Part 25

I'M OUT O' DOOR.

I'm out, when, in the Winter's blast, The zun, a-runnen lowly round, Do mark the sheaedes the hedge do cast At noon, in hoarvrost, on the ground, I'm out when snow's a-lyen white In keen-air'd vields that I do pass, An' moonbeams, vrom above, do smite On ice an' sleeper's window-glass. I'm out o' door, When win' do zweep, By hangen steep, Or hollow deep, At Lindenore.

O welcome is the lewth a-vound By rustlen copse, or ivied bank, Or by the hay-rick, weather-brown'd By barken-grass, a-springen rank; Or where the waggon, vrom the team A-freed, is well a-housed vrom wet, An' on the dousty cart-house beam Do hang the cobweb's white-lin'd net. While storms do roar, An' win' do zweep, By hangen steep, Or hollow deep, At Lindenore.

An' when a good day's work's a-done An' I do rest, the while a squall Do rumble in the hollow tun, An' ivy-stems do whip the wall. Then in the house do sound about My ears, dear vaices vull or thin, A prayen vor the souls vur out At sea, an' cry wi' bibb'ren chin— Oh! shut the door. What soul can sleep, Upon the deep, When storms do zweep At Lindenore.

GRIEF AN' GLADNESS.

"Can all be still, when win's do blow? Look down the grove an' zee The boughs a-swingen on the tree, An' beaeten weaeves below. Zee how the tweilen vo'k do bend Upon their windward track, Wi' ev'ry string, an' garment's end, A-flutt'ren at their back." I cried, wi' sorrow sore a-tried, An' hung, wi' Jenny at my zide, My head upon my breast. Wi' strokes o' grief so hard to bear, 'Tis hard vor souls to rest.

Can all be dull, when zuns do glow? Oh! no; look down the grove, Where zides o' trees be bright above; An' weaeves do sheen below; An' neaeked stems o' wood in hedge Do gleaem in streaeks o' light, An' rocks do gleaere upon the ledge O' yonder zunny height, "No, Jeaene, wi' trials now withdrawn, Lik' darkness at a happy dawn." I cried, "Noo mwore despair; Wi' our lost peace ageaen a-vound, 'Tis wrong to harbour ceaere."

SLIDEN.

When wind wer keen, Where ivy-green Did clwosely wind Roun' woak-tree rind, An' ice shone bright, An' meaeds wer white, wi' thin-spread snow Then on the pond, a-spreaden wide, We bwoys did zweep along the slide, A-striken on in merry row.

There ruddy-feaeced, In busy heaeste, We all did wag A spanken lag, To win good speed, When we, straight-knee'd, wi' foreright tooes, Should shoot along the slipp'ry track, Wi' grinden sound, a-getten slack, The slower went our clumpen shoes.

Vor zome slow chap, Did teaeke mishap, As he did veel His hinder heel A-het a thump, Wi' zome big lump, o' voot an' shoe. Down vell the voremost wi' a squall, An' down the next went wi' a sprawl, An' down went all the laughen crew.

As to an' fro, In merry row, We all went round On ice, on ground The maidens nigh A-stannen shy, did zee us slide, An' in their eaeprons small, did vwold Their little hands, a-got red-cwold, Or slide on ice o' two veet wide.

By leafless copse, An' beaere tree-tops, An' zun's low beams, An' ice-boun' streams, An' vrost-boun' mill, A-stannen still. Come wind, blow on, An' gi'e the bwoys, this Chris'mas tide, The glitt'ren ice to meaeke a slide, As we had our slide, years agone.

LWONESOMENESS.

As I do zew, wi' nimble hand, In here avore the window's light, How still do all the housegear stand Around my lwonesome zight. How still do all the housegear stand Since Willie now 've a-left the land.

The rwose-tree's window-sheaeden bow Do hang in leaf, an' win'-blow'd flow'rs, Avore my lwonesome eyes do show Theaese bright November hours. Avore my lwonesome eyes do show Wi' nwone but I to zee em blow.

The sheaedes o' leafy buds, avore The peaenes, do sheaeke upon the glass, An' stir in light upon the vloor, Where now vew veet do pass, An' stir in light upon the vloor, Where there's a-stirren nothen mwore.

