Part 21

THE ECHO.

About the tow'r an' churchyard wall, Out nearly overright our door, A tongue ov wind did always call Whatever we did call avore. The vaice did mock our neaemes, our cheers, Our merry laughs, our hands' loud claps, An' mother's call "Come, come, my dears" —my dears; Or "Do as I do bid, bad chaps" —bad chaps.

An' when o' Zundays on the green, In frocks an' cwoats as gay as new, We walk'd wi' shoes a-meaede to sheen So black an' bright's a vull-ripe slooe We then did hear the tongue ov air A-mocken mother's vaice so thin, "Come, now the bell do goo vor pray'r" —vor pray'r; "'Tis time to goo to church; come in" —come in.

The night when little Anne, that died, Begun to zicken, back in May, An' she, at dusk ov evenen-tide, Wer out wi' others at their play, Within the churchyard that do keep Her little bed, the vaice o' thin Dark air, mock'd mother's call "To sleep" —to sleep; "'Tis bed time now, my love, come in" —come in.

An' when our Jeaene come out so smart A-married, an' we help'd her in To Henry's newly-painted cart, The while the wheels begun to spin, An' her gay nods, vor all she smil'd, Did sheaeke a tear-drop vrom each eye, The vaice mock'd mother's call, "Dear child" —dear child; "God bless ye evermwore; good bye" —good bye.

VULL A MAN.

No, I'm a man, I'm vull a man, You beaet my manhood, if you can. You'll be a man if you can teaeke All steaetes that household life do meaeke. The love-toss'd child, a-croodlen loud, The bwoy a-screamen wild in play, The tall grown youth a-steppen proud, The father staid, the house's stay. No; I can boast if others can, I'm vull a man.

A young-cheaek'd mother's tears mid vall, When woone a-lost, not half man-tall, Vrom little hand, a-called vrom play, Do leaeve noo tool, but drop a tay, An' die avore he's father-free To sheaepe his life by his own plan; An' vull an angel he shall be, But here on e'th not vull a man, No; I could boast if others can, I'm vull a man.

I woonce, a child, wer father-fed, An' I've a vound my childern bread; My eaerm, a sister's trusty crook, Is now a faithvul wife's own hook; An' I've a-gone where vo'k did zend, An' gone upon my own free mind, An' of'en at my own wits' end. A-led o' God while I wer blind. No; I could boast if others can I'm vull a man.

An' still, ov all my tweil ha' won, My loven maid an' merry son, Though each in turn's a jay an' ceaere, 'Ve a-had, an' still shall have, their sheaere: An' then, if God should bless their lives, Why I mid zend vrom son to son My life, right on drough men an' wives, As long, good now, as time do run. No; I could boast if others can, I'm vull a man.

NAIGHBOUR PLA[:Y]MEAeTES.

O jay betide the dear wold mill, My naighbour playmeaetes' happy hwome, Wi' rollen wheel, an' leaepen foam, Below the overhangen hill, Where, wide an' slow, The stream did flow, An' flags did grow, an' lightly vlee Below the grey-leav'd withy tree, While clack, clack, clack, vrom hour to hour, Wi' whirlen stwone, an' streamen flour, Did goo the mill by cloty Stour.

An' there in geaemes by evenen skies, When Meaery zot her down to rest, The broach upon her panken breast, Did quickly vall an' lightly rise, While swans did zwim In steaetely trim. An' swifts did skim the water, bright Wi' whirlen froth, in western light; An' clack, clack, clack, that happy hour, Wi' whirlen stwone, an' streamen flour, Did goo the mill by cloty Stour.

Now mortery jeints, in streaks o' white, Along the geaerden wall do show In May, an' cherry boughs do blow, Wi' bloomen tutties, snowy white, Where rollen round, Wi' rumblen sound, The wheel woonce drown'd the vaice so dear To me. I fain would goo to hear The clack, clack, clack, vor woone short hour, Wi' whirlen stwone, an' streamen flour, Bezide the mill on cloty Stour.

