Part 16

THE ZUMMER HEDGE.

As light do gleaere in ev'ry ground, Wi' boughy hedges out a-round A-climmen up the slopen brows O' hills, in rows o' sheaedy boughs: The while the hawthorn buds do blow As thick as stars, an' white as snow; Or cream-white blossoms be a-spread About the guelder-rwoses' head; How cool's the sheaede, or warm's the lewth, Bezide a zummer hedge in blooth.

When we've a-work'd drough longsome hours, Till dew's a-dried vrom dazzlen flow'rs, The while the climmen zun ha' glow'd Drough mwore than half his daily road: Then where the sheaedes do slily pass Athirt our veet upon the grass, As we do rest by lofty ranks Ov elems on the flow'ry banks; How cool's the sheaede, or warm's the lewth, Bezide a zummer hedge in blooth.

But oh! below woone hedge's zide Our jay do come a-most to pride; Out where the high-stemm'd trees do stand, In row bezide our own free land, An' where the wide-leav'd clote mid zwim 'Ithin our water's rushy rim: An' rain do vall, an' zuns do burn, An' each in season, and in turn, To cool the sheaede or warm the lewth Ov our own zummer hedge in blooth.

How soft do sheaeke the zummer hedge— How soft do sway the zummer zedge— How bright be zummer skies an' zun— How bright the zummer brook do run; An' feaeir the flow'rs do bloom, to feaede Behind the swayen mower's bleaede; An' sweet be merry looks o' jay, By weaeles an' pooks o' June's new hay, Wi' smilen age, an laughen youth, Bezide the zummer hedge in blooth.

THE WATER CROWVOOT.

O' small-feaec'd flow'r that now dost bloom To stud wi' white the shallow Frome, An' leaeve the clote to spread his flow'r On darksome pools o' stwoneless Stour, When sof'ly-rizen airs do cool The water in the sheenen pool, Thy beds o' snow-white buds do gleam So feaeir upon the sky-blue stream, As whitest clouds, a-hangen high Avore the blueness o' the sky; An' there, at hand, the thin-heaeir'd cows, In airy sheaedes o' withy boughs, Or up bezide the mossy rails, Do stan' an' zwing their heavy tails, The while the ripplen stream do flow Below the dousty bridge's bow; An' quiv'ren water-gleams do mock The weaeves, upon the sheaeded rock; An' up athirt the copen stwone The laitren bwoy do leaen alwone, A-watchen, wi' a stedvast look, The vallen waters in the brook, The while the zand o' time do run An' leaeve his errand still undone. An' oh! as long's thy buds would gleam Above the softly-sliden stream, While sparklen zummer-brooks do run Below the lofty-climen zun, I only wish that thou could'st stay Vor noo man's harm, an' all men's jay. But no, the waterman 'ull weaede Thy water wi' his deadly bleaede, To slay thee even in thy bloom, Fair small-feaeced flower o' the Frome.

THE LILAC.

Dear lilac-tree, a-spreaden wide Thy purple blooth on ev'ry zide, As if the hollow sky did shed Its blue upon thy flow'ry head; Oh! whether I mid sheaere wi' thee Thy open air, my bloomen tree, Or zee thy blossoms vrom the gloom, 'Ithin my zunless worken-room, My heart do leaep, but leaep wi' sighs, At zight o' thee avore my eyes, For when thy grey-blue head do sway In cloudless light, 'tis Spring, 'tis May.

'Tis Spring, 'tis May, as May woonce shed His glowen light above thy head— When thy green boughs, wi' bloomy tips, Did sheaede my childern's laughen lips; A-screenen vrom the noonday gleaere Their rwosy cheaeks an' glossy heaeir; The while their mother's needle sped, Too quick vor zight, the snow-white thread, Unless her han', wi' loven ceaere, Did smooth their little heads o' heaeir;

Or wi' a sheaeke, tie up anew Vor zome wild voot, a slippen shoe; An' I did leaen bezide thy mound Ageaen the deaesy-dappled ground, The while the woaken clock did tick My hour o' rest away too quick, An' call me off to work anew, Wi' slowly-ringen strokes, woone, two.

