Part 17

An' when the zun, wi' vi'ry rim, 'S a-zinken low, an' wearen dim, Here I, a-most too tired to stand, Do leaeve my work that's under hand In pathless wood or oben land, To rest 'ithin my thatchen oves, Wi' ruslen win's in leafy groves, An' sounds o' flowen water.

TREES BE COMPANY.

When zummer's burnen het's a-shed Upon the droopen grasses head, A-dreven under sheaedy leaves The workvo'k in their snow-white sleeves, We then mid yearn to clim' the height, Where thorns be white, above the vern; An' air do turn the zunsheen's might To softer light too weak to burn— On woodless downs we mid be free, But lowland trees be company.

Though downs mid show a wider view O' green a-reachen into blue Than roads a-winden in the glen, An' ringen wi' the sounds o' men; The thissle's crown o' red an' blue In Fall's cwold dew do wither brown, An' larks come down 'ithin the lew, As storms do brew, an' skies do frown— An' though the down do let us free, The lowland trees be company.

Where birds do zing, below the zun, In trees above the blue-smok'd tun, An' sheaedes o' stems do overstratch The mossy path 'ithin the hatch; If leaves be bright up over head, When May do shed its glitt'ren light; Or, in the blight o' Fall, do spread A yollow bed avore our zight— Whatever season it mid be, The trees be always company.

When dusky night do nearly hide The path along the hedge's zide, An' dailight's hwomely sounds be still But sounds o' water at the mill; Then if noo feaece we long'd to greet Could come to meet our lwonesome treaece Or if noo peaece o' weary veet, However fleet, could reach its pleaece— However lwonesome we mid be, The trees would still be company.

A PLEAeCE IN ZIGHT.

As I at work do look aroun' Upon the groun' I have in view, To yonder hills that still do rise Avore the skies, wi' backs o' blue; 'Ithin the ridges that do vall An' rise roun' Blackmwore lik' a wall, 'Tis yonder knap do teaeke my zight Vrom dawn till night, the mwost ov all.

An' there, in May, 'ithin the lewth O' boughs in blooth, be sheaedy walks, An' cowslips up in yollow beds Do hang their heads on downy stalks; An' if the weather should be feaeir When I've a holiday to speaere, I'll teaeke the chance o' getten drough An hour or two wi' zome vo'k there.

An' there I now can dimly zee The elem-tree upon the mound, An' there meaeke out the high-bough'd grove An' narrow drove by Redcliff ground; An' there by trees a-risen tall, The glowen zunlight now do vall, Wi' shortest sheaedes o' middle day, Upon the gray wold house's wall.

An' I can zee avore the sky A-risen high the churches speer, Wi' bells that I do goo to swing, An' like to ring, an' like to hear; An' if I've luck upon my zide, They bells shall sound bwoth loud an' wide, A peal above they slopes o' gray, Zome merry day wi' Jeaene a bride.

GWAIN TO BROOKWELL.