But should I vind a-heaven now Her breast wi' air o' thik dear pleaece? Or zee dark locks by such a brow, Or het o' play on such a feaece? No! She's now staid, An' where she play'd, There's noo such maid that now ha' took The pleaece that she ha' long vorsook, Though clack, clack, clack, vrom hour to hour, Wi' whirlen stwone an' streamen flour, Do goo the mill by cloty Stour.

An' still the pulley rwope do heist The wheat vrom red-wheeled waggon beds. An' ho'ses there wi' lwoads of grist, Do stand an' toss their heavy heads; But on the vloor, Or at the door, Do show noo mwore the kindly feaece Her father show'd about the pleaece, As clack, clack, clack, vrom hour to hour, Wi' whirlen stwone, an' streamen flour, Did goo his mill by cloty Stour.

THE LARK.

As I, below the mornen sky, Wer out a worken in the lew O' black-stemm'd thorns, a-springen high, Avore the worold-bounden blue, A-reaeken, under woak tree boughs, The orts a-left behin' by cows.

Above the grey-grow'd thistle rings, An' deaeisy-buds, the lark, in flight, Did zing a-loft, wi' flappen wings, Tho' mwore in heaeren than in zight; The while my bwoys, in playvul me'th, Did run till they wer out o' breath.

Then woone, wi' han'-besheaeded eyes, A-stoppen still, as he did run, Look'd up to zee the lark arise A-zingen to the high-gone zun; The while his brother look'd below Vor what the groun' mid have to show

Zoo woone did watch above his head The bird his hands could never teaeke; An' woone, below, where he did tread, Vound out the nest within the breaeke; But, aggs be only woonce a-vound, An' uncaught larks ageaen mid sound.

THE TWO CHURCHES.

A happy day, a happy year. A zummer Zunday, dazzlen clear, I went athirt vrom Lea to Noke. To goo to church wi' Fanny's vo'k: The sky o' blue did only show A cloud or two, so white as snow, An' air did sway, wi' softest strokes, The eltrot roun' the dark-bough'd woaks. O day o' rest when bells do toll! O day a-blest to ev'ry soul! How sweet the zwells o' Zunday bells.

An' on the cowslip-knap at Creech, Below the grove o' steaetely beech, I heaerd two tow'rs a-cheemen clear, Vrom woone I went, to woone drew near, As they did call, by flow'ry ground, The bright-shod veet vrom housen round, A-drownen wi' their holy call, The goocoo an' the water-vall. Die off, O bells o' my dear pleaece, Ring out, O bells avore my feaece, Vull sweet your zwells, O ding-dong bells.

Ah! then vor things that time did bring My kinsvo'k, Lea had bells to ring; An' then, ageaen, vor what bevell My wife's, why Noke church had a bell; But soon wi' hopevul lives a-bound In woone, we had woone tower's sound, Vor our high jays all vive bells rung Our losses had woone iron tongue. Oh! ring all round, an' never mwoaen So deep an' slow woone bell alwone, Vor sweet your swells o' vive clear bells.

WOAK HILL.

When sycamore leaves wer a-spreaden, Green-ruddy, in hedges, Bezide the red doust o' the ridges, A-dried at Woak Hill;

I packed up my goods all a-sheenen Wi' long years o' handlen, On dousty red wheels ov a waggon, To ride at Woak Hill.

The brown thatchen ruf o' the dwellen, I then wer a-leaeven, Had shelter'd the sleek head o' Meaery, My bride at Woak Hill.

But now vor zome years, her light voot-vall 'S a-lost vrom the vlooren. Too soon vor my jay an' my childern, She died at Woak Hill.

But still I do think that, in soul, She do hover about us; To ho vor her motherless childern, Her pride at Woak Hill.

Zoo—lest she should tell me hereafter I stole off 'ithout her, An' left her, uncall'd at house-ridden, To bide at Woak Hill—

I call'd her so fondly, wi' lippens All soundless to others, An' took her wi' air-reachen hand, To my zide at Woak Hill.

On the road I did look round, a-talken To light at my shoulder, An' then led her in at the door-way, Miles wide vrom Woak Hill.

An' that's why vo'k thought, vor a season, My mind wer a-wandren Wi' sorrow, when I wer so sorely A-tried at Woak Hill.