Zoo let me zee noo darksome cloud Bedim to-day thy flow'ry sh'oud, But let en bloom on ev'ry spray, Drough all the days o' zunny May.

THE BLACKBIRD.

'Twer out at Penley I'd a-past A zummer day that went too vast, An' when the zetten zun did spread On western clouds a vi'ry red; The elems' leafy limbs wer still Above the gravel-bedded rill, An' under en did warble sh'ill, Avore the dusk, the blackbird.

An' there, in sheaedes o' darksome yews, Did vlee the maidens on their tooes, A-laughen sh'ill wi' merry feaece When we did vind their hiden pleaece. 'Ithin the loose-bough'd ivys gloom, Or lofty lilac, vull in bloom, Or hazzle-wrides that gi'ed em room Below the zingen blackbird.

Above our heads the rooks did vlee To reach their nested elem-tree, An' splashen vish did rise to catch The wheelen gnots above the hatch; An' there the miller went along, A-smilen, up the sheaedy drong, But yeet too deaf to hear the zong A-zung us by the blackbird.

An' there the sh'illy-bubblen brook Did leaeve behind his rocky nook, To run drough meaeds a-chill'd wi' dew, Vrom hour to hour the whole night drough; But still his murmurs wer a-drown'd By vaices that mid never sound Ageaen together on that ground, Wi' whislens o' the blackbird.

THE SLANTEN LIGHT O' FALL.

Ah! Jeaene, my maid, I stood to you, When you wer christen'd, small an' light, Wi' tiny eaerms o' red an' blue, A-hangen in your robe o' white. We brought ye to the hallow'd stwone, Vor Christ to teaeke ye vor his own, When harvest work wer all a-done, An' time brought round October zun— The slanten light o' Fall.

An' I can mind the wind wer rough, An' gather'd clouds, but brought noo storms, An' you did nessle warm enough, 'Ithin your smilen mother's eaerms. The whindlen grass did quiver light, Among the stubble, feaeded white, An' if at times the zunlight broke Upon the ground, or on the vo'k, 'Twer slanten light o' Fall.

An' when we brought ye drough the door O' Knapton Church, a child o' greaece, There cluster'd round a'most a score O' vo'k to zee your tiny feaece. An' there we all did veel so proud, To zee an' op'nen in the cloud, An' then a stream o' light break drough, A-sheenen brightly down on you— The slanten light o' Fall.

But now your time's a-come to stand In church, a-blushen at my zide, The while a bridegroom vrom my hand Ha' took ye vor his faithvul bride. Your christen neaeme we gi'd ye here, When Fall did cool the weaesten year; An' now, ageaen, we brought ye drough The doorway, wi' your surneaeme new, In slanten light o' Fall.

An' zoo vur, Jeaene, your life is feaeir, An' God ha' been your steadvast friend, An' mid ye have mwore jay than ceaere, Vor ever, till your journey's end. An' I've a-watch'd ye on wi' pride, But now I soon mus' leaeve your zide, Vor you ha' still life's spring-tide zun, But my life, Jeaene, is now a-run To slanten light o' Fall.

THISSLEDOWN.

The thissledown by wind's a-roll'd In Fall along the zunny plain, Did catch the grass, but lose its hold, Or cling to bennets, but in vain.

But when it zwept along the grass, An' zunk below the hollow's edge, It lay at rest while winds did pass Above the pit-bescreenen ledge.

The plain ha' brightness wi' his strife, The pit is only dark at best, There's pleasure in a worksome life, An' sloth is tiresome wi' its rest.

Zoo, then, I'd sooner beaer my peaert, Ov all the trials vo'k do rue, Than have a deadness o' the heart, Wi' nothen mwore to veel or do.

THE MAY-TREE.

I've a-come by the May-tree all times o' the year, When leaves wer a-springen, When vrost wer a-stingen, When cool-winded mornen did show the hills clear, When night wer bedimmen the vields vur an' near.