At Easter, though the wind wer high, We vound we had a zunny sky, An' zoo wold Dobbin had to trudge His dousty road by knap an' brudge, An' jog, wi' hangen vetterlocks A-sheaeken roun' his heavy hocks, An' us, a lwoad not much too small, A-riden out to Brookwell Hall; An' there in doust vrom Dobbin's heels, An' green light-waggon's vower wheels, Our merry laughs did loudly sound, In rollen winds athirt the ground; While sheenen-ribbons' color'd streaeks Did flutter roun' the maidens' cheaeks, As they did zit, wi' smilen lips, A-reachen out their vinger-tips Toward zome teaeken pleaece or zight That they did shew us, left or right; An' woonce, when Jimmy tried to pleaece A kiss on cousin Polly's feaece, She push'd his hat, wi' wicked leers, Right off above his two red ears, An' there he roll'd along the groun' Wi' spreaden brim an' rounded crown, An' vound, at last, a cowpon's brim, An' launch'd hizzelf, to teaeke a zwim; An' there, as Jim did run to catch His neaeked noddle's bit o' thatch, To zee his strainens an' his strides, We laugh'd enough to split our zides. At Harwood Farm we pass'd the land That father's father had in hand, An' there, in oben light did spread, The very groun's his cows did tread, An' there above the stwonen tun Avore the dazzlen mornen zun, Wer still the rollen smoke, the breath A-breath'd vrom his wold house's he'th; An' there did lie below the door, The drashol' that his vootsteps wore; But there his meaete an' he bwoth died, Wi' hand in hand, an' zide by zide; Between the seaeme two peals a-rung, Two Zundays, though they wer but young, An' laid in sleep, their worksome hands, At rest vrom tweil wi' house or lands. Then vower childern laid their heads At night upon their little beds, An' never rose ageaen below A mother's love, or father's ho: Dree little maidens, small in feaece, An' woone small bwoy, the fourth in pleaece Zoo when their heedvul father died, He call'd his brother to his zide, To meaeke en stand, in hiz own stead, His childern's guide, when he wer dead; But still avore zix years brought round The woodland goo-coo's zummer sound, He weaested all their little store, An' hardship drove em out o' door, To tweil till tweilsome life should end. 'Ithout a single e'thly friend. But soon wi' Harwood back behind, An' out o' zight an' out o' mind, We went a-rottlen on, an' meaede Our way along to Brookwell Sleaede; An' then we vound ourselves draw nigh The Leaedy's Tow'r that rose on high, An' seem'd a-comen on to meet, Wi' growen height, wold Dobbin's veet.

BROOKWELL.

Well, I do zay 'tis wo'th woone's while To beaet the doust a good six mile To zee the pleaece the squier plann'd At Brookwell, now a-meaede by hand; Wi' oben lawn, an' grove, an' pon', An' gravel-walks as cleaen as bron; An' grass a'most so soft to tread As velvet-pile o' silken thread; An' mounds wi' maesh, an' rocks wi' flow'rs, An' ivy-sheaeded zummer bow'rs, An' dribblen water down below The stwonen arches lofty bow. An' there do sound the watervall Below a cavern's maeshy wall, Where peaele-green light do struggle down A leafy crevice at the crown. An' there do gush the foamy bow O' water, white as driven snow: An' there, a zitten all alwone, A little maid o' marble stwone Do leaen her little cheaek azide Upon her lily han', an' bide Bezide the vallen stream to zee Her pitcher vill'd avore her knee. An' then the brook, a-rollen dark Below a leaenen yew-tree's bark, Wi' playsome ripples that do run A-flashen to the western zun, Do shoot, at last, wi' foamy shocks, Athirt a ledge o' craggy rocks, A-casten in his heaesty flight, Upon the stwones a robe o' white; An' then ageaen do goo an' vall Below a bridge's arched wall, Where vo'k agwain athirt do pass Vow'r little bwoys a-cast in brass; An' woone do hold an angler's wand, Wi' steady hand, above the pond; An' woone, a-pweinten to the stream His little vinger-tip, do seem A-showen to his playmeaetes' eyes, Where he do zee the vishes rise; An' woone ageaen, wi' smilen lips, Do put a vish his han' do clips 'Ithin a basket, loosely tied About his shoulder at his zide: An' after that the fourth do stand A-holden back his pretty hand Behind his little ear, to drow A stwone upon the stream below. An' then the housen, that be all Sich pretty hwomes, vrom big to small, A-looken south, do cluster round A zunny ledge o' risen ground, Avore a wood, a-nestled warm, In lewth ageaen the northern storm, Where smoke, a-wreathen blue, do spread Above the tuns o' dusky red, An' window-peaenes do glitter bright Wi' burnen streams o' zummer light, Below the vine, a-train'd to hem Their zides 'ithin his leafy stem, An' rangle on, wi' flutt'ren leaves, Below the houses' thatchen eaves. An' drough a lawn a-spread avore The windows, an' the pworched door, A path do wind 'ithin a hatch, A-vasten'd wi' a clicken latch, An' there up over ruf an' tun, Do stan' the smooth-wall'd church o' stwone, Wi' carved windows, thin an' tall, A-reachen up the lofty wall; An' battlements, a-stannen round The tower, ninety veet vrom ground, Vrom where a teaep'ren speer do spring So high's the mornen lark do zing. Zoo I do zay 'tis wo'th woone's while To beaet the doust a good six mile, To zee the pleaece the squier plann'd At Brookwell, now a-meaede by hand.