But no; that my Meaery mid never Behold herzelf slighted, I wanted to think that I guided My guide vrom Woak Hill.

THE HEDGER.

Upon the hedge theaese bank did bear, Wi' lwonesome thought untwold in words, I woonce did work, wi' noo sound there But my own strokes, an' chirpen birds; As down the west the zun went wan, An' days brought on our Zunday's rest, When sounds o' cheemen bells did vill The air, an' hook an' axe wer still.

Along the wold town-path vo'k went, An' met unknown, or friend wi' friend, The maid her busy mother zent, The mother wi' noo maid to zend; An' in the light the gleaezier's glass, As he did pass, wer dazzlen bright, Or woone went by wi' down-cast head, A wrapp'd in blackness vor the dead.

An' then the bank, wi' risen back, That's now a-most a-trodden down, Bore thorns wi' rind o' sheeny black, An' meaeple stems o' ribby brown; An' in the lewth o' theaese tree heads, Wer primrwose beds a-sprung in blooth, An' here a geaete, a-slammen to, Did let the slow-wheel'd plough roll drough.

Ov all that then went by, but vew Be now a-left behine', to beaet The mornen flow'rs or evenen dew, Or slam the woaken vive-bar'd geaete; But woone, my wife, so litty-stepp'd, That have a-kept my path o' life, Wi' her vew errands on the road, Where woonce she bore her mother's lwoad.

IN THE SPRING.

My love is the maid ov all maidens, Though all mid be comely, Her skin's lik' the jessamy blossom A-spread in the Spring.

Her smile is so sweet as a beaeby's Young smile on his mother, Her eyes be as bright as the dew drop A-shed in the Spring.

O grey-leafy pinks o' the geaerden, Now bear her sweet blossoms; Now deck wi' a rwose-bud, O briar. Her head in the Spring.

O light-rollen wind blow me hither, The vaeice ov her talken, Or bring vrom her veet the light doust, She do tread in the Spring.

O zun, meaeke the gil'cups all glitter, In goold all around her; An' meaeke o' the deaeisys' white flowers A bed in the Spring.

O whissle gay birds, up bezide her, In drong-way, an' woodlands, O zing, swingen lark, now the clouds, Be a-vled in the Spring.

An' who, you mid ax, be my praises A-meaeken so much o', An' oh! 'tis the maid I'm a-hopen To wed in the Spring.

THE FLOOD IN SPRING.

Last night below the elem in the lew Bright the sky did gleam On water blue, while air did softly blow On the flowen stream, An' there wer gil'cups' buds untwold, An' deaeisies that begun to vwold Their low-stemm'd blossoms vrom my zight Ageaen the night, an' evenen's cwold.

But, oh! so cwold below the darksome cloud Soon the night-wind roar'd, Wi' rainy storms that zent the zwollen streams Over ev'ry vword. The while the drippen tow'r did tell The hour, wi' storm-be-smother'd bell, An' over ev'ry flower's bud Roll'd on the flood, 'ithin the dell.

But when the zun arose, an' lik' a rwose Shone the mornen sky; An' roun' the woak, the wind a-blowen weak, Softly whiver'd by. Though drown'd wer still the deaisy bed Below the flood, its feaece instead O' flow'ry grown', below our shoes Show'd feaeirest views o' skies o'er head.

An' zoo to try if all our faith is true Jay mid end in tears, An' hope, woonce feaeir, mid sadden into fear, Here in e'thly years. But He that tried our soul do know To meaeke us good amends, an' show Instead o' things a-took away, Some higher jay that He'll bestow.

COMEN HWOME.

As clouds did ride wi' heaesty flight. An' woods did swaey upon the height, An' bleaedes o' grass did sheaeke, below The hedge-row bremble's swingen bow, I come back hwome where winds did zwell, In whirls along the woody gleaedes, On primrwose beds, in windy sheaedes, To Burnley's dark-tree'd dell.

There hills do screen the timber's bough, The trees do screen the leaeze's brow, The timber-sheaeded leaeze do bear A beaeten path that we do wear. The path do stripe the leaeze's zide, To willows at the river's edge. Where hufflen winds did sheaeke the zedge An' sparklen weaeves did glide.

