The Dialect of the West of England; Particularly Somersetshire Part 32

As late at night a rawd along All droo a unket ood, A ooman rawze vrom off tha groun An right avaur en stood:

She look'd za pitis Mr. Guy At once hiz hoss's pace Stapt short, a wonderin how, at night, She com'd in jitch a place.

A little trunk war in her hon; She zim'd vur gwon wi' chile.

She ax'd en nif a'd take her up And cor her a veo mile.

Mr. Guy, a man o' veelin For a ooman in distress, Than took er up behind en: A cood'n do na less.

A corr'd er trunk avaur en, An by hiz belt o' leather A bid er hawld vast; on tha rawd, Athout much tak, together.

Not vur tha went avaur she gid A whissle loud an long; Which Mr. Guy, thawt very strange; Er voice too zim'd za strong!

She'd lost er dog, she zed; an than Another whissle blaw'd, That stortled Mr. Guy;--a stapt Hiz hoss upon tha rawd.

Goo on, zed she; bit Mr. Guy Zum rig beginn'd ta fear: Vor voices rawze upon tha wine, An zim'd a comin near.

Again tha rawd along; again She whissled. Mr. Guy Whipt out hiz knife an cut tha belt, Then push'd er off!--Vor why?

Tha ooman he took up behine, Begummers, war a _man!_ Tha rubbers zaw ad lad ther plots Our grazier to trepan.

I shall not stap ta tell what zed Tha man in ooman's clawze; Bit he, and all o'm jist behine, War what you mid suppawze.

Tha cust, tha swaur, tha dreaten'd too, An ater Mr. Guy Tha gallop'd all; 'twar niver-tha-near: Hiz hoss along did vly.

Auver downs, droo dales, awa a went, 'Twar da-light now amawst, Till at an inn a stapt, at last, Ta thenk what he'd a lost.

A lost?--why, nothin--but hiz belt!-- A zummet moor ad gain'd: Thic little trunk a corr'd awa-- It gawld g'lore contain'd!

Nif Mr. Guy war hirch avaur, A now war hircher still: Tha plunder o' tha highwamen Hiz coffers went ta vill.

In safety Mr. Guy rawd whim; A oten tawld tha storry.

Ta meet wi' jitch a rig myzel I shood'n, soce, be zorry.

THE ROOKERY.

The rook, _corvus frugilegus_, is a bird of considerable intelligence, and is, besides, extremely useful in destroying large quant.i.ties of worms and larvae of destructive insects. It will, it is true, if not watched, pick out, after they are dibbled, both pease and beans from the holes with a precision truly astonishing: a very moderate degree of care is, however, sufficient to prevent this evil, which is greatly overbalanced by the positive good which it effects in the destruction of insects.

It is a remarkable fact, and not, perhaps, generally known, that this bird rarely roosts at the rookery, except for a few months during the period of incubation, and rearing its young. In the winter season it more commonly takes flights of no ordinary length, to roost on the trees of some remote and sequestered wood.

The _Elm_ is its favorite, on which it usually builds; but such is its attachment to locality that since the incident alluded to in the following Poem took place the Rooks have, many of them, built in _fir_ trees at a little distance from their former habitation. The habits of the Rook are well worthy the attention of all who delight in the study of Natural History.

My zong is o' tha ROOKERY, Not jitch as I a zeed On stunted trees wi' leaves a veo, A very veo indeed,

In thic girt place tha _Lunnun_ call;-- Tha Tower an tha Pork Ha booath a got a Rookery, Althaw tha han't a Lork.

I zeng not o' jitch Rookeries, Jitch plazen, pump or banners; Bit town-berd Rooks, vor all that, ha, I warnt ye, curious _manners_.

My zong is o' a Rookery My Father's cot bezide, Avaur, years ater, I war born 'Twar long tha porish pride.

Tha elms look'd up like giants tall Ther branchy yarms aspread; An green plumes wavin wi' tha wine, Made ga each lofty head.

Ta dra tha pectur out--ther war At distance, zid between Tha trees, a thatch'd Form-house, an geese A cacklin on tha green.

A river, too, clooase by tha trees, Its stickle coose on slid, Whaur yells an trout an wither fish Mid otentimes be zid.

Tha rooks voun this a pleasant place-- A whim ther young ta rear; An I a oten pleas'd a bin Ta watch 'em droo tha year.

'Tis on tha da o' Valentine Or there or thereabout, Tha rooks da vast begin ta build, An cawin, make a rout.

Bit aw! when May's a come, ta zee Ther young tha gunner's shut Vor SPOORT, an bin, as zum da za, (Naw readship in't I put)

_That nif tha did'n shut tha, rooks Tha'd zoon desert tha trees!_ Wise vawk! Thic reason vor ther SPOORT Gee tha mid nif tha please!

Still zeng I o' tha Rookery, Vor years it war tha pride Of all tha place, bit 'twor ta I A zumthin moor bezide.

A hired tha Rooks avaur I upp'd; I hired 'em droo tha da; I hired ther young while gittin flush An ginnin jist ta ca.

I hired 'em when my mother gid Er lessins kind ta I, In jitch a wa when I war young, That I war fit ta cry.

I hired 'em at tha cottage door, When mornin, in tha spreng, Wak'd vooath in youth an beauty too, An birds beginn'd ta zeng.

I hired 'em in tha winter-time When, roustin vur awa, Tha visited tha Rookery A whiverin by da.

My childhood, youth, and manood too, My Father's cot recall Thic Rookery. Bit I mist now Tell what it did bevall.

'Twar Ma-time--heavy vi' tha nests War laden all tha trees; An to an fraw, wi' creekin loud, Tha sway'd ta iv'ry breeze.

One night tha wine--a thundrin wine, Jitch as war hired o' nivor, Blaw'd two o' thic girt giant trees Flat down into tha river.

Nests, aggs, an young uns, all awa War zweept into tha water An zaw war spwiled tha Rookery Vor iver and iver ater.

I visited my Father's cot: Tha Rooks war all a gwon; Whaur stood tha trees in lofty pride I zid there norra one.

My Father's cot war desolate; An all look'd wild, vorlorn; Tha Ash war stunted that war zet Tha da that I war born.

My Father, Mother, Rooks, all gwon!

My Charlotte an my Lizzy!-- Tha gorden wi' tha tutties too!-- Jitch thawts why be za bizzy!--

Behawld tha wa o' human thengs!

Rooks, lofty trees, an Friends-- A kill'd, taur up, like leaves drap off!-- Zaw feaver'd bein ends.

TOM GOOL, AND LUCK IN THA BAG.