Part 23

Now unknown veet do beaet the vloor, An' unknown han's do shut the door, An' unknown men do ride abrode, An' hwome ageaen on thik wold road, Drough geaetes all now a-hung anew. Noo mind but mine ageaen can call Wold feaeces back around the wall, Down there below, or here above, Wi' bright-ey'd me'th below the tree.

Aye, pride mid seek the crowded pleaece To show his head an' frownen feaece, An' pleasure vlee, wi' goold in hand, Vor zights to zee vrom land to land, Where winds do blow on seas o' blue:— Noo wealth wer mine to travel wide Vor jay, wi' Pleasure or wi' Pride: My happiness wer here above The feaest, wi' me'th below the tree.

The wild rwose now do hang in zight, To mornen zun an' evenen light, The bird do whissle in the gloom, Avore the thissle out in bloom, But here alwone the tree do leaen. The twig that woonce did whiver there Is now a limb a-wither'd beaere: Zoo I do miss the sheaede above My head, an' me'th below the tree.

TREAT WELL YOUR WIFE.

No, no, good Meaester Collins cried, Why you've a good wife at your zide; Zoo do believe the heart is true That gi'ed up all bezide vor you, An' still beheaeve as you begun To seek the love that you've a-won When woonce in dewy June, In hours o' hope soft eyes did flash, Each bright below his sheaedy lash, A-glisnen to the moon.

Think how her girlhood met noo ceaere To peaele the bloom her feaece did weaer, An' how her glossy temple prest Her pillow down, in still-feaeced rest, While sheaedes o' window bars did vall In moonlight on the gloomy wall, In cool-air'd nights o' June; The while her lids, wi' benden streaeks O' lashes, met above her cheaeks, A-bloomen to the moon.

Think how she left her childhood's pleaece, An' only sister's long-known feaece, An' brother's jokes so much a-miss'd, An' mother's cheaek, the last a-kiss'd; An' how she lighted down avore Her new abode, a husband's door, Your wedden night in June; Wi' heart that beaet wi' hope an' fear, While on each eye-lash hung a tear, A-glisnen to the moon.

Think how her father zot all dum', A-thinken on her, back at hwome, The while grey axan gather'd thick, On dyen embers, on the brick; An' how her mother look'd abrode, Drough window, down the moon-bright road, Thik cloudless night o' June, Wi' tears upon her lashes big As rain-drops on a slender twig, A-glisnen to the moon.

Zoo don't zit thoughtless at your cup An' keep your wife a-waeiten up, The while the clock's a-ticken slow The chilly hours o' vrost an' snow, Until the zinken candle's light Is out avore her drowsy sight, A-dimm'd wi' grief too soon; A-leaeven there alwone to murn The feaeden cheaek that woonce did burn, A-bloomen to the moon.

THE CHILD AN' THE MOWERS.

O, aye! they had woone child bezide, An' a finer your eyes never met, 'Twer a dear little fellow that died In the zummer that come wi' such het; By the mowers, too thoughtless in fun, He wer then a-zent off vrom our eyes, Vrom the light ov the dew-dryen zun,— Aye! vrom days under blue-hollow'd skies.

He went out to the mowers in meaed, When the zun wer a-rose to his height, An' the men wer a-swingen the sneaed, Wi' their eaerms in white sleeves, left an' right; An' out there, as they rested at noon, O! they drench'd en vrom eaele-horns too deep, Till his thoughts wer a-drown'd in a swoon; Aye! his life wer a-smother'd in sleep.

Then they laid en there-right on the ground, On a grass-heap, a-zweltren wi' het, Wi' his heaeir all a-wetted around His young feaece, wi' the big drops o' zweat; In his little left palm he'd a-zet, Wi' his right hand, his vore-vinger's tip, As for zome'hat he woulden vorget,— Aye! zome thought that he woulden let slip.

Then they took en in hwome to his bed, An' he rose vrom his pillow noo mwore, Vor the curls on his sleek little head To be blown by the wind out o' door. Vor he died while the haey russled grey On the staddle so leaetely begun: Lik' the mown-grass a-dried by the day,— Aye! the zwath-flow'r's a-killed by the zun.