THE SHY MAN.

Ah! good Meaester Gwillet, that you mid ha' know'd, Wer a-bred up at Coomb, an' went little abroad: An' if he got in among strangers, he velt His poor heart in a twitter, an' ready to melt; Or if, by ill luck, in his rambles, he met Wi' zome maidens a-titt'ren, he burn'd wi' a het, That shot all drough the lim's o'n, an' left a cwold zweat, The poor little chap wer so shy, He wer ready to drap, an' to die.

But at last 'twer the lot o' the poor little man To vall deeply in love, as the best ov us can; An' 'twer noo easy task vor a shy man to tell Sich a dazzlen feaeir maid that he loved her so well; An' woone day when he met her, his knees nearly smote Woone another, an' then wi' a struggle he bro't A vew vords to his tongue, wi' some mwore in his droat. But she, 'ithout doubt, could soon vind Vrom two words that come out, zix behind.

Zoo at langth, when he vound her so smilen an' kind, Why he wrote her zome lains, vor to tell her his mind, Though 'twer then a hard task vor a man that wer shy, To be married in church, wi' a crowd stannen by. But he twold her woone day, "I have housen an' lands, We could marry by licence, if you don't like banns," An' he cover'd his eyes up wi' woone ov his han's, Vor his head seem'd to zwim as he spoke, An' the air look'd so dim as a smoke.

Well! he vound a good naighbour to goo in his pleaece Vor to buy the goold ring, vor he hadden the feaece. An' when he went up vor to put in the banns, He did sheaeke in his lags, an' did sheaeke in his han's. Then they ax'd vor her neaeme, an' her parish or town, An' he gi'ed em a leaf, wi' her neaeme a-wrote down; Vor he coulden ha' twold em outright, vor a poun', Vor his tongue wer so weak an' so loose, When he wanted to speak 'twer noo use.

Zoo they went to be married, an' when they got there All the vo'k wer a-gather'd as if 'twer a feaeir, An' he thought, though his pleaece mid be pleazen to zome, He could all but ha' wish'd that he hadden a-come. The bride wer a-smilen as fresh as a rwose, An' when he come wi' her, an' show'd his poor nose. All the little bwoys shouted, an' cried "There he goes," "There he goes." Oh! vor his peaert he velt As if the poor heart o'n would melt.

An' when they stood up by the chancel together, Oh! a man mid ha' knock'd en right down wi' a veather, He did veel zoo asheaem'd that he thought he would rather He werden the bridegroom, but only the father. But, though 'tis so funny to zee en so shy, Yeet his mind is so lowly, his aims be so high, That to do a meaen deed, or to tell woone a lie, You'd vind that he'd shun mwore by half, Than to stan' vor vo'ks fun, or their laugh.

THE WINTER'S WILLOW.

There Liddy zot bezide her cow, Upon her lowly seat, O; A hood did overhang her brow, Her pail wer at her veet, O; An' she wer kind, an' she wer feaeir, An' she wer young, an' free o' ceaere; Vew winters had a-blow'd her heaeir, Bezide the Winter's Willow.

She idden woone a-rear'd in town Where many a gayer lass, O, Do trip a-smilen up an' down, So peaele wi' smoke an' gas, O; But here, in vields o' greaezen herds, Her vaeice ha' mingled sweetest words Wi' evenen cheaerms o' busy birds, Bezide the Winter's Willow.