When, in zummer, his head wer as white as a sheet, Wi' white buds a-zwellen, An' blossom, sweet-smellen, While leaves wi' green leaves on his bough-zides did meet, A-sheaeden the deaeisies down under our veet.

When the zun, in the Fall, wer a-wanderen wan, An' haws on his head Did sprinkle en red, Or bright drops o' rain wer a-hung loosely on, To the tips o' the sprigs when the scud wer a-gone.

An' when, in the winter, the zun did goo low, An' keen win' did huffle, But never could ruffle The hard vrozen feaece o' the water below, His limbs wer a-fringed wi' the vrost or the snow.

LYDLINCH BELLS.

When skies wer peaele wi' twinklen stars, An' whislen air a-risen keen; An' birds did leaeve the icy bars To vind, in woods, their mossy screen; When vrozen grass, so white's a sheet, Did scrunchy sharp below our veet, An' water, that did sparkle red At zunzet, wer a-vrozen dead; The ringers then did spend an hour A-ringen changes up in tow'r; Vor Lydlinch bells be good vor sound, An' liked by all the naighbours round.

An' while along the leafless boughs O' ruslen hedges, win's did pass, An' orts ov hay, a-left by cows, Did russle on the vrozen grass, An' maidens' pails, wi' all their work A-done, did hang upon their vurk, An' they, avore the fleaemen brand, Did teaeke their needle-work in hand, The men did cheer their heart an hour A-ringen changes up in tow'r; Vor Lydlinch bells be good vor sound, An' liked by all the naighbours round.

There sons did pull the bells that rung Their mothers' wedden peals avore, The while their fathers led em young An' blushen vrom the churches door, An' still did cheem, wi' happy sound, As time did bring the Zundays round, An' call em to the holy pleaece Vor heav'nly gifts o' peace an' greaece; An' vo'k did come, a-streamen slow Along below the trees in row, While they, in merry peals, did sound The bells vor all the naighbours round.

An' when the bells, wi' changen peal, Did smite their own vo'ks window-peaenes, Their sof'en'd sound did often steal Wi' west winds drough the Bagber leaenes; Or, as the win' did shift, mid goo Where woody Stock do nessle lew, Or where the risen moon did light The walls o' Thornhill on the height; An' zoo, whatever time mid bring To meaeke their vive clear vaices zing, Still Lydlinch bells wer good vor sound, An' liked by all the naighbours round.

THE STAGE COACH.

Ah! when the wold vo'k went abroad They thought it vast enough, If vow'r good ho'ses beaet the road Avore the coach's ruf; An' there they zot, A-cwold or hot, An' roll'd along the ground, While the whip did smack On the ho'ses' back, An' the wheels went swiftly round, Good so's; The wheels went swiftly round.

Noo iron rails did streak the land To keep the wheels in track. The coachman turn'd his vow'r-in-hand, Out right, or left, an' back; An' he'd stop avore A man's own door, To teaeke en up or down: While the reins vell slack On the ho'ses' back, Till the wheels did rottle round ageaen; Till the wheels did rottle round.

An' there, when wintry win' did blow, Athirt the plain an' hill, An' the zun wer peaele above the snow, An' ice did stop the mill, They did laugh an' joke Wi' cwoat or cloke, So warmly roun' em bound, While the whip did crack On the ho'ses' back, An' the wheels did trundle round, d'ye know; The wheels did trundle round.

An' when the rumblen coach did pass Where hufflen winds did roar, They'd stop to teaeke a warmen glass By the sign above the door; An' did laugh an' joke An' ax the vo'k The miles they wer vrom town, Till the whip did crack On the ho'ses back, An' the wheels did truckle roun', good vo'k; The wheels did truckle roun'.

An' gaily rod wold age or youth, When zummer light did vall On woods in leaf, or trees in blooth, Or girt vo'ks parkzide wall. An' they thought they past The pleaeces vast, Along the dousty groun', When the whip did smack On the ho'ses' back, An' the wheels spun swiftly roun'. Them days The wheels spun swiftly roun'.

WAYFEAREN.