THE LOVE CHILD.

Where the bridge out at Woodley did stride, Wi' his wide arches' cool sheaeded bow, Up above the clear brook that did slide By the popples, befoam'd white as snow: As the gilcups did quiver among The white deaeisies, a-spread in a sheet. There a quick-trippen maid come along,— Aye, a girl wi' her light-steppen veet.

An' she cried "I do pray, is the road Out to Lincham on here, by the meaed?" An' "oh! ees," I meaede answer, an' show'd Her the way it would turn an' would leaed: "Goo along by the beech in the nook, Where the childern do play in the cool, To the steppen stwones over the brook,— Aye, the grey blocks o' rock at the pool."

"Then you don't seem a-born an' a-bred," I spoke up, "at a place here about;" An' she answer'd wi' cheaeks up so red As a pi'ny but leaete a-come out, "No, I liv'd wi' my uncle that died Back in Eaepril, an' now I'm a-come Here to Ham, to my mother, to bide,— Aye, to her house to vind a new hwome."

I'm asheaemed that I wanted to know Any mwore of her childhood or life, But then, why should so feaeir a child grow Where noo father did bide wi' his wife; Then wi' blushes of zunrisen morn, She replied "that it midden be known, "Oh! they zent me away to be born,— Aye, they hid me when zome would be shown."

Oh! it meaede me a'most teary-ey'd, An' I vound I a'most could ha' groan'd— What! so winnen, an' still cast a-zide— What! so lovely, an' not to be own'd; Oh! a God-gift a-treated wi' scorn, Oh! a child that a squier should own; An' to zend her away to be born!— Aye, to hide her where others be shown!

HAWTHORN DOWN.

All up the down's cool brow I work'd in noontide's gleaere, On where the slow-wheel'd plow 'D a-wore the grass half bare. An' gil'cups quiver'd quick, As air did pass, An' deaeisies huddled thick Among the grass.

The while my eaerms did swing Wi' work I had on hand, The quick-wing'd lark did zing Above the green-tree'd land, An' bwoys below me chafed The dog vor fun, An' he, vor all they laef'd, Did meaeke em run.

The south zide o' the hill, My own tun-smoke rose blue,— In North Coomb, near the mill, My mother's wer in view— Where woonce her vier vor all Ov us did burn, As I have childern small Round mine in turn.

An' zoo I still wull cheer Her life wi' my small store, As she do drop a tear Bezide her lwonesome door. The love that I do owe Her ruf, I'll pay, An' then zit down below My own wi' jay.

OBEN VIELDS.

Well, you mid keep the town an' street, Wi' grassless stwones to beaet your veet, An' zunless windows where your brows Be never cooled by swayen boughs; An' let me end, as I begun, My days in oben air an' zun, Where zummer win's a-blowen sweet, Wi' blooth o' trees as white's a sheet; Or swayen boughs, a-benden low Wi' rip'nen apples in a row, An' we a-risen rathe do meet The bright'nen dawn wi' dewy veet, An' leaeve, at night, the vootless groves, To rest 'ithin our thatchen oves. An' here our childern still do bruise The deaeisy buds wi' tiny shoes, As we did meet avore em, free Vrom ceaere, in play below the tree. An' there in me'th their lively eyes Do glissen to the zunny skies, As air do blow, wi' leaezy peaece To cool, in sheaede, their burnen feaece. Where leaves o' spreaden docks do hide The zawpit's timber-lwoaded zide, An' trees do lie, wi' scraggy limbs, Among the deaeisy's crimson rims. An' they, so proud, wi' eaerms a-spread To keep their balance good, do tread Wi' ceaereful steps o' tiny zoles The narrow zides o' trees an' poles. An' zoo I'll leaeve vor your light veet The peaevement o' the zunless street, While I do end, as I begun, My days in oben air an' zun.

WHAT JOHN WER A-TELLEN HIS MIS'ESS OUT IN THE CORN GROUND.

