Part 8

O valley dear! I wish that I 'D a-liv'd in former times, to die Wi' all the happy souls that trod Thy turf in peaece, an' died to God; Or gone wi' them that laugh'd an' zung In happy days when I wer young!

IN THE STILLNESS O' THE NIGHT.

Ov all the housen o' the pleaece, There's woone where I do like to call By day or night the best ov all, To zee my Fanny's smilen feaece; An' there the steaetely trees do grow, A-rocken as the win' do blow, While she do sweetly sleep below, In the stillness o' the night.

An' there, at evenen, I do goo A-hoppen over geaetes an' bars, By twinklen light o' winter stars, When snow do clumper to my shoe; An' zometimes we do slyly catch A chat an hour upon the stratch, An' peaert wi' whispers at the hatch In the stillness o' the night.

An' zometimes she do goo to zome Young naighbours' housen down the pleaece, An' I do get a clue to treaece Her out, an' goo to zee her hwome; An' I do wish a vield a mile, As she do sweetly chat an' smile Along the drove, or at the stile, In the stillness o' the night.

THE SETTLE AN' THE GIRT WOOD VIRE.

Ah! naighbour John, since I an' you Wer youngsters, ev'ry thing is new. My father's vires wer all o' logs O' cleft-wood, down upon the dogs Below our clavy, high, an' brode Enough to teaeke a cart an' lwoad, Where big an' little all zot down At bwoth zides, an' bevore, all roun'. An' when I zot among em, I Could zee all up ageaen the sky Drough chimney, where our vo'k did hitch The zalt-box an' the beaecon-vlitch, An' watch the smoke on out o' vier, All up an' out o' tun, an' higher. An' there wer beaecon up on rack, An' pleaetes an' dishes on the tack; An' roun' the walls wer heaerbs a-stowed In peaepern bags, an' blathers blowed. An' just above the clavy-bwoard Wer father's spurs, an' gun, an' sword; An' there wer then, our girtest pride, The settle by the vier zide. Ah! gi'e me, if I wer a squier, The settle an' the girt wood vier.

But they've a-wall'd up now wi' bricks The vier pleaece vor dogs an' sticks, An' only left a little hole To teaeke a little greaete o' coal, So small that only twos or drees Can jist push in an' warm their knees. An' then the carpets they do use, B[=e]n't fit to tread wi' ouer shoes; An' chairs an' couches be so neat, You mussen teaeke em vor a seat: They be so fine, that vo'k mus' pleaece All over em an' outer ceaese, An' then the cover, when 'tis on, Is still too fine to loll upon. Ah! gi'e me, if I wer a squier, The settle an' the girt wood vier.

Carpets, indeed! You coulden hurt The stwone-vloor wi' a little dirt; Vor what wer brought in doors by men, The women soon mopp'd out ageaen. Zoo we did come vrom muck an' mire, An' walk in straight avore the vier; But now, a man's a-kept at door At work a pirty while, avore He's screaep'd an' rubb'd, an' cleaen and fit To goo in where his wife do zit. An' then if he should have a whiff In there, 'twould only breed a miff: He c[=a]nt smoke there, vor smoke woon't goo 'Ithin the footy little flue. Ah! gi'e me, if I wer a squier, The settle an' the girt wood vier.

THE CARTER.

O, I be a carter, wi' my whip A-smacken loud, as by my zide, Up over hill, an' down the dip, The heavy lwoad do slowly ride.

An' I do haul in all the crops, An' I do bring in vuzz vrom down; An' I do goo vor wood to copse, An' car the corn an' straw to town.

An' I do goo vor lime, an' bring Hwome cider wi' my sleek-heaeir'd team, An' smack my limber whip an' zing, While all their bells do gaily cheeme.

An' I do always know the pleaece To gi'e the hosses breath, or drug; An' ev'ry hoss do know my feaece, An' mind my 'mether ho! an' whug!

An' merry hay-meaekers do ride Vrom vield in zummer wi' their prongs, In my blue waggon, zide by zide Upon the reaeves, a-zingen zongs.

