.

MILKEN TIME.

'Twer when the busy birds did vlee, Wi' sheenen wings, vrom tree to tree, To build upon the mossy lim', Their hollow nestes' rounded rim; The while the zun, a-zinken low, Did roll along his evenen bow, I come along where wide-horn'd cows, 'Ithin a nook, a-screen'd by boughs, Did stan' an' flip the white-hoop'd pails Wi' heaeiry tufts o' swingen tails; An' there wer Jenny Coom a-gone Along the path a vew steps on. A-beaeren on her head, upstraight, Her pail, wi' slowly-riden waight, An' hoops a-sheenen, lily-white, Ageaen the evenen's slanten light; An' zo I took her pail, an' left Her neck a-freed vrom all his heft; An' she a-looken up an' down, Wi' sheaepely head an' glossy crown, Then took my zide, an' kept my peaece A-talken on wi' smilen feaece, An' zetten things in sich a light, I'd fain ha' heaer'd her talk all night; An' when I brought her milk avore The geaete, she took it in to door, An' if her pail had but allow'd Her head to vall, she would ha' bow'd, An' still, as 'twer, I had the zight Ov her sweet smile droughout the night.

WHEN BIRDS BE STILL.

Vor all the zun do leaeve the sky, An' all the sounds o' day do die, An' noo mwore veet do walk the dim Vield-path to clim' the stiel's bars, Yeet out below the rizen stars, The dark'nen day mid leaeve behind Woone tongue that I shall always vind, A-whisperen kind, when birds be still.

Zoo let the day come on to spread His kindly light above my head, Wi' zights to zee, an' sounds to hear, That still do cheer my thoughtvul mind; Or let en goo, an' leaeve behind An' hour to stroll along the gleaedes, Where night do drown the beeches' sheaedes, On grasses' bleaedes, when birds be still.

Vor when the night do lull the sound O' cows a-bleaeren out in ground, The sh'ill-vaic'd dog do stan' an' bark 'Ithin the dark, bezide the road; An' when noo cracklen waggon's lwoad Is in the leaene, the wind do bring The merry peals that bells do ring O ding-dong-ding, when birds be still.

Zoo teaeke, vor me, the town a-drown'd, 'Ithin a storm o' rumblen sound, An' gi'e me vaices that do speak So soft an' meek, to souls alwone; The brook a-gurglen round a stwone, An' birds o' day a-zingen clear, An' leaves, that I mid zit an' hear A-rustlen near, when birds be still.

RIDEN HWOME AT NIGHT.

Oh! no, I quite injay'd the ride Behind wold Dobbin's heavy heels, Wi' Jeaene a-prattlen at my zide, Above our peaeir o' spinnen wheels, As grey-rin'd ashes' swayen tops Did creak in moonlight in the copse, Above the quiv'ren grass, a-beaet By wind a-blowen drough the geaet.

If weary souls did want their sleep, They had a-zent vor sleep the night; Vor vo'k that had a call to keep Awake, lik' us, there still wer light. An' He that shut the sleepers' eyes, A-waiten vor the zun to rise, Ha' too much love to let em know The ling'ren night did goo so slow.

But if my wife did catch a zight O' zome queer pollard, or a post, Poor soul! she took en in her fright To be a robber or a ghost. A two-stump'd withy, wi' a head, Mus' be a man wi' eaerms a-spread; An' foam o' water, round a rock, Wer then a drownen leaedy's frock.

Zome staddle stwones to bear a mow, Wer dancen veaeries on the lag; An' then a snow-white sheeted cow Could only be, she thought, their flag, An owl a-vleen drough the wood Wer men on watch vor little good; An' geaetes a slam'd by wind, did goo, She thought, to let a robber drough.

But after all, she lik'd the zight O' cows asleep in glitt'ren dew; An' brooks that gleam'd below the light, An' dim vield paths 'ithout a shoe. An' gaily talk'd bezide my ears, A-laughen off her needless fears: Or had the childern uppermost In mind, instead o' thief or ghost.

An' when our house, wi' open door, Did rumble hollow round our heads, She heaesten'd up to tother vloor, To zee the childern in their beds; An' vound woone little head awry, Wi' woone a-turn'd toward the sky; An' wrung her hands ageaen her breast, A-smilen at their happy rest.

ZUN-ZET.

Where the western zun, unclouded, Up above the grey hill-tops, Did sheen drough ashes, lofty sh'ouded On the turf bezide the copse, In zummer weather, We together, Sorrow-slighten, work-vorgetten. Gambol'd wi' the zun a-zetten.

There, by flow'ry bows o' bramble, Under hedge, in ash-tree sheaedes, The dun-heair'd ho'se did slowly ramble On the grasses' dewy bleaedes, Zet free o' lwoads, An' stwony rwoads, Vorgetvul o' the lashes fretten, Grazen wi' the zun a-zetten.

There wer rooks a-beaeten by us Drough the air, in a vlock, An' there the lively blackbird, nigh us, On the meaeple bough did rock, Wi' ringen droat, Where zunlight smote The yollow boughs o' zunny hedges Over western hills' blue edges.

Waters, drough the meaeds a-purlen, Glissen'd in the evenen's light, An' smoke, above the town a-curlen, Melted slowly out o' zight; An' there, in glooms Ov unzunn'd rooms, To zome, wi' idle sorrows fretten, Zuns did set avore their zetten.

We were out in geaemes and reaeces, Loud a-laughen, wild in me'th, Wi' windblown heaeir, an' zunbrown'd feaeces, Leaepen on the high-sky'd e'th, Avore the lights Wer tin'd o' nights, An' while the gossamer's light netten Sparkled to the zun a-zetten.

SPRING.

Now the zunny air's a-blowen Softly over flowers a-growen; An' the sparklen light do quiver On the ivy-bough an' river; Bleaeten lambs, wi' woolly feaeces, Now do play, a-runnen reaeces; An' the springen Lark's a-zingen, Lik' a dot avore the cloud, High above the ashes sh'oud.

Housen, in the open brightness, Now do sheen in spots o' whiteness; Here an' there, on upland ledges, In among the trees an' hedges, Where, along by vlocks o' sparrows, Chatt'ren at the ploughman's harrows. Dousty rwoaded, Errand-lwoaded; Jenny, though her cloak is thin, Do wish en hwome upon the pin.

Zoo come along, noo longer heedvul Ov the vier, leaetely needvul, Over grass o' slopen leaezes, Zingen zongs in zunny breezes; Out to work in copse, a-mooten, Where the primrwose is a-shooten, An in gladness, Free o' sadness, In the warmth o' Spring vorget Leafless winter's cwold an' wet.