Poems Of Rural Life In The Dorset Dialect Part 13

Ah! Jimmy vow'd he'd have the law Ov ouer cousin Poll's Jack-daw, That had by day his withy jal A-hangen up upon a nal, Agean the elem tree, avore The house, jist over-right the door, An' twitted vo'k a-pa.s.sen by A-most so plan as you or I; Vor hardly any day did pa.s.s 'Ithout Tom's teachen o'm zome sa'ce; Till by-an'-by he call'd em all 'Soft-polls' an' 'gawkeys,' girt an' small.

An' zoo, as Jim went down along The leane a-whisslen ov a zong, The saucy Daw cried out by rote "Girt Soft-poll!" lik' to split his droat.

Jim stopp'd an' grabbled up a clot, An' zent en at en lik' a shot; An' down went Daw an' cage avore The clot, up thump agean the door.

Zoo out run Poll an' Tom, to zee What all the meanen o't mid be; "Now who did that?" zaid Poll. "Who whurr'd Thease clot?" "Girt Soft-poll!" cried the bird.

An' when Tom catch'd a glimpse o' Jim, A-looken all so red an' slim, An' slinken on, he vled, red hot, Down leane to catch en, lik' a shot; But Jim, that thought he'd better trust To lags than vistes, tried em vu'st.

An' Poll, that zeed Tom woulden catch En, stood a-smilen at the hatch.

An' zoo he vollow'd en for two Or dree stwones' drows, an' let en goo.

THE IVY.

Upon thease knap I'd sooner be The ivy that do climb the tree, Than bloom the gaest rwose a-tied An' trimm'd upon the house's zide.

The rwose mid be the madens' pride, But still the ivy's wild an' free; An' what is all that life can gi'e, 'Ithout a free light heart, John?

The creepen sheade mid steal too soon Upon the rwose in afternoon; But here the zun do drow his het Vrom when do rise till when do zet, To dry the leaves the ran do wet.

An' evenen ar do bring along The merry deairy-maden's zong, The zong of free light hearts, John.

Oh! why do vo'k so often chan Their pinen minds vor love o' gan, An' gi'e their innocence to rise A little in the worold's eyes?

If pride could lift us to the skies, What man do value G.o.d do slight, An' all is nothen in his zight 'Ithout an honest heart, John.

An ugly feace can't bribe the brooks To show it back young han'some looks, Nor crooked vo'k intice the light To cast their zummer sheades upright: Noo goold can blind our Meaker's zight.

An' what's the odds what cloth do hide The bosom that do hold inside A free an' honest heart, John?

THE WELSHNUT TREE.

When in the evenen the zun's a-zinken, A drowen sheades vrom the yollow west, An' mother, weary, 's a-zot a thinken, Wi' vwolded earms by the vire at rest, Then we do zwarm, O, Wi' such a charm, O, So vull o' glee by the welshnut tree.

A-leaven father in-doors, a-leinen'

In his girt chair in his easy shoes, Or in the settle so high behine en, While down bezide en the dog do snooze, Our tongues do run, O, Enough to stun, O, Your head wi' glee by the welshnut tree.

There we do pla 'thread the woman's needle.'

An' slap the madens a-darten drough: Or try who'll ax em the hardest riddle, Or soonest tell woone a-put us, true; Or zit an' ring, O, The bells, ding, ding, O, Upon our knee by the welshnut tree.

An' zome do goo out, an' hide in orcha't, An' tothers, slily a-stealen by, Where there's a dark cunnen pleace, do sarch it, Till they do zee em an' cry, "I spy,"

An' thik a-vound, O, Do gi'e a bound, O, To get off free to the welshnut tree.

Poll went woone night, that we midden vind her, Inzide a woak wi' a hollow moot, An' drough a hole near the groun' behind her, I pok'd a stick in, an' catch'd her voot; An' out she scream'd, O, An' jump'd, an' seem'd, O, A-most to vlee to the welshnut tree.