An' when the vrost do catch the stream, An' oves wi' icicles be hung, My panten hosses' breath do steam In white-grass'd vields, a-haulen dung.

An' mine's the waggon fit vor lwoads, An' mine be lwoads to cut a rout; An' mine's a team, in routy rwoads, To pull a lwoaded waggon out.

A zull is nothen when do come Behind their lags; an' they do teaeke A roller as they would a drum, An' harrow as they would a reaeke.

O! I be a carter, wi' my whip A-smacken loud, as by my zide, Up over hill, an' down the dip, The heavy lwoad do slowly ride.

CHRIS'MAS INVITATION.

Come down to-morrow night; an' mind, Don't leaeve thy fiddle-bag behind; We'll sheaeke a lag, an' drink a cup O' eaele, to keep wold Chris'mas up.

An' let thy sister teaeke thy eaerm, The walk won't do her any harm; There's noo dirt now to spweil her frock, The ground's a-vroze so hard's a rock.

You won't meet any stranger's feaece, But only naighbours o' the pleaece, An' Stowe, an' Combe; an' two or dree Vrom uncle's up at Rookery.

An' thou wu'lt vind a rwosy feaece, An' peaeir ov eyes so black as sloos, The prettiest woones in all the pleaece,— I'm sure I needen tell thee whose.

We got a back-bran', dree girt logs So much as dree ov us can car; We'll put em up athirt the dogs, An' meaeke a vier to the bar.

An' ev'ry woone shall tell his teaele, An' ev'ry woone shall zing his zong, An' ev'ry woone wull drink his eaele To love an' frien'ship all night long.

We'll snap the tongs, we'll have a ball, We'll sheaeke the house, we'll lift the ruf, We'll romp an' meaeke the maidens squall, A catchen o'm at blind-man's buff.

Zoo come to-morrow night; an' mind, Don't leaeve thy fiddle-bag behind; We'll sheaeke a lag, an' drink a cup O' eaele, to keep wold Chris'mas up.

KEEPEN UP O' CHRIS'MAS.

An' zoo you didden come athirt, To have zome fun last night: how wer't? Vor we'd a-work'd wi' all our might To scour the iron things up bright, An' brush'd an' scrubb'd the house all drough; An' brought in vor a brand, a plock O' wood so big's an uppen-stock, An' hung a bough o' misseltoo, An' ax'd a merry friend or two, To keepen up o' Chris'mas.

An' there wer wold an' young; an' Bill, Soon after dark, stalk'd up vrom mill. An' when he wer a-comen near, He whissled loud vor me to hear; Then roun' my head my frock I roll'd, An' stood in orcha'd like a post, To meaeke en think I wer a ghost. But he wer up to't, an' did scwold To vind me stannen in the cwold, A keepen up o' Chris'mas.

We play'd at forfeits, an' we spun The trencher roun', an' meaede such fun! An' had a geaeme o' dree-ceaerd loo, An' then begun to hunt the shoe. An' all the wold vo'k zitten near, A-chatten roun' the vier pleaece, Did smile in woone another's feaece. An' sheaeke right hands wi' hearty cheer, An' let their left hands spill their beer, A keepen up o' Chris'mas.

ZITTEN OUT THE WOLD YEAR.

Why, rain or sheen, or blow or snow, I zaid, if I could stand so's, I'd come, vor all a friend or foe, To sheaeke ye by the hand, so's; An' spend, wi' kinsvo'k near an' dear, A happy evenen, woonce a year, A-zot wi' me'th Avore the he'th To zee the new year in, so's.

There's Jim an' Tom, a-grown the size O' men, girt lusty chaps, so's, An' Fanny wi' her sloo-black eyes, Her mother's very dap's, so's; An' little Bill, so brown's a nut, An' Poll a gigglen little slut, I hope will shoot Another voot The year that's comen in, so's.