This win' mid dreve upon the main, My brother's ship, a-plowen foam, But not bring mother, cwold, nor rain, At her now happy hwome. But not bring mother, cwold, nor rain, Where she is out o' pain.

Zoo now that I'm a-mwopen dumb, A-keepen father's house, do you Come of'en wi' your work vrom hwome, Vor company. Now do. Come of'en wi' your work vrom hwome, Up here a-while. Do come.

A SNOWY NIGHT.

'Twer at night, an' a keen win' did blow Vrom the east under peaele-twinklen stars, All a-zweepen along the white snow; On the groun', on the trees, on the bars, Vrom the hedge where the win' russled drough, There a light-russlen snow-doust did vall; An' noo pleaece wer a-vound that wer lew, But the shed, or the ivy-hung wall.

Then I knock'd at the wold passage door Wi' the win'-driven snow on my locks; Till, a-comen along the cwold vloor, There my Jenny soon answer'd my knocks. Then the wind, by the door a-swung wide, Flung some snow in her clear-bloomen feaece, An' she blink'd wi' her head all a-zide, An' a-chucklen, went back to her pleaece.

An' in there, as we zot roun' the brands, Though the talkers wer mainly the men, Bloomen Jeaene, wi' her work in her hands, Did put in a good word now an' then. An' when I took my leave, though so bleaek Wer the weather, she went to the door, Wi' a smile, an' a blush on the cheaek That the snow had a-smitten avore.

THE YEAR-CLOCK.

We zot bezide the leaefy wall, Upon the bench at evenfall, While aunt led off our minds vrom ceaere Wi' veaeiry teaeles, I can't tell where: An' vound us woone among her stock O' feaebles, o' the girt Year-clock. His feaece wer blue's the zummer skies, An' wide's the zight o' looken eyes, For hands, a zun wi' glowen feaece, An' peaeler moon wi' swifter peaece, Did wheel by stars o' twinklen light, By bright-wall'd day, an' dark-treed night; An' down upon the high-sky'd land, A-reachen wide, on either hand, Wer hill an' dell wi' win'-sway'd trees, An' lights a-zweepen over seas, An' gleamen cliffs, an' bright-wall'd tow'rs, Wi' sheaedes a-marken on the hours; An' as the feaece, a-rollen round, Brought comely sheaepes along the ground. The Spring did come in winsome steaete Below a glowen rainbow geaete; An' fan wi' air a-blowen weak, Her glossy heaeir, an' rwosy cheaek, As she did shed vrom oben hand, The leaepen zeed on vurrow'd land; The while the rook, wi' heaesty flight, A-floaten in the glowen light, Did bear avore her glossy breast A stick to build her lofty nest, An' strong-limb'd Tweil, wi' steady hands, Did guide along the vallow lands The heavy zull, wi' bright-sheaer'd beam, Avore the weaery oxen team, Wi' Spring a-gone there come behind Sweet Zummer, jay ov ev'ry mind, Wi' feaece a-beamen to beguile Our weaery souls ov ev'ry tweil. While birds did warble in the dell In softest air o' sweetest smell; An' she, so winsome-feaeir did vwold Her comely limbs in green an' goold, An' wear a rwosy wreath, wi' studs O' berries green, an' new-born buds, A-fring'd in colours vier-bright, Wi' sheaepes o' buttervlees in flight. When Zummer went, the next ov all Did come the sheaepe o' brown-feaec'd Fall, A-smilen in a comely gown O' green, a-shot wi' yellow-brown, A-border'd wi' a goolden stripe O' fringe, a-meaede o' corn-ears ripe, An' up ageaen her comely zide, Upon her rounded eaerm, did ride A perty basket, all a-twin'd O' slender stems wi' leaves an' rind, A-vill'd wi' fruit the trees did shed, All ripe, in purple, goold, an' red; An' busy Leaebor there did come A-zingen zongs ov harvest hwome, An' red-ear'd dogs did briskly run Roun' cheervul Leisure wi' his gun, Or stan' an' mark, wi' stedvast zight, The speckled pa'tridge rise in flight. An' next ageaen to mild-feaec'd Fall Did come peaele Winter, last ov all, A-benden down, in thoughtvul mood, Her head 'ithin a snow-white hood A-deck'd wi' icy-jewels, bright An' cwold as twinklen stars o' night; An' there wer weary Leaebor, slack O' veet to keep her vrozen track, A-looken off, wi' wistful eyes, To reefs o' smoke, that there did rise A-melten to the peaele-feaec'd zun, Above the houses' lofty tun. An' there the girt Year-clock did goo By day an' night, vor ever true, Wi' mighty wheels a-rollen round 'Ithout a beaet, 'ithout a sound.

