Poems Of Rural Life In The Dorset Dialect Part 18

Ev'ry Chris'mas she lik'd vor the bells to ring, An' to have in the zingers to hear em zing The wold carols she heard many years a-gone, While she warm'd em zome cider avore the bron'; An' she'd look an' smile At our dancen, while She did tell how her friends now a-gone did use To reely wi' her in their high-heel shoes.

Ah! an' how she did like vor to deck wi' red Holly-berries the window an' wold clock's head, An' the clavy wi' boughs o' some bright green leaves, An' to meake twoast an' eale upon Chris'mas eves; But she's now, drough greace, In a better pleace, Though we'll never vorget her, poor soul, nor lose Gramfer's token ov heair, nor her wedden shoes.

ZUNSHEEN IN THE WINTER.

The winter clouds, that long did hide The zun, be all a-blown azide, An' in the light, noo longer dim, Do sheen the ivy that do clim'

The tower's zide an' elem's stim; An' holmen bushes, in between The leafless thorns, be bright an' green To zunsheen o' the winter.

The trees, that yesterday did twist In wind's a-dreven ran an' mist, Do now drow sheades out, long an' still; But roaren watervals do vill Their whirlen pools below the hill, Where, wi' her pal upon the stile, A-gwan a-milken Jeane do smile To zunsheen o' the winter.

The birds do sheake, wi' plasome skips, The ran-drops off the bushes' tips, A-chirripen wi' merry sound; While over all the gra.s.sy ground The wind's a-whirlen round an' round So softly, that the day do seem Mwore lik' a zummer in a dream, Than zunsheen in the winter.

The wold vo'k now do meet abrode, An' tell o' winter's they've a-know'd; When snow wer long above the groun', Or floods broke all the bridges down, Or wind unheal'd a half the town,-- The teales o' wold times long a-gone, But ever dear to think upon, The zunsheen o' their winter.

Vor now to them noo brook can run, Noo hill can feace the winter zun, Noo leaves can vall, noo flow'rs can feade, Noo snow can hide the gra.s.ses bleade, Noo vrost can whiten in the sheade, Noo day can come, but what do bring To mind agean their early spring, That's now a-turn'd to winter.

THE WEEPEN LEADY.

When, leate o' nights, above the green By thik wold house, the moon do sheen, A leady there, a-hangen low Her head, 's a-walken to an' fro In robes so white's the driven snow, Wi' woone earm down, while woone do rest All lily-white athirt the breast O' thik poor weepen leady.

The whirlen wind an' whis'len squall Do sheake the ivy by the wall, An' meake the plyen tree-tops rock, But never ruffle her white frock; An' slammen door an' rattlen lock, That in thik empty house do sound, Do never seem to meake look round Thik ever downcast leady.

A leady, as the teale do goo, That woonce liv'd there, an' lov'd too true, Wer by a young man cast azide.

A mother sad, but not a bride; An' then her father, in his pride An' anger, offer'd woone o' two Vull bitter things to undergoo To thik poor weepen leady:

That she herzelf should leave his door, To darken it agean noo mwore; Or that her little plasome chile, A-zent away a thousand mile, Should never meet her eyes to smile An' pla agean; till she, in sheame, Should die an' leave a tarnish'd neame, A sad vorseaken leady.

"Let me be lost," she cried, "the while I do but know vor my poor chile;"

An' left the hwome ov all her pride, To wander drough the worold wide, Wi' grief that vew but she ha' tried: An' lik' a flow'r a blow ha' broke, She wither'd wi' the deadly stroke, An' died a weepen leady.

An' she do keep a-comen on To zee her father dead an' gone, As if her soul could have noo rest Avore her teary cheak's a-prest By his vorgiven kiss. Zoo blest Be they that can but live in love, An' vind a pleace o' rest above Unlik' the weepen leady.

THE HAPPY DAYS WHEN I WER YOUNG.

In happy days when I wer young, An' had noo ho, an' laugh'd an' zung, The mad wer merry by her cow, An' men wer merry wi' the plough; But never talk'd, at hwome or out O' doors, o' what's a-talk'd about By many now,--that to despise The laws o' G.o.d an' man is wise.

Wi' daly health, an' daly bread, An' thatch above their shelter'd head, They velt noo fear, an' had noo spite, To keep their eyes awake at night; But slept in peace wi' G.o.d on high An' man below, an' fit to die.

O' gra.s.sy mead an' woody nook, An' waters o' the winden brook, That sprung below the vu'st dark sky That ran'd, to run till seas be dry; An' hills a-stannen on while all The works o' man do rise an' vall; An' trees the toddlen child do vind At vu'st, an' leave at last behind; I wish that you could now unvwold The peace an' jay o' times o' wold; An' tell, when death do still my tongue, O' happy days when I wer young.

Vrom where wer all this venom brought, To kill our hope an' tant our thought?

Clear brook! thy water coulden bring Such venom vrom thy rocky spring; Nor could it come in zummer blights, Or reaven storms o' winter nights, Or in the cloud an' viry stroke O' thunder that do split the woak.

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 peace, an' died to G.o.d; 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 pleace, There's woone where I do like to call By day or night the best ov all, To zee my f.a.n.n.y's smilen feace; An' there the steately 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 geates 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' peart wi' whispers at the hatch In the stillness o' the night.

An' zometimes she do goo to zome Young naghbours' housen down the pleace, An' I do get a clue to treace 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! naghbour 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 teake 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 agean the sky Drough chimney, where our vo'k did hitch The zalt-box an' the beacon-vlitch, An' watch the smoke on out o' vier, All up an' out o' tun, an' higher.

An' there wer beacon up on rack, An' pleates an' dishes on the tack; An' roun' the walls wer hearbs a-stowed In peapern 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 pleace vor dogs an' sticks, An' only left a little hole To teake a little greate 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 teake em vor a seat: They be so fine, that vo'k mus' pleace All over em an' outer cease, 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 agean.

Zoo we did come vrom muck an' mire, An' walk in straght avore the vier; But now, a man's a-kept at door At work a pirty while, avore He's screap'd an' rubb'd, an' clean 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.