An' there, upon his mother's knee, So peaert do look about, so's, The little woone ov all, to zee His vu'st wold year goo out, so's An' zoo mid God bless all o's still, Gwain up or down along the hill, To meet in glee Ageaen to zee A happy new year in, so's.

The wold clock's han' do softly steal Up roun' the year's last hour, so's; Zoo let the han'-bells ring a peal, Lik' them a-hung in tow'r, so's. Here, here be two vor Tom, an' two Vor Fanny, an' a peaeir vor you; We'll meaeke em swing, An' meaeke em ring, The merry new year in, so's.

Tom, mind your time there; you be wrong. Come, let your bells all sound, so's: A little clwoser, Poll; ding, dong! There, now 'tis right all round, so's. The clock's a-striken twelve, d'ye hear? Ting, ting, ding, dong! Farewell, wold year! 'Tis gone, 'tis gone!— Goo on, goo on, An' ring the new woone in, so's!

WOAK WER GOOD ENOUGH WOONCE.

Ees: now mahogany's the goo, An' good wold English woak won't do. I wish vo'k always mid avvword Hot meals upon a woaken bwoard, As good as thik that took my cup An' trencher all my growen up. Ah! I do mind en in the hall, A-reachen all along the wall, Wi' us at father's end, while tother Did teaeke the maidens wi' their mother; An' while the risen steam did spread In curlen clouds up over head, Our mouths did wag, an' tongues did run, To meaeke the maidens laugh o' fun.

A woaken bedstead, black an' bright, Did teaeke my weary bwones at night, Where I could stratch an' roll about Wi' little fear o' vallen out; An' up above my head a peaeir Ov ugly heads a-carv'd did steaere, An' grin avore a bright vull moon A'most enough to frighten woone. An' then we had, vor cwoats an' frocks, Woak cwoffers wi' their rusty locks An' neaemes in nails, a-left behind By kinsvo'k dead an' out o' mind; Zoo we did get on well enough Wi' things a-meaede ov English stuff. But then, you know, a woaken stick Wer cheap, vor woaken trees wer thick. When poor wold Gramfer Green wer young, He zaid a squirrel mid a-sprung Along the dell, vrom tree to tree, Vrom Woodcomb all the way to Lea; An' woak wer all vo'k did avvword, Avore his time, vor bed or bwoard.

LULLABY.

The rook's nest do rock on the tree-top Where vew foes can stand; The martin's is high, an' is deep In the steep cliff o' zand. But thou, love, a-sleepen where vootsteps Mid come to thy bed, Hast father an' mother to watch thee An' shelter thy head. Lullaby, Lilybrow. Lie asleep; Blest be thy rest.

An' zome birds do keep under ruffen Their young vrom the storm, An' zome wi' nest-hoodens o' moss And o' wool, do lie warm. An' we wull look well to the houseruf That o'er thee mid leaek, An' the blast that mid beaet on thy winder Shall not smite thy cheaek. Lullaby, Lilibrow. Lie asleep; Blest be thy rest.

MEARY-ANN'S CHILD.

Meary-Ann wer alwone wi' her beaeby in eaerms, In her house wi' the trees over head, Vor her husban' wer out in the night an' the storms, In his business a-tweilen vor bread; An' she, as the wind in the elems did roar, Did grievy vor Robert all night out o' door.

An' her kinsvo'k an' nai'bours did zay ov her chile, (Under the high elem tree), That a prettier never did babble or smile Up o' top ov a proud mother's knee; An' his mother did toss en, an' kiss en, an' call En her darlen, an' life, an' her hope, an' her all.

But she vound in the evenen the chile werden well, (Under the dark elem tree), An' she thought she could gi'e all the worold to tell, Vor a truth what his ailen mid be; An' she thought o'en last in her prayers at night, An' she look'd at en last as she put out the light.

An' she vound en grow wo'se in the dead o' the night, (Under the dark elem tree), An' she press'd en ageaen her warm bosom so tight, An' she rock'd en so sorrowfully; An' there laid a-nestlen the poor little bwoy, Till his struggles grew weak, an' his cries died awoy.