The sky wer clear, the zunsheen glow'd On droopen flowers drough the day, As I did beaet the dousty road Vrom hinder hills, a-feaeden gray; Drough hollows up the hills, Vrom knaps along by mills, Vrom mills by churches tow'rs, wi' bells That twold the hours to woody dells.

An' when the winden road do guide The thirsty vootman where mid flow The water vrom a rock bezide His vootsteps, in a sheenen bow; The hand a-hollow'd up Do beaet a goolden cup, To catch an' drink it, bright an' cool, A-vallen light 'ithin the pool.

Zoo when, at last, I hung my head Wi' thirsty lips a-burnen dry, I come bezide a river-bed Where water flow'd so blue's the sky; An' there I meaede me up O' coltsvoot leaf a cup, Where water vrom his lip o' gray, Wer sweet to sip thik burnen day.

But when our work is right, a jay Do come to bless us in its train, An' hardships ha' zome good to pay The thoughtvul soul vor all their paein: The het do sweeten sheaede, An' weary lim's ha' meaede A bed o' slumber, still an' sound, By woody hill or grassy mound.

An' while I zot in sweet delay Below an elem on a hill, Where boughs a-halfway up did sway In sheaedes o' lim's above em still, An' blue sky show'd between The flutt'ren leaeves o' green; I woulden gi'e that gloom an' sheaede Vor any room that weaelth ha' meaede.

But oh! that vo'k that have the roads Where weary-vooted souls do pass, Would leaeve bezide the stwone vor lwoads, A little strip vor zummer grass; That when the stwones do bruise An' burn an' gall our tooes, We then mid cool our veet on beds O' wild-thyme sweet, or deaeisy-heads.

THE LEANE.

They do zay that a travellen chap Have a-put in the newspeaeper now, That the bit o' green ground on the knap Should be all a-took in vor the plough. He do fancy 'tis easy to show That we can be but stunpolls at best, Vor to leaeve a green spot where a flower can grow, Or a voot-weary walker mid rest. Tis hedge-grubben, Thomas, an' ledge-grubben, Never a-done While a sov'ren mwore's to be won.

The road, he do zay, is so wide As 'tis wanted vor travellers' wheels, As if all that did travel did ride An' did never get galls on their heels. He would leaeve sich a thin strip o' groun', That, if a man's veet in his shoes Wer a-burnen an' zore, why he coulden zit down But the wheels would run over his tooes. Vor 'tis meaeke money, Thomas, an' teaeke money, What's zwold an' bought Is all that is worthy o' thought.

Years agoo the leaene-zides did bear grass, Vor to pull wi' the geeses' red bills, That did hiss at the vo'k that did pass, Or the bwoys that pick'd up their white quills. But shortly, if vower or vive Ov our goslens do creep vrom the agg, They must mwope in the geaerden, mwore dead than alive, In a coop, or a-tied by the lag. Vor to catch at land, Thomas, an' snatch at land, Now is the plan; Meaeke money wherever you can.

The childern wull soon have noo pleaece Vor to play in, an' if they do grow, They wull have a thin musheroom feaece, Wi' their bodies so sumple as dough. But a man is a-meaede ov a child, An' his limbs do grow worksome by play; An' if the young child's little body's a-spweil'd, Why, the man's wull the sooner decay. But wealth is wo'th now mwore than health is wo'th; Let it all goo, If't 'ull bring but a sov'ren or two.

Vor to breed the young fox or the heaere, We can gi'e up whole eaecres o' ground, But the greens be a-grudg'd, vor to rear Our young childern up healthy an' sound, Why, there woont be a-left the next age A green spot where their veet can goo free; An' the goocoo wull soon be committed to cage Vor a trespass in zomebody's tree. Vor 'tis locken up, Thomas, an' blocken up, Stranger or brother, Men mussen come nigh woone another.

Woone day I went in at a geaete, Wi' my child, where an echo did sound, An' the owner come up, an' did reaete Me as if I would car off his ground. But his vield an' the grass wer a-let, An' the damage that he could a-took Wer at mwost that the while I did open the geaete I did rub roun' the eye on the hook. But 'tis dreven out, Thomas, an' heven out. Trample noo grounds, Unless you be after the hounds.