NOT GOO HWOME TO-NIGHT.

No, no, why you've noo wife at hwome Abiden up till you do come, Zoo leaeve your hat upon the pin, Vor I'm your waiter. Here's your inn, Wi' chair to rest, an' bed to roost; You have but little work to do This vrosty time at hwome in mill, Your vrozen wheel's a-stannen still, The sleepen ice woont grind vor you. No, no, you woont goo hwome to-night, Good Robin White, o' Craglin mill.

As I come by, to-day, where stood Wi' neaeked trees, the purple wood, The scarlet hunter's ho'ses veet Tore up the sheaeken ground, wind-fleet, Wi' reachen heads, an' panken hides; The while the flat-wing'd rooks in vlock. Did zwim a-sheenen at their height; But your good river, since last night, Wer all a-vroze so still's a rock. No, no, you woont goo hwome to-night, Good Robin White, o' Craglin mill.

Zee how the hufflen win' do blow, A-whirlen down the giddy snow: Zee how the sky's a-weaeren dim, Behind the elem's neaeked lim'. That there do leaen above the leaene: Zoo teaeke your pleaece bezide the dogs, An' sip a drop o' hwome-brew'd eaele, An' zing your zong or tell your teaele, While I do bait the vier wi' logs. No, no, you woont goo hwome to-night, Good Robin White, o' Craglin mill.

Your meaere's in steaeble wi' her hocks In straw above her vetterlocks, A-reachen up her meaeney neck, An' pullen down good hay vrom reck, A-meaeken slight o' snow an' sleet; She don't want you upon her back, To vall upon the slippery stwones On Hollyhuel, an' break your bwones, Or miss, in snow, her hidden track. No, no, you woont goo hwome to-night, Good Robin White, o' Craglin mill.

Here, Jenny, come pull out your key An' hansel, wi' zome tidy tea, The zilver pot that we do owe To your prize butter at the show, An' put zome bread upon the bwoard. Ah! he do smile; now that 'ull do, He'll stay. Here, Polly, bring a light, We'll have a happy hour to-night, I'm thankvul we be in the lew. No, no, he woont goo hwome to-night, Not Robin White, o' Craglin mill.

THE HUMSTRUM.

Why woonce, at Chris'mas-tide, avore The wold year wer a-reckon'd out, The humstrums here did come about, A-sounden up at ev'ry door. But now a bow do never screaepe A humstrum, any where all round, An' zome can't tell a humstrum's sheaepe, An' never heaerd his jinglen sound. As ing-an-ing did ring the string, As ang-an-ang the wires did clang.

The strings a-tighten'd lik' to crack Athirt the canister's tin zide, Did reach, a glitt'ren, zide by zide, Above the humstrum's hollow back. An' there the bwoy, wi' bended stick, A-strung wi' heaeir, to meaeke a bow, Did dreve his elbow, light'nen quick, Athirt the strings from high to low. As ing-an-ing did ring the string, As ang-an-ang the wires did clang.

The mother there did stan' an' hush Her child, to hear the jinglen sound, The merry maid, a-scrubben round Her white-steaev'd pail, did stop her brush. The mis'ess there, vor wold time's seaeke, Had gifts to gi'e, and smiles to show, An' meaester, too, did stan' an' sheaeke His two broad zides, a-chucklen low, While ing-an-ing did ring the string, While ang-an-ang the wires did clang.

The players' pockets wer a-strout, Wi' wold brown pence, a-rottlen in, Their zwangen bags did soon begin, Wi' brocks an' scraps, to plim well out. The childern all did run an' poke Their heads vrom hatch or door, an' shout A-runnen back to wolder vo'k. Why, here! the humstrums be about! As ing-an-ing did ring the string, As ang-an-ang the wires did clang.