An' the moon wer a-sheenen down into the pleaece, (Under the dark elem tree), An' his mother could zee that his lips an' his feaece Wer so white as cleaen axen could be; An' her tongue wer a-tied an' her still heart did zwell, Till her senses come back wi' the vu'st tear that vell.

Never mwore can she veel his warm feaece in her breast, (Under the green elem tree), Vor his eyes be a-shut, an' his hands be at rest, An' he's now vrom his pain a-zet free; Vor his soul, we do know, is to heaven a-vled, Where noo pain is a-known, an' noo tears be a-shed.

[Gothic: Eclogue.]

FATHER COME HWOME.

John, Wife, an' Child.

CHILD.

O mother, mother! be the teaeties done? Here's father now a-comen down the track, Hes got his nitch o' wood upon his back, An' such a speaeker in en! I'll be bound, He's long enough to reach vrom ground Up to the top ov ouer tun; 'Tis jist the very thing vor Jack an' I To goo a-colepecksen wi' by an' by.

WIFE.

The teaeties must be ready pretty nigh; Do teaeke woone up upon the fork' an' try. The ceaeke upon the vier, too, 's a-burnen, I be afeaerd: do run an' zee, an' turn en.

JOHN.

Well, mother! here I be woonce mwore, at hwome.

WIFE.

Ah! I be very glad you be a-come. You be a-tired an' cwold enough, I s'pose; Zit down an' rest your bwones, an' warm your nose.

JOHN.

Why I be nippy: what is there to eat?

WIFE.

Your supper's nearly ready. I've a got Some teaeties here a-doen in the pot; I wish wi' all my heart I had some meat. I got a little ceaeke too, here, a-beaeken o'n Upon the vier. 'Tis done by this time though. He's nice an' moist; vor when I wer a-meaeken o'n I stuck some bits ov apple in the dough.

CHILD.

Well, father; what d'ye think? The pig got out This mornen; an' avore we zeed or heaerd en, He run about, an' got out into geaerden, An' routed up the groun' zoo wi' his snout!

JOHN.

Now only think o' that! You must contrive To keep en in, or else he'll never thrive.

CHILD.

An' father, what d'ye think? I voun' to-day The nest where thik wold hen ov our's do lay: 'Twer out in orcha'd hedge, an' had vive aggs.

WIFE.

Lo'k there: how wet you got your veet an' lags! How did ye get in such a pickle, Jahn?

JOHN.

I broke my hoss, an' been a-fwo'ced to stan' All's day in mud an' water vor to dig, An' meaede myzelf so wetshod as a pig.

CHILD.

Father, teaeke off your shoes, then come, and I Will bring your wold woones vor ye, nice an' dry.

WIFE.

An' have ye got much hedgen mwore to do?

JOHN.

Enough to last vor dree weeks mwore or zoo.

WIFE.

An' when y'ave done the job you be about, D'ye think you'll have another vound ye out?

JOHN.

O ees, there'll be some mwore: vor after that, I got a job o' trenchen to goo at; An' then zome trees to shroud, an' wood to vell,— Zoo I do hope to rub on pretty well Till zummer time; an' then I be to cut The wood an' do the trenchen by the tut.

CHILD.

An' nex' week, father, I'm a-gwain to goo A-picken stwones, d'ye know, vor Farmer True.

WIFE.

An' little Jack, you know, 's a-gwain to eaern A penny too, a-keepen birds off corn.

JOHN.

O brave! What wages do 'e meaen to gi'e?

WIFE.

She dreppence vor a day, an' twopence he.

JOHN.

Well, Polly; thou must work a little spracker When thou bist out, or else thou wu'ten pick A dungpot lwoad o' stwones up very quick.

CHILD.

Oh! yes I shall. But Jack do want a clacker: An' father, wull ye teaeke an' cut A stick or two to meaeke his hut.

JOHN.

You wench! why you be always up a-baggen. I be too tired now to-night, I'm sure, To zet a-doen any mwore: Zoo I shall goo up out o' the way o' the waggon.