Ah! the Squier o' Culver-dell Hall Wer as diff'rent as light is vrom dark, Wi' zome vo'k that, as evenen did vall, Had a-broke drough long grass in his park; Vor he went, wi' a smile, vor to meet Wi' the trespassers while they did pass, An' he zaid, "I do fear you'll catch cwold in your veet, You've a-walk'd drough so much o' my grass." His mild words, Thomas, cut em like swords, Thomas, Newly a-whet, An' went vurder wi' them than a dreat.

THE RAILROAD.

I took a flight, awhile agoo, Along the rails, a stage or two, An' while the heavy wheels did spin An' rottle, wi' a deafnen din, In clouds o' steam, the zweepen train Did shoot along the hill-bound plain, As sheaedes o' birds in flight, do pass Below em on the zunny grass. An' as I zot, an' look'd abrode On leaenen land an' winden road, The ground a-spread along our flight Did vlee behind us out o' zight; The while the zun, our heav'nly guide, Did ride on wi' us, zide by zide. An' zoo, while time, vrom stage to stage, Do car us on vrom youth to age, The e'thly pleasures we do vind Be soon a-met, an' left behind; But God, beholden vrom above Our lowly road, wi' yearnen love, Do keep bezide us, stage by stage, Vrom be'th to youth, vrom youth to age.

THE RAILROAD.

An' while I went 'ithin a train, A-riden on athirt the plain, A-cleaeren swifter than a hound, On twin-laid rails, the zwimmen ground; I cast my eyes 'ithin a park, Upon a woak wi' grey-white bark, An' while I kept his head my mark, The rest did wheel around en.

An' when in life our love do cling The clwosest round zome single thing, We then do vind that all the rest Do wheel roun' that, vor vu'st an' best; Zoo while our life do last, mid nought But what is good an' feaeir be sought, In word or deed, or heart or thought, An' all the rest wheel round it.

SEATS.

When starbright maidens be to zit In silken frocks, that they do wear, The room mid have, as 'tis but fit, A han'some seat vor vo'k so feaeir; But we, in zun-dried vield an' wood, Ha' seats as good's a goolden chair.

Vor here, 'ithin the woody drong, A ribbed elem-stem do lie, A-vell'd in Spring, an' stratch'd along A bed o' graegles up knee-high, A sheaedy seat to rest, an' let The burnen het o' noon goo by.

Or if you'd look, wi' wider scope, Out where the gray-tree'd plain do spread, The ash bezide the zunny slope, Do sheaede a cool-air'd deaeisy bed, An' grassy seat, wi' spreaden eaves O' rus'len leaves, above your head.

An' there the train mid come in zight, Too vur to hear a-rollen by, A-breathen quick, in heaesty flight, His breath o' tweil, avore the sky, The while the waggon, wi' his lwoad, Do crawl the rwoad a-winden nigh.

Or now theaese happy holiday Do let vo'k rest their weaery lim's, An' lwoaded hay's a-hangen gray, Above the waggon-wheels' dry rims, The meaed ha' seats in weaeles or pooks, By winden brooks, wi' crumblen brims.

Or if you'd gi'e your thoughtvul mind To yonder long-vorseaeken hall, Then teaeke a stwonen seat behind The ivy on the broken wall, An' learn how e'thly wealth an' might Mid clim' their height, an' then mid vall.

SOUND O' WATER.

I born in town! oh no, my dawn O' life broke here beside theaese lawn; Not where pent air do roll along, In darkness drough the wall-bound drong, An' never bring the goo-coo's zong, Nor sweets o' blossoms in the hedge, Or benden rush, or sheenen zedge, Or sounds o' flowen water.

The air that I've a-breath'd did sheaeke The draps o' rain upon the breaeke, An' bear aloft the swingen lark, An' huffle roun' the elem's bark, In boughy grove, an' woody park, An' brought us down the dewy dells, The high-wound zongs o' nightingeaeles. An' sounds o' flowen water.