An' when, at last, wi' beaeten breast, I knock'd avore her door, O, She ax'd me in to teaeke the best O' pleaeces on the vloor, O; An' smilen feaeir avore my zight, She blush'd bezide the yollow light O' bleaezen brands, while winds o' night Do sheaeke the Winter's Willow.

An' if there's readship in her smile, She don't begrudge to speaere, O, To zomebody, a little while, The empty woaken chair, O; An' if I've luck upon my zide, Why, I do think she'll be my bride Avore the leaves ha' twice a-died Upon the Winter's Willow.

Above the coach-wheels' rollen rims She never rose to ride, O, Though she do zet her comely lim's Above the mare's white zide, O; But don't become too proud to stoop An' scrub her milken pail's white hoop, Or zit a-milken where do droop, The wet-stemm'd Winter's Willow.

An' I've a cow or two in leaeze, Along the river-zide, O, An' pails to zet avore her knees, At dawn an' evenen-tide, O; An' there she still mid zit, an' look Athirt upon the woody nook Where vu'st I zeed her by the brook Bezide the Winter's Willow.

Zoo, who would heed the treeless down, A-beaet by all the storms, O, Or who would heed the busy town, Where vo'k do goo in zwarms, O; If he wer in my house below The elems, where the vier did glow In Liddy's feaece, though winds did blow Ageaen the Winter's Willow.

I KNOW WHO.

Aye, aye, vull rathe the zun mus' rise To meaeke us tired o' zunny skies, A-sheenen on the whole day drough, From mornen's dawn till evenen's dew. When trees be brown an' meaeds be green, An' skies be blue, an' streams do sheen, An' thin-edg'd clouds be snowy white Above the bluest hills in zight; But I can let the daylight goo, When I've a-met wi'—I know who.

In Spring I met her by a bed O' laurels higher than her head; The while a rwose hung white between Her blushes an' the laurel's green; An' then in Fall, I went along The row of elems in the drong, An' heaerd her zing bezide the cows, By yollow leaves o' meaeple boughs; But Fall or Spring is feaeir to view When day do bring me—I know who.

An' when, wi' wint'r a-comen roun', The purple he'th's a-feaeden brown, An' hangen vern's a-sheaeken dead, Bezide the hill's besheaeded head: An' black-wing'd rooks do glitter bright Above my head, in peaeler light; Then though the birds do still the glee That sounded in the zummer tree, My heart is light the winter drough, In me'th at night, wi'—I know who.

JESSIE LEE.

Above the timber's benden sh'ouds, The western wind did softly blow; An' up avore the knap, the clouds Did ride as white as driven snow. Vrom west to east the clouds did zwim Wi' wind that plied the elem's lim'; Vrom west to east the stream did glide, A-sheenen wide, wi' winden brim.

How feaeir, I thought, avore the sky The slowly-zwimmen clouds do look; How soft the win's a-streamen by; How bright do roll the weaevy brook: When there, a-passen on my right, A-waiken slow, an' treaden light, Young Jessie Lee come by, an' there Took all my ceaere, an' all my zight.

Vor lovely wer the looks her feaece Held up avore the western sky: An' comely wer the steps her peaece Did meaeke a-walken slowly by: But I went east, wi' beaeten breast, Wi' wind, an' cloud, an' brook, vor rest, Wi' rest a-lost, vor Jessie gone So lovely on, toward the west.

Blow on, O winds, athirt the hill; Zwim on, O clouds; O waters vall, Down maeshy rocks, vrom mill to mill; I now can overlook ye all. But roll, O zun, an' bring to me My day, if such a day there be, When zome dear path to my abode Shall be the road o' Jessie Lee.

TRUE LOVE.