[Gothic: Eclogue.]

A GHOST.

Jem an' Dick.

JEM.

This is a darkish evenen; b'ye a-feaerd O' zights? Theaese leaene's a-haunted, I've a heaerd.

DICK.

No, I be'nt much a-feaer'd. If vo'k don't strive To over-reach me while they be alive, I don't much think the dead wull ha' the will To come back here to do me any ill. An' I've a-been about all night, d'ye know, Vrom candle-lighten till the cock did crow; But never met wi' nothen bad enough To be much wo'se than what I be myzuf; Though I, lik' others, have a-heaerd vo'k zay The girt house is a-haunted, night an' day.

JEM.

Aye; I do mind woone winter 'twer a-zaid The farmer's vo'k could hardly sleep a-bed, They heaerd at night such scuffens an' such jumpens, Such ugly naises an' such rottlen thumpens.

DICK.

Aye, I do mind I heaerd his son, young Sammy, Tell how the chairs did dance an' doors did slammy; He stood to it—though zome vo'k woulden heed en— He didden only hear the ghost, but zeed en; An', hang me! if I han't a'most a-shook, To hear en tell what ugly sheaepes it took. Did zometimes come vull six veet high, or higher, In white, he zaid, wi' eyes lik' coals o' vier; An' zometimes, wi' a feaece so peaele as milk, A smileless leaedy, all a-deck'd in silk. His heaeir, he zaid, did use to stand upright, So stiff's a bunch o' rushes, wi' his fright.

JEM.

An' then you know that zome'hat is a-zeed Down there in leaene, an' over in the meaed, A-comen zometimes lik' a slinken hound, Or rollen lik' a vleece along the ground. An' woonce, when gramfer wi' his wold grey meaere Wer riden down the leaene vrom Shroton feaeir, It roll'd so big's a pack ov wool across The road just under en, an' leaem'd his hoss.

DICK.

Aye; did ye ever hear—vo'k zaid 'twer true— O' what bevell Jack Hine zome years agoo? Woone vrosty night, d'ye know, at Chris'mas tide, Jack, an' another chap or two bezide, 'D a-been out, zomewhere up at tother end O' parish, to a naighbour's house to spend A merry hour, an' mid a-took a cup Or two o' eaele a-keepen Chris'mas up; Zoo I do lot 'twer leaete avore the peaerty 'D a-burnt their bron out; I do lot, avore They thought o' turnen out o' door 'Twer mornen, vor their friendship then wer hearty. Well; clwose ageaen the vootpath that do leaed Vrom higher parish over withy-meaed, There's still a hollow, you do know: they tried there, In former times, to meaeke a cattle-pit, But gie'd it up, because they coulden get The water any time to bide there. Zoo when the merry fellows got Just overright theaese lwonesome spot, Jack zeed a girt big house-dog wi' a collar, A-stannen down in thik there hollor. Lo'k there, he zaid, there's zome girt dog a-prowlen: I'll just goo down an' gi'e'n a goodish lick Or two wi' theaese here groun'-ash stick, An' zend the shaggy rascal hwome a-howlen. Zoo there he run, an' gi'ed en a good whack Wi' his girt ashen stick a-thirt his back; An', all at woonce, his stick split right all down In vower pieces; an' the pieces vled Out ov his hand all up above his head, An' pitch'd in vower corners o' the groun'. An' then he velt his han' get all so num', He coulden veel a vinger or a thum'; An' after that his eaerm begun to zwell, An' in the night a-bed he vound The skin o't peelen off all round. 'Twer near a month avore he got it well.

JEM.

That wer vor hetten [=o]'n. He should a let en Alwone d'ye zee: 'twer wicked vor to het en.

SUNDRY PIECES.

A ZONG.

O Jenny, don't sobby! vor I shall be true; Noo might under heaven shall peaert me vrom you. My heart will be cwold, Jenny, when I do slight The zwell o' thy bosom, thy eyes' sparklen light.