An' where the river, bend by bend, Do draein our meaed, an' mark its end, The hangen leaeze do teaeke our cows, An' trees do sheaede em wi' their boughs, An' I the quicker beaet the road, To zee a-comen into view, Still greener vrom the sky-line's blue, Wold Burnley our abode.

GRAMMER A-CRIPPLED.

"The zunny copse ha' birds to zing, The leaeze ha' cows to low, The elem trees ha' rooks on wing, The meaeds a brook to flow, But I can walk noo mwore, to pass The drashel out abrode, To wear a path in theaese year's grass Or tread the wheelworn road," Cried Grammer, "then adieu, O runnen brooks, An' vleen rooks, I can't come out to you. If 'tis God's will, why then 'tis well, That I should bide 'ithin a wall."

An' then the childern, wild wi' fun, An' loud wi' jayvul sounds, Sprung in an' cried, "We had a run, A-playen heaere an' hounds; But oh! the cowslips where we stopt In Maycreech, on the knap!" An' vrom their little han's each dropt Some cowslips in her lap. Cried Grammer, "Only zee! I can't teaeke strolls, An' little souls Would bring the vields to me. Since 'tis God's will, an' mus' be well That I should bide 'ithin a wall."

"Oh! there be prison walls to hold The han's o' lawless crimes, An' there be walls arear'd vor wold An' zick in tryen times; But oh! though low mid slant my ruf, Though hard my lot mid be, Though dry mid come my daily lwoaf, Mid mercy leaeve me free!" Cried Grammer, "Or adieu To jay; O grounds, An' bird's gay sounds If I mus' gi'e up you, Although 'tis well, in God's good will, That I should bide 'ithin a wall."

"Oh! then," we answer'd, "never fret, If we shall be a-blest, We'll work vull hard drough het an' wet To keep your heart at rest: To woaken chair's vor you to vill, For you shall glow the coal, An' when the win' do whissle sh'ill We'll screen it vrom your poll." Cried Grammer, "God is true. I can't but feel He smote to heal My wounded heart in you; An' zoo 'tis well, if 'tis His will, That I be here 'ithin a wall."

THE CASTLE RUINS.

A happy day at Whitsuntide, As soon's the zun begun to vall, We all stroll'd up the steep hill-zide To Meldon, girt an' small; Out where the castle wall stood high A-mwoldren to the zunny sky.

An' there wi' Jenny took a stroll Her youngest sister, Poll, so gay, Bezide John Hind, ah! merry soul, An' mid her wedlock fay; An' at our zides did play an' run My little maid an' smaller son.

Above the beaeten mwold upsprung The driven doust, a-spreaden light, An' on the new-leav'd thorn, a-hung, Wer wool a-quiv'ren white; An' corn, a sheenen bright, did bow, On slopen Meldon's zunny brow.

There, down the rufless wall did glow The zun upon the grassy vloor, An' weakly-wandren winds did blow, Unhinder'd by a door; An' smokeless now avore the zun Did stan' the ivy-girded tun.

My bwoy did watch the daws' bright wings A-flappen vrom their ivy bow'rs; My wife did watch my maid's light springs, Out here an' there vor flow'rs; And John did zee noo tow'rs, the pleaece Vor him had only Polly's feaece.

An' there, of all that pried about The walls, I overlook'd em best, An' what o' that? Why, I meaede out Noo mwore than all the rest: That there wer woonce the nest of zome That wer a-gone avore we come.

When woonce above the tun the smoke Did wreathy blue among the trees, An' down below, the liven vo'k, Did tweil as brisk as bees; Or zit wi' weary knees, the while The sky wer lightless to their tweil.

[Gothic: Eclogue.]

JOHN, JEALOUS AT SHROTON FEAeIR.

Jeaene; her Brother; John, her Sweetheart; and Racketen Joe

JEAeNE.

I'm thankvul I be out o' that Thick crowd, an' not asquot quite flat. That ever we should plunge in where the vo'k do drunge So tight's the cheese-wring on the veaet! I've sca'ce a thing a-left in pleaece. 'Tis all a-tore vrom pin an' leaece. My bonnet's like a wad, a-beaet up to a dod, An' all my heaeir's about my feaece.