As evenen air, in green-treed Spring, Do sheaeke the new-sprung pa'sley bed, An' wither'd ash-tree keys do swing An' vall a-flutt'ren roun' our head: There, while the birds do zing their zong In bushes down the ash-tree drong, Come Jessie Lee, vor sweet's the pleaece Your vaice an' feaece can meaeke vor me.

Below the budden ashes' height We there can linger in the lew, While boughs, a-gilded by the light, Do sheen avore the sky o' blue: But there by zetten zun, or moon A-risen, time wull vlee too soon Wi' Jessie Lee, vor sweet's the pleaece Her vaice an' feaece can meaeke vor me.

Down where the darksome brook do flow, Below the bridge's arched wall, Wi' alders dark, a-leanen low, Above the gloomy watervall; There I've a-led ye hwome at night, Wi' noo feaece else 'ithin my zight But yours so feaeir, an' sweet's the pleaece Your vaice an' feaece ha' meaede me there.

An' oh! when other years do come, An' zetten zuns, wi' yollow gleaere, Drough western window-peaenes, at hwome, Do light upon my evenen chair: While day do weaene, an' dew do vall, Be wi' me then, or else in call, As time do vlee, vor sweet's the pleaece Your vaice an' feaece do meaeke vor me.

Ah! you do smile, a-thinken light O' my true words, but never mind; Smile on, smile on, but still your flight Would leaeve me little jay behind: But let me not be zoo a-tried Wi' you a-lost where I do bide, O Jessie Lee, in any pleaece Your vaice an' feaece ha' blest vor me.

I'm sure that when a soul's a-brought To this our life ov air an' land, Woone mwore's a-mark'd in God's good thought, To help, wi' love, his heart an' hand. An' oh! if there should be in store An angel here vor my poor door, 'Tis Jessie Lee, vor sweet's the pleaece Her vaice an' feace can meaeke vor me.

THE BEAN VIELD.

'Twer where the zun did warm the lewth, An' win' did whiver in the sheaede, The sweet-air'd beaens were out in blooth, Down there 'ithin the elem gleaede; A yollow-banded bee did come, An' softly-pitch, wi' hushen hum, Upon a beaen, an' there did sip, Upon a swayen blossom's lip: An' there cried he, "Aye, I can zee, This blossom's all a-zent vor me."

A-jilted up an' down, astride Upon a lofty ho'se a-trot, The meaester then come by wi' pride, To zee the beaens that he'd a-got; An' as he zot upon his ho'se, The ho'se ageaen did snort an' toss His high-ear'd head, an' at the zight Ov all the blossom, black an' white: "Ah! ah!" thought he, the seaeme's the bee, "Theaese beaens be all a-zent vor me."

Zoo let the worold's riches breed A strife o' claims, wi' weak and strong, Vor now what cause have I to heed Who's in the right, or in the wrong; Since there do come drough yonder hatch, An' bloom below the house's thatch, The best o' maidens, an' do own That she is mine, an' mine alwone: Zoo I can zee that love do gi'e The best ov all good gifts to me.

Vor whose be all the crops an' land A-won an' lost, an' bought, an zwold Or whose, a-roll'd vrom hand to hand, The highest money that's a-twold? Vrom man to man a passen on, 'Tis here to-day, to-morrow gone. But there's a blessen high above It all—a soul o' stedvast love: Zoo let it vlee, if God do gi'e Sweet Jessie vor a gift to me.

WOLD FRIENDS A-MET.

Aye, vull my heart's blood now do roll, An' gay do rise my happy soul, An' well they mid, vor here our veet Avore woone vier ageaen do meet; Vor you've avoun' my feaece, to greet Wi' welcome words my startlen ear. An' who be you, but John o' Weer, An' I, but William Wellburn.

Here, light a candle up, to shed Mwore light upon a wold friend's head, An' show the smile, his feaece woonce mwore Ha' brought us vrom another shore. An' I'll heave on a brand avore The vier back, to meaeke good cheer, O' roaren fleaemes, vor John o' Weer To chat wi' William Wellburn.