Ah! mam! you woonce come here the while The zun, long years agoo, did shed His het upon the wheat in hile, Wi' yollow hau'm an' ears o' red, Wi' little shoes too thin vor walks Upon the scratchen stubble-stalks; You hardly reach'd wi' glossy head, The vore wheel's top o' dousty red. How time's a-vled! How years do vlee!

An' there you went an' zot inzide A hile, in air a-streamen cool, As if 'ithin a room, vull wide An' high, you zot to guide an' rule. You leaez'd about the stubbly land, An' soon vill'd up your small left hand Wi' ruddy ears your right hand vound, An' trail'd the stalks along the ground. How time's a-gone! How years do goo!

Then in the waggon you did teaeke A ride, an' as the wheels vell down Vrom ridge to vurrow, they did sheaeke On your small head your poppy crown, An' now your little maid, a dear, Your childhood's very daps, is here, Zoo let her stay, that her young feaece Mid put a former year in pleaece. How time do run! How years do roll!

SHEAeDES.

Come here an' zit a while below Theaese tower, grey and ivy-bound, In sheaede, the while the zun do glow So hot upon the flow'ry ground; An' winds in flight, Do briskly smite The blossoms bright, upon the gleaede, But never stir the sleepen sheaede.

As when you stood upon the brink O' yonder brook, wi' back-zunn'd head, Your zunny-grounded sheaede did zink Upon the water's grav'lly bed, Where weaeves could zweep Away, or keep, The gravel heap that they'd a-meaede, But never wash away the sheaede.

An' zoo, when you can woonce vulvil What's feaeir, a-tried by heaven's light, Why never fear that evil will Can meaeke a wrong o' your good right. The right wull stand, Vor all man's hand, Till streams on zand, an' wind in gleaedes, Can zweep away the zuncast sheaedes.

TIMES O' YEAR.

Here did swaey the eltrot flow'rs, When the hours o' night wer vew, An' the zun, wi' eaerly beams Brighten'd streams, an' dried the dew, An' the goocoo there did greet Passers by wi' dousty veet.

There the milkmaid hung her brow By the cow, a-sheenen red; An' the dog, wi' upward looks, Watch'd the rooks above his head, An' the brook, vrom bow to bow, Here went swift, an' there wer slow.

Now the cwolder-blowen blast, Here do cast vrom elems' heads Feaeded leaves, a-whirlen round, Down to ground, in yollow beds, Ruslen under milkers' shoes, When the day do dry the dews.

Soon shall grass, a-vrosted bright, Glisten white instead o' green, An' the wind shall smite the cows, Where the boughs be now their screen. Things do change as years do vlee; What ha' years in store vor me?

[Gothic: Eclogue.]

RACKETEN JOE.

Racketen Joe; his Sister; his Cousin Fanny; and the Dog.

RACKETEN JOE.

Heigh! heigh! here. Who's about?

HIS SISTER.

Oh! lauk! Here's Joe, a ranten lout,

A-meaeken his wild randy-rout.

RACKETEN JOE.

Heigh! Fanny! How d'ye do? (slaps her.)

FANNY.

Oh! fie; why all the woo'se vor you A-slappen o' me, black an' blue, My back!

HIS SISTER.

A whack! you loose-eaerm'd chap, To gi'e your cousin sich a slap!

FANNY.

I'll pull the heaeir o'n, I do vow;

HIS SISTER.

I'll pull the ears o'n. There.

THE DOG.

Wowh! wow!

FANNY.

A-comen up the drong, How he did smack his leather thong, A-zingen, as he thought, a zong;

HIS SISTER.

An' there the pigs did scote Azide, in fright, wi' squeaken droat, Wi' geese a pitchen up a note. Look there.

FANNY.

His chair!

HIS SISTER.

He thump'd en down, As if he'd het en into ground.

RACKETEN JOE.

Heigh! heigh! Look here! the vier is out.

HIS SISTER.

How he do knock the tongs about!

FANNY.

Now theaere's his whip-nob, plum Upon the teaeble vor a drum;

HIS SISTER.

An' there's a dent so big's your thumb.

RACKETEN JOE.

My hat's awore so quaer.

HIS SISTER.

'Tis quaer enough, but not wi' wear; But dabs an' dashes he do bear.