SHAFTESBURY FEAeIR.

When hillborne Paladore did show So bright to me down miles below. As woonce the zun, a-rollen west, Did brighten up his hill's high breast. Wi' walls a-looken dazzlen white, Or yollow, on the grey-topp'd height Of Paladore, as peaele day wore Away so feaeir. Oh! how I wish'd that I wer there.

The pleaece wer too vur off to spy The liven vo'k a-passen by; The vo'k too vur vor air to bring The words that they did speak or zing. All dum' to me wer each abode, An' empty wer the down-hill road Vrom Paladore, as peaele day wore Away so feaeir; But how I wish'd that I wer there.

But when I clomb the lofty ground Where liven veet an' tongues did sound, At feaeir, bezide your bloomen feaece, The pertiest in all the pleaece, As you did look, wi' eyes as blue As yonder southern hills in view, Vrom Paladore—O Polly dear, Wi' you up there, How merry then wer I at feaeir.

Since vu'st I trod thik steep hill-zide My grieven soul 'v a-been a-tried Wi' pain, an' loss o' worldly geaer, An' souls a-gone I wanted near; But you be here to goo up still, An' look to Blackmwore vrom the hill O' Paladore. Zoo, Polly dear, We'll goo up there, An' spend an hour or two at feaeir.

The wold brown meaere's a-brought vrom grass, An' rubb'd an' cwomb'd so bright as glass; An' now we'll hitch her in, an' start To feaeir upon the new green cart, An' teaeke our little Poll between Our zides, as proud's a little queen, To Paladore. Aye, Poll a dear, Vor now 'tis feaeir, An' she's a longen to goo there.

While Paladore, on watch, do strain Her eyes to Blackmwore's blue-hill'd plaein, While Duncliffe is the traveller's mark, Or cloty Stour's a-rollen dark; Or while our bells do call, vor greaece, The vo'k avore their Seaevior's feaece, Mid Paladore, an' Poll a dear, Vor ever know O' peaece an' plenty down below.

THE BEAeTEN PATH.

The beaeten path where vo'k do meet A-comen on vrom vur an' near; How many errands had the veet That wore en out along so clear! Where eegrass bleaedes be green in meaed, Where bennets up the leaeze be brown, An' where the timber bridge do leaed Athirt the cloty brook to town, Along the path by mile an' mile, Athirt the yield, an' brook, an' stile,

There runnen childern's hearty laugh Do come an' vlee along—win' swift: The wold man's glossy-knobbed staff Do help his veet so hard to lift; The maid do bear her basket by, A-hangen at her breaethen zide; An' ceaereless young men, straight an' spry, Do whissle hwome at eventide, Along the path, a-reachen by Below tall trees an' oben sky.

There woone do goo to jay a-head; Another's jay's behind his back. There woone his vu'st long mile do tread, An' woone the last ov all his track. An' woone mid end a hopevul road, Wi' hopeless grief a-teaeken on, As he that leaetely vrom abroad Come hwome to seek his love a-gone, Noo mwore to tread, wi' comely eaese, The beaeten path athirt the leaeze.

In tweilsome hardships, year by year, He drough the worold wander'd wide, Still bent, in mind, both vur an' near To come an' meaeke his love his bride. An' passen here drough evenen dew He heaesten'd, happy, to her door, But vound the wold vo'k only two, Wi' noo mwore vootsteps on the vloor, To walk ageaen below the skies, Where beaeten paths do vall an' rise;

Vor she wer gone vrom e'thly eyes To be a-kept in darksome sleep, Until the good ageaen do rise A-jay to souls they left to weep. The rwose wer doust that bound her brow; The moth did eat her Zunday ceaepe; Her frock wer out o' fashion now; Her shoes wer dried up out o' sheaepe— The shoes that woonce did glitter black Along the leaezes beaeten track.

RUTH A-RIDEN.

Ov all the roads that ever bridge Did bear athirt a river's feaece, Or ho'ses up an' down the ridge Did wear to doust at ev'ry peaece, I'll teaeke the Stalton leaene to tread, By banks wi' primrwose-beds bespread, An' steaetely elems over head, Where Ruth do come a-riden.