An' when, at last, at the drashel, mother Do call us, smilen, in-door to rest, Then we do cl.u.s.ter by woone another, To zee hwome them we do love the best: An' then do sound, O, "Good night," all round, O, To end our glee by the welshnut tree.

JENNY OUT VROM HWOME.

O wild-reaven west winds; as you do roar on, The elems do rock an' the poplars do ply, An' weave do dreve weave in the dark-water'd pon',-- Oh! where do ye rise vrom, an' where do ye die?

O wild-reaven winds I do wish I could vlee Wi' you, lik' a bird o' the clouds, up above The ridge o' the hill an' the top o' the tree, To where I do long vor, an' vo'k I do love.

Or else that in under thease rock I could hear, In the soft-zwellen sounds you do leave in your road, Zome words you mid bring me, vrom tongues that be dear, Vrom friends that do love me, all scatter'd abrode.

O wild-reaven winds! if you ever do roar By the house an' the elems vrom where I'm a-come, Breathe up at the window, or call at the door, An' tell you've a-voun' me a-thinken o' hwome.

GRENLEY WATER.

The sheadeless darkness o' the night Can never blind my mem'ry's zight; An' in the storm, my fancy's eyes Can look upon their own blue skies.

The laggen moon mid fal to rise, But when the daylight's blue an' green Be gone, my fancy's zun do sheen At hwome at Grenley Water.

As when the work-vo'k us'd to ride In waggon, by the hedge's zide, Drough evenen sheades that trees cast down Vrom lofty stems athirt the groun'; An' in at house the mug went roun', While ev'ry merry man pras'd up The pretty mad that vill'd his cup, The mad o' Grenley Water.

There I do seem agean to ride The hosses to the water-zide, An' zee the visher fling his hook Below the withies by the brook; Or f.a.n.n.y, wi' her blushen look, Car on her pal, or come to dip Wi' ceareful step, her pitcher's lip Down into Grenley Water.

If I'd a farm wi' vower ploughs, An' vor my deairy fifty cows; If Grenley Water winded down Drough two good miles o' my own groun'; If half ov Ashknowle Hill wer brown Wi' my own corn,--noo growen pride Should ever meake me cast azide The mad o' Grenley Water.

THE VEAIRY VEET THAT I DO MEET.

When dewy fall's red leaves do vlee Along the gra.s.s below the tree, Or lie in yollow beds a-shook Upon the shallow-water'd brook, Or drove 'ithin a sheady nook; Then softly, in the evenen, down The knap do steal along the groun'

The veairy veet that I do meet Below the row o' beech trees.

'Tis jist avore the candle-light Do redden windows up at night, An' pealer stars do light the vogs A-risen vrom the brooks an' bogs, An' when in barkens yoppen dogs Do bark at vo'k a-comen near, Or growl a-lis'enen to hear The veairy veet that I do meet Below the row o' beech trees.

Dree times a-year do bless the road O' womanhood a-gwan abrode: When vu'st her litty veet do tread The early Ma's white deaisy bed: When leaves be all a-scattered dead; An' when the winter's vrozen gra.s.s Do glissen in the zun lik' gla.s.s Vor veairy veet that I do meet Below the row o' beech trees.

MORNeN.

When vu'st the breaken day is red, An' gra.s.s is dewy wet, An' roun' the blackberry's a-spread The spider's gliss'nen net, Then I do dreve the cows across The brook that's in a vog, While they do trot, an' bleare, an' toss Their heads to hook the dog; Vor the c.o.c.k do gi'e me warnen, An' light or dark, So brisk's a lark, I'm up at break o' mornen.

Avore the maden's sleep's a-broke By window-striken zun, Avore the busy wife's vu'st smoke Do curl above the tun, My day's begun. An' when the zun 'S a-zinken in the west, The work the mornen brought's a-done, An' I do goo to rest, Till the c.o.c.k do gi'e me warnen; An' light or dark, So brisk's a lark, I'm up agean nex' mornen.