RACKETEN JOE.

The zow!

HIS SISTER.

What now?

RACKETEN JOE.

She's in the plot. A-routen up the flower knot. Ho! Towzer! Here, rout out the zow, Heigh! here, hie at her. Tiss!

THE DOG.

Wowh! wow!

HIS SISTER.

How he do rant and roar, An' stump an' stamp about the vloor, An' swing, an' slap, an' slam the door! He don't put down a thing, But he do dab, an' dash, an' ding It down, till all the house do ring.

RACKETEN JOE.

She's out.

FANNY.

Noo doubt.

HIS SISTER.

Athirt the bank, Look! how the dog an' he do pank.

FANNY.

Stay out, an' heed her now an' then, To zee she don't come in ageaen.

ZUMMER AN' WINTER.

When I led by zummer streams The pride o' Lea, as naighbours thought her, While the zun, wi' evenen beams, Did cast our sheaedes athirt the water; Winds a-blowen, Streams a-flowen, Skies a-glowen, Tokens ov my jay zoo fleeten, Heighten'd it, that happy meeten.

Then, when maid an' man took pleaeces, Gay in winter's Chris'mas dances, Showen in their merry feaeces Kindly smiles an' glisnen glances; Stars a-winken, Day a-shrinken, Sheaedes a-zinken, Brought anew the happy meeten, That did meake the night too fleeten.

TO ME.

At night, as drough the meaed I took my way, In air a-sweeten'd by the new-meaede hay, A stream a-vallen down a rock did sound, Though out o' zight wer foam an' stwone to me.

Behind the knap, above the gloomy copse, The wind did russle in the trees' high tops, Though evenen darkness, an' the risen hill, Kept all the quiv'ren leaves unshown to me,

Within the copse, below the zunless sky, I heaerd a nightengeaele, a-warblen high Her lwoansome zong, a-hidden vrom my zight, An' showen nothen but her mwoan to me.

An' by a house, where rwoses hung avore The thatch-brow'd window, an' the oben door, I heaerd the merry words, an' hearty laugh O' zome feaeir maid, as eet unknown to me.

High over head the white-rimm'd clouds went on, Wi' woone a-comen up, vor woone a-gone; An' feaeir they floated in their sky-back'd flight, But still they never meaede a sound to me.

An' there the miller, down the stream did float Wi' all his childern, in his white-sail'd bwoat, Vur off, beyond the stragglen cows in meaed, But zent noo vaice, athirt the ground, to me.

An' then a buttervlee, in zultry light, A-wheelen on about me, vier-bright, Did show the gayest colors to my eye, But still did bring noo vaice around to me.

I met the merry laugher on the down, Bezide her mother, on the path to town, An' oh! her sheaepe wer comely to the zight, But wordless then wer she a-vound to me.

Zoo, sweet ov unzeen things mid be sound, An' feaeir to zight mid soundless things be vound, But I've the laugh to hear, an' feaece to zee, Vor they be now my own, a-bound to me.

TWO AN' TWO.

The zun, O Jessie, while his feaece do rise In vi'ry skies, a-shedden out his light On yollow corn a-weaeven down below His yollow glow, is gay avore the zight. By two an' two, How goodly things do goo, A-matchen woone another to fulvill The goodness ov their Meaeker's will.

How bright the spreaden water in the lew Do catch the blue, a-sheenen vrom the sky; How true the grass do teaeke the dewy bead That it do need, while dousty roads be dry. By peaeir an' peaeir Each thing's a-meaede to sheaere The good another can bestow, In wisdom's work down here below.

The lowest lim's o' trees do seldom grow A-spread too low to gi'e the cows a sheaede; The air's to bear the bird, the bird's to rise; Vor light the eyes, vor eyes the light's a-meaede. 'Tis gi'e an' teaeke, An' woone vor others' seaeke; In peaeirs a-worken out their ends, Though men be foes that should be friends.

THE LEW O' THE RICK.