An' I would rise when vields be grey Wi' mornen dew, avore 'tis dry, An' beaet the doust droughout the day To bluest hills ov all the sky; If there, avore the dusk o' night, The evenen zun, a-sheenen bright, Would pay my leaebors wi' the zight O' Ruth—o' Ruth a-riden.

Her healthy feaece is rwosy feaeir, She's comely in her gait an' lim', An' sweet's the smile her feaece do wear, Below her cap's well-rounded brim; An' while her skirt's a-spreaeden wide, In vwolds upon the ho'se's zide, He'll toss his head, an' snort wi' pride, To trot wi' Ruth a-riden.

An' as her ho'se's rottlen peaece Do slacken till his veet do beaet A slower trot, an' till her feaece Do bloom avore the tollman's geaete; Oh! he'd be glad to oben wide His high-back'd geaete, an' stand azide, A-given up his toll wi' pride, Vor zight o' Ruth a-riden.

An' oh! that Ruth could be my bride, An' I had ho'ses at my will, That I mid teaeke her by my zide, A-riden over dell an' hill; I'd zet wi' pride her litty tooe 'Ithin a stirrup, sheenen new, An' leaeve all other jays to goo Along wi' Ruth a-riden.

If maidens that be weaek an' peaele A-mwopen in the house's sheaede, Would wish to be so blithe and heaele As you did zee young Ruth a-meaede; Then, though the zummer zun mid glow, Or though the Winter win' mid blow, They'd leaep upon the saddle's bow, An' goo, lik' Ruth, a-riden.

While evenen light do sof'ly gild The moss upon the elem's bark, Avore the zingen bird's a-still'd, Or woods be dim, or day is dark, Wi' quiv'ren grass avore his breast, In cowslip beds, do lie at rest, The ho'se that now do goo the best Wi' rwosy Ruth a-riden.

BEAUTY UNDECKED.

The grass mid sheen when wat'ry beaeds O' dew do glitter on the meaeds, An' thorns be bright when quiv'ren studs O' rain do hang upon their buds— As jewels be a-meaede by art To zet the plainest vo'k off smart.

But sheaeken ivy on its tree, An' low-bough'd laurel at our knee, Be bright all day, without the gleaere, O' drops that duller leaeves mid weaer— As Jeaene is feaeir to look upon In plainest gear that she can don.

MY LOVE IS GOOD.

My love is good, my love is feaeir, She's comely to behold, O, In ev'rything that she do wear, Altho' 'tis new or wold, O. My heart do leaep to see her walk, So straight do step her veet, O, My tongue is dum' to hear her talk, Her vaice do sound so sweet, O. The flow'ry groun' wi' floor o' green Do bear but vew, so good an' true.

When she do zit, then she do seem The feaeirest to my zight, O, Till she do stan' an' I do deem, She's feaeirest at her height, O. An' she do seem 'ithin a room The feaeirest on a floor, O, Till I ageaen do zee her bloom Still feaeirer out o' door, O. Where flow'ry groun' wi' floor o' green Do bear but vew, so good an' true.

An' when the deaeisies be a-press'd Below her vootsteps waight, O, Do seem as if she look'd the best Ov all in walken gait, O. Till I do zee her zit upright Behind the ho'ses neck, O, A-holden wi' the rain so tight His tossen head in check, O, Where flow'ry groun' wi' floor o' green Do bear but vew, so good an' true.

I wish I had my own free land To keep a ho'se to ride, O, I wish I had a ho'se in hand To ride en at her zide, O. Vor if I wer as high in rank As any duke or lord, O, Or had the goold the richest bank Can shovel from his horde, O, I'd love her still, if even then She wer a leaeser in a glen.

HEEDLESS O' MY LOVE.

Oh! I vu'st know'd o' my true love, As the bright moon up above, Though her brightness wer my pleasure, She wer heedless o' my love. Tho' 'twer all gay to my eyes, Where her feaeir feaece did arise, She noo mwore thought upon my thoughts, Than the high moon in the skies.

Oh! I vu'st heaerd her a-zingen, As a sweet bird on a tree, Though her zingen wer my pleasure, 'Twer noo zong she zung to me. Though her sweet vaice that wer nigh, Meaede my wild heart to beat high, She noo mwore thought upon my thoughts, Than the birds would passers by.