HER BROTHER.

Here, come an' zit out here a bit, An' put yourzelf to rights.

JOHN.

No, Jeaene; no, no! Now you don't show The very wo'st o' plights.

HER BROTHER.

Come, come, there's little harm adone; Your hoops be out so roun's the zun.

JOHN.

An' there's your bonnet back in sheaepe.

HER BROTHER.

An' there's your pin, and there's your ceaepe.

JOHN.

An' there your curls do match, an' there 'S the vittiest maid in all the feaeir.

JEAeNE.

Now look, an' tell us who's a-spied Vrom Sturminster, or Manston zide.

HER BROTHER.

There's ranten Joe! How he do stalk, An' zwang his whip, an' laugh, an' talk!

JOHN.

An' how his head do wag, avore his steppen lag. Jist like a pigeon's in a walk!

HER BROTHER.

Heigh! there, then, Joey, ben't we proud

JEAeNE.

He can't hear you among the crowd.

HER BROTHER.

Why, no, the thunder peals do drown the sound o' wheels. His own pipe is a-pitched too loud. What, you here too?

RACKETEN JOE.

Yes, Sir, to you. All o' me that's a-left.

JEAeNE.

A body plump's a goodish lump Where reaemes ha' such a heft.

JOHN.

Who lost his crown a-racen?

RACKETEN JOE.

Who? Zome silly chap abacken you. Well, now, an' how do vo'k treat Jeaene?

JEAeNE.

Why not wi' feaerens.

RACKETEN JOE.

What d'ye meaen, When I've a-brought ye such a bunch O' theaese nice ginger-nuts to crunch? An' here, John, here! you teaeke a vew.

JOHN.

No, keep em all vor Jeaene an' you!

RACKETEN JOE.

Well, Jeaene, an' when d'ye meaen to come An' call on me, then, up at hwome. You han't a-come athirt, since I'd my voot a-hurt, A-slippen vrom the tree I clomb.

JEAeNE.

Well, if so be that you be stout On voot ageaen, you'll vind me out.

JOHN.

Aye, better chaps woont goo, not many steps vor you, If you do hawk yourzelf about.

RACKETEN JOE.

Wull John, come too?

JOHN.

No, thanks to you. Two's company, dree's nwone.

HER BROTHER.

There don't be stung by his mad tongue, 'Tis nothen else but fun.

JEAeNE.

There, what d'ye think o' my new ceaepe?

JOHN.

Why, think that 'tis an ugly sheaepe.

JEAeNE.

Then you should buy me, now theaese feaeir, A mwore becomen woone to wear.

JOHN.

I buy your ceaepe! No; Joe wull screaepe Up dibs enough to buy your ceaepe. As things do look, to meaeke you fine Is long Joe's business mwore than mine.

JEAeNE.

Lauk, John, the mwore that you do pout The mwore he'll gl[=e]ne.

JOHN.

A yelpen lout.

EARLY PLA[:Y]MEAeTE.

After many long years had a-run, The while I wer a-gone vrom the pleaece, I come back to the vields, where the zun Ov her childhood did show me her feaece. There her father, years wolder, did stoop. An' her brother, wer now a-grow'd staid, An' the apple tree lower did droop. Out in the orcha'd where we had a-play'd, There wer zome things a-seemen the seaeme, But Meaery's a-married away.

There wer two little childern a-zent, Wi' a message to me, oh! so feair As the mother that they did zoo ment, When in childhood she play'd wi' me there. Zoo they twold me that if I would come Down to Coomb, I should zee a wold friend, Vor a playmeaete o' mine wer at hwome, An' would stay till another week's end. At the dear pworched door, could I dare To zee Meaery a-married away!

On the flower-not, now all a-trod Stwony hard, the green grass wer a-spread, An' the long-slighted woodbine did nod Vrom the wall, wi' a loose-hangen head. An' the martin's clay nest wer a-hung Up below the brown oves, in the dry, An' the rooks had a-rock'd broods o' young On the elems below the May sky; But the bud on the bed, coulden bide, Wi' young Meaery a-married away.