At eventide the wind wer loud By trees an' tuns above woone's head, An' all the sky wer woone dark cloud, Vor all it had noo rain to shed; An' as the darkness gather'd thick, I zot me down below a rick, Where straws upon the win' did ride Wi' giddy flights, along my zide, Though unmolesten me a-resten, Where I lay 'ithin the lew.

My wife's bright vier indoors did cast Its fleaeme upon the window peaenes That screen'd her teaeble, while the blast Vled on in music down the leaenes; An' as I zot in vaiceless thought Ov other zummer-tides, that brought The sheenen grass below the lark, Or left their ricks a-wearen dark, My childern voun' me, an' come roun' me, Where I lay 'ithin the lew.

The rick that then did keep me lew Would be a-gone another Fall, An' I, in zome years, in a vew, Mid leaeve the childern, big or small; But He that meaede the wind, an' meaede The lewth, an' zent wi' het the sheaede, Can keep my childern, all alwone O' under me, an' though vull grown Or little lispers, wi' their whispers, There a-lyen in the lew.

THE WIND IN WOONE'S FEAeCE.

There lovely Jenny past, While the blast did blow On over Ashknowle Hill To the mill below; A-blinken quick, wi' lashes long, Above her cheaeks o' red, Ageaen the wind, a-beaeten strong, Upon her droopen head.

Oh! let dry win' blow bleaek, On her cheaek so heaele, But let noo rain-shot chill Meaeke her ill an' peaele; Vor healthy is the breath the blast Upon the hill do yield, An' healthy is the light a cast Vrom lofty sky to vield.

An' mid noo sorrow-pang Ever hang a tear Upon the dark lash-heaeir Ov my feaeirest dear; An' mid noo unkind deed o' mine Spweil what my love mid gain, Nor meaeke my merry Jenny pine At last wi' dim-ey'd pain.

TOKENS.

Green mwold on zummer bars do show That they've a-dripp'd in Winter wet; The hoof-worn ring o' groun' below The tree, do tell o' storms or het; The trees in rank along a ledge Do show where woonce did bloom a hedge; An' where the vurrow-marks do stripe The down, the wheat woonce rustled ripe. Each mark ov things a-gone vrom view— To eyezight's woone, to soulzight two.

The grass ageaen the mwoldren door 'S a token sad o' vo'k a-gone, An' where the house, bwoth wall an' vloor, 'S a-lost, the well mid linger on. What tokens, then, could Meaery gi'e Thaet she'd a-liv'd, an' liv'd vor me, But things a-done vor thought an' view? Good things that nwone ageaen can do, An' every work her love ha' wrought, To eyezight's woone, but two to thought.

TWEIL.

The rick ov our last zummer's haulen Now vrom grey's a-feaeded dark, An' off the barken rail's a-vallen, Day by day, the rotten bark.— But short's the time our works do stand, So feaeir's we put em out ov hand, Vor time a-passen, wet an' dry, Do spweil em wi' his changen sky, The while wi' striven hope, we men, Though a-ruen time's undoen, Still do tweil an' tweil ageaen.

In wall-zide sheaedes, by leafy bowers, Underneath the swayen tree, O' leaete, as round the bloomen flowers, Lowly humm'd the giddy bee, My childern's small left voot did smite Their tiny speaede, the while the right Did trample on a deaeisy head, Bezide the flower's dousty bed, An' though their work wer idle then, They a-smilen, an' a-tweilen, Still did work an' work ageaen.

Now their little limbs be stronger, Deeper now their vaice do sound; An' their little veet be longer, An' do tread on other ground; An' rust is on the little bleaedes Ov all the broken-hafted speaedes, An' flow'rs that wer my hope an' pride Ha' long agoo a-bloom'd an' died, But still as I did leaebor then Vor love ov all them childern small, Zoo now I'll tweil an' tweil ageaen.

When the smokeless tun's a-growen Cwold as dew below the stars, An' when the vier noo mwore's a-glowen Red between the window bars, We then do lay our weary heads In peace upon their nightly beds, An' gi'e woone sock, wi' heaven breast, An' then breathe soft the breath o' rest, Till day do call the sons o' men Vrom night-sleep's blackness, vull o' sprackness, Out abroad to tweil ageaen.