Poems Of Rural Life In The Dorset Dialect Part 49

NANNY GILL.

Ah! they wer times, when Nanny Gill Went so'jeren ageanst her will, Back when the King come down to view His ho'se an' voot, in red an' blue, An' they did march in rows, An' wheel in lines an' bows, Below the King's own nose; An' guns did pwoint, an' swords did gleare, A-fighten foes that werden there.

Poor Nanny Gill did goo to zell In town her glitt'ren macarel, A-pack'd wi' ceare, in even lots, A-ho'seback in a peair o' pots.

An' zoo when she did ride Between her panniers wide, Red-cloked in all her pride, Why, who but she, an' who but broke The road avore her scarlet cloke!

But Nanny's ho'se that she did ride, Woonce carr'd a sword agean his zide, An' had, to p.r.i.c.k en into rank, A so'jer's spurs agean his flank; An' zoo, when he got zight O' swords a-gleamen bright, An' men agwan to fight, He set his eyes athirt the ground, An' p.r.i.c.k'd his ears to catch the sound.

Then Nanny gi'ed his zide a kick, An' het en wi' her limber stick; But suddenly a horn did sound, An' zend the ho's.e.m.e.n on vull bound; An' her ho'se at the zight Went after em, vull flight, Wi' Nanny in a fright, A-pullen, wi' a scream an' grin, Her wold brown rans to hold en in.

But no! he went away vull bound, As vast as he could tear the ground, An' took, in line, a so'jer's pleace, Vor Nanny's cloke an' frighten'd feace; While vo'k did laugh an' shout To zee her cloke stream out, As she did wheel about, A-cryen, "Oh! la! dear!" in fright, The while her ho'se did pla sham fight.

MOONLIGHT ON THE DOOR.

A-swaen slow, the poplar's head, Above the slopen thatch did ply, The while the midnight moon did shed His light below the spangled sky.

An' there the road did reach avore The hatch, all vootless down the hill; An' hands, a-tired by day, wer still, Wi' moonlight on the door.

A-boomen deep, did slowly sound The bell, a-tellen middle night; The while the quiv'ren ivy, round The tree, did sheake in softest light.

But vootless wer the stwone avore The house where I, the madens guest, At evenen, woonce did zit at rest By moonlight on the door.

Though till the dawn, where night's a-meade The day, the laughen crowds be ga, Let evenen zink wi' quiet sheade, Where I do hold my little swa.

An' childern dear to my heart's core, A-sleep wi' little heaven breast, That pank'd by day in pla, do rest Wi' moonlight on the door.

But still 'tis good, woonce now an' then To rove where moonlight on the land Do show in van, vor heedless men, The road, the vield, the work in hand.

When curtains be a-hung avore The glitt'ren windows, snowy white, An' vine-leaf sheades do sheake in light O' moonlight on the door.

MY LOVE'S GUARDIAN ANGEL.

As in the cool-ar'd road I come by, --in the night, Under the moon-clim'd height o' the sky, --in the night, There by the lime's broad lim's as I sta'd, Dark in the moonlight, bough's sheadows pla'd Up on the window-gla.s.s that did keep Lew vrom the wind, my true love asleep, --in the night.

While in the grey-wall'd height o' the tow'r, --in the night, Sounded the midnight bell wi' the hour, --in the night, There lo! a bright-heair'd angel that shed Light vrom her white robe's zilvery thread, Put her vore-vinger up vor to meake Silence around lest sleepers mid weake, --in the night.

"Oh! then," I whisper'd, do I behold --in the night.

Linda, my true-love, here in the cwold, --in the night?"

"No," she meade answer, "you do misteake: She is asleep, but I that do weake, Here be on watch, an' angel a-blest, Over her slumber while she do rest, --in the night."

"Zee how the winds, while here by the bough, --in the night, They do pa.s.s on, don't smite on her brow, in the night; Zee how the cloud-sheades naseless do zweep Over the house-top where she's asleep.

You, too, goo by, in times that be near, You too, as I, mid speak in her ear --in the night."

LEEBURN MILL,

Ov all the meads wi' shoals an' pools, Where streams did sheake the limber zedge, An' milken vo'k did teake their stools, In evenen zun-light under hedge: Ov all the wears the brook did vill, Or all the hatches where a sheet O' foam did leap below woone's veet, The pleace vor me wer Leeburn Mill.

An' while below the mossy wheel All day the foamen stream did roar, An' up in mill the floaten meal Did pitch upon the sheaken vloor.

We then could vind but vew han's still, Or veet a-resten off the ground, An' seldom hear the merry sound O' geames a-play'd at Leeburn Mill.

But when they let the stream goo free, Bezide the drippen wheel at rest, An' leaves upon the poplar-tree Wer dark avore the glowen west; An' when the clock, a-ringen sh'ill, Did slowly beat zome evenen hour, Oh! then 'ithin the leafy bow'r Our tongues did run at Leeburn Mill.

An' when November's win' did blow, Wi' hufflen storms along the plan, An' blacken'd leaves did lie below The neaked tree, a-zoak'd wi' ran, I werden at a loss to vill The darkest hour o' rany skies, If I did vind avore my eyes The feaces down at Leeburn Mill.

PRAISE O' DO'SET.

We Do'set, though we mid be hwomely, Be'nt asheam'd to own our pleace; An' we've zome women not uncomely; Nor asheam'd to show their feace: We've a mead or two wo'th mowen, We've an ox or two we'th showen, In the village, At the tillage, Come along an' you shall vind That Do'set men don't sheame their kind.

Friend an' wife, Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, Happy, happy, be their life!

Vor Do'set dear, Then gi'e woone cheer; D'ye hear? woone cheer!

If you in Do'set be a-roamen, An' ha' business at a farm, Then woont ye zee your eale a-foamen!

Or your cider down to warm?

Woont ye have brown bread a-put ye, An' some vinny cheese a-cut ye?

b.u.t.ter?--rolls o't!

Cream?--why bowls o't!

Woont ye have, in short, your vill, A-gi'ed wi' a right good will?

Friend an' wife, Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers.

Happy, happy, be their life!

Vor Do'set dear, Then gi'e woone cheer; D'ye hear? woone cheer!

An' woont ye have vor ev'ry shillen, Shillen's wo'th at any shop, Though Do'set chaps be up to zellen, An' can meake a tidy swop?

Use em well, they'll use you better; In good turns they woont be debtor.

An' so comely, An' so hwomely, Be the madens, if your son Took woone o'm, then you'd cry "Well done!"

Friend an' wife, Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, Happy, happy, be their life!

Vor Do'set dear, Then gi'e woone cheer; D'ye hear? woone cheer!

If you do zee our good men travel, Down a-voot, or on their meares, Along the winden leanes o' gravel, To the markets or the feairs,-- Though their ho'ses cwoats be ragged, Though the men be muddy-lagged, Be they roughish, Be they gruffish, They be sound, an' they will stand By what is right wi' heart an' hand.

Friend an' wife, Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, Happy, happy, be their life!

Vor Do'set dear, Then gi'e woone cheer; D'ye hear? woone cheer!

POEMS OF RURAL LIFE.