Poems Of Rural Life In The Dorset Dialect Part 11

Come out to the parrock, come out to the tree, The madens an' chaps be a-waten vor thee; There's Jim wi' his fiddle to pla us some reels, Come out along wi' us, an' fling up thy heels.

Come, all the long gra.s.s is a-mow'd an' a-carr'd, An' the turf is so smooth as a bwoard an' so hard; There's a bank to zit down, when y'ave danced a reel drough, An' a tree over head vor to keep off the dew.

There be rwoses an' honeyzucks hangen among The bushes, to put in thy weast; an' the zong O' the nightingeale's heard in the hedges all roun'; An' I'll get thee a glow-worm to stick in thy gown.

There's Meary so modest, an' Jenny so smart, An' Mag that do love a good rompse to her heart; There's Joe at the mill that do zing funny zongs, An' short-lagged d.i.c.k, too, a-waggen his p.r.o.ngs.

Zoo come to the parrock, come out to the tree, The madens an' chaps be a-waten vor thee; There's Jim wi' his fiddle to pla us some reels,-- Come out along wi' us, an' fling up thy heels.

[Gothic: Eclogue.]

THE VEAIRIES.

_Simon an' Samel._

SIMON.

There's what the vo'k do call a veairy ring Out there, lo'k zee. Why, 'tis an oddish thing.

SAMEL.

Ah! zoo do seem. I wunder how do come!

What is it that do meake it, I do wonder?

SIMON.

Be hang'd if I can tell, I'm sure! But zome Do zay do come by lightnen when do thunder; An' zome do say sich rings as thik ring there is, Do grow in dancen-tracks o' little veairies, That in the nights o' zummer or o' spring Do come by moonlight, when noo other veet Do tread the dewy gra.s.s, but their's, an' meet An' dance away together in a ring.

SAMEL.

An' who d'ye think do work the fiddlestick?

A little veairy too, or else wold Nick!

SIMON.

Why, they do zay, that at the veairies' ball, There's nar a fiddle that's a-hear'd at all; But they do pla upon a little pipe A-meade o' kexes or o' straws, dead ripe, A-stuck in row (zome short an' longer zome) Wi' slime o' snals, or bits o' plum-tree gum, An' meake sich music that to hear it sound, You'd stick so still's a pollard to the ground.

SAMEL.

What do em dance? 'Tis plan by thease green wheels, They don't frisk in an' out in dree-hand reels; Vor else, instead o' thease here girt round O, The'd cut us out a figure aght (8), d'ye know.

SIMON.

Oh! they ha' jigs to fit their little veet.

They woulden dance, you know, at their fine ball, The dree an' vow'r han' reels that we do sprawl An' kick about in, when we men do meet.

SAMEL.

An' zoo have zome vo'k, in their midnight rambles, A-catch'd the veairies, then, in theasem gambols.

SIMON.

Why, yes; but they be off lik' any shot, So soon's a man's a-comen near the spot

SAMEL.

But in the day-time where do veairies hide?

Where be their hwomes, then? where do veairies bide?

SIMON.

Oh! they do get awa down under ground, In hollow pleazen where they can't be vound.

But still my gramfer, many years agoo, (He liv'd at Grenley-farm, an milk'd a deairy), If what the wolder vo'k do tell is true, Woone mornen early vound a veairy.

SAMEL.

An' did he stop, then, wi' the good wold bwoy?

Or did he soon contrive to slip awoy?

SIMON.

Why, when the vo'k were all asleep, a-bed, The veairies us'd to come, as 'tis a-zaid, Avore the vire wer cwold, an' dance an hour Or two at dead o' night upon the vloor; Var they, by only utteren a word Or charm, can come down chimney lik' a bird; Or draw their bodies out so long an' narrow, That they can vlee drough keyholes lik' an arrow.

An' zoo woone midnight, when the moon did drow His light drough window, roun' the vloor below, An' crickets roun' the bricken he'th did zing, They come an' danced about the hall in ring; An' tapp'd, drough little holes noo eyes could spy, A kag o' poor aunt's mead a-stannen by.

An' woone o'm drink'd so much, he coulden mind The word he wer to zay to meake en small; He got a-dather'd zoo, that after all Out tothers went an' left en back behind.

An' after he'd a-beat about his head, Agean the keyhole till he wer half dead, He laid down all along upon the vloor Till gramfer, comen down, unlocked the door: An' then he zeed en ('twer enough to frighten en) Bolt out o' door, an' down the road lik' lightenen.

FALL.

CORN A-TURNEN YOLLOW.

The windless copse ha' sheady boughs, Wi' blackbirds' evenen whistles; The hills ha' sheep upon their brows, The zummerleaze ha' thistles: The meads be ga in gra.s.sy Ma, But, oh! vrom hill to hollow, Let me look down upon a groun'

O' corn a-turnen yollow.

An' pease do grow in tangled beds, An' beans be sweet to snuff, O; The teaper woats do bend their heads, The barley's beard is rough, O.

The turnip green is fresh between The corn in hill or hollow, But I'd look down upon a groun'

O' wheat a-turnen yollow.