Yorkshire Tales Volume II Part 5

Blow me! aw ommost daat it too, So thear's an end on't

Take Heart.

Roughest roads, we often find, Lead us on to th' nicest places; Kindest hearts oft hide behind Some o'th' plainest-lukkin faces.

Flaars' whose colors breetest are, Oft delight awr wond'ring seet; But thers others, humbler far, Smell a thaasand times as sweet.

Burds o' monny color'd feather, Please us as they skim along, But ther charms all put together, Connot equal th' skylark's song.

Bonny women--angels seemin,-- Set awr hearts an' brains o' fire; But its net ther beauties; beamin, Its ther gooidness we admire.

Th' bravest man 'at's in a battle, Isn't allus th' furst i'th' fray; He best proves his might an' mettle, Who remains to win the day.

Monkey's an' vain magpies chatter, But it doesn't prove em wise; An it's net wi noise an' clatter, Men o' sense expect to rise.

'Tisn't them 'at promise freely, Are mooast ready to fulfill; An' 'tisn't them 'at trudge on dreely 'At are last at top o'th' hill.

Bad hauf-craans may pa.s.s as payment, Gaudy flaars awr een beguile; Women may be loved for raiment, Show may blind us for a while;

But we sooin grow discontented, An' for solid worth we sigh, An' we leearn to prize the jewel, Tho it's hidden from the eye.

Him 'at thinks to gether diamonds As he walks along his rooad, Niver need be tired wi' huggin, For he'll have a little looad.

Owt 'at's worth a body's winnin Mun be toiled for long an' hard; An' tho' th' struggle may be pinnin, Perseverance wins reward.

Earnest thowt, an' constant striving, Ever wi' one aim i'th' seet; Tho' we may be late arrivin, Yet at last we'st come in reight.

He who WILL succeed, he MUST, When he's bid false hopes farewell.

If he firmly fix his trust In his G.o.d, and in hissel,

Did yo Iver.

Gooid gracious! cried Susy, one fine summer's morn, Here's a bonny to do! aw declare!

Aw wor niver soa capt sin th' day aw wor born!

Aw near saw sich a seet at a Fair.

Here, Sally! come luk! Ther's a maase made its nest Reight ith' craan o' mi new Sundy bonnet!

Haiver its fun its way into this chist, That caps me! Aw'm fast what to mak on it!

Its cut! Sithee thear! It's run reight under th' bed!

An luk here! What's'theas little things stirrin?

If they arn't some young uns at th' gooid-for-nowt's bred, May aw be as deead as a herrin!

But what does ta say? "Aw mun draand 'em?" nooan soa!

Just luk ha they're seekin ther mother; Shoo must be a poor little softheead to goa; For awm nooan baan to cause her noa bother.

But its rayther to bad, just to mak her hooam thear, For mi old en's net fit to be seen in An' this new en, awm thinkin, ul luk rayther queer, After sich a rum lot as thats been in.

But shut up awr p.u.s.s.y, an heed what aw say; Yo mun keep a sharp e'e or shoo'll chait us; Ah if shoo sees th' mother shoo'll kill it! An pray What mun become o' thease poor helpless crayturs?

A'a dear! fowk have mich to be thankful for, yet, 'At's a roof o' ther own to cawer under, For if we'd to seek ony nook we could get, Whativer 'ud come on us aw wonder?

We should nooan on us like to be turned aat o' door, Wi a lot a young bairns to tak 'care on: Ah' although awm baat bonnet, an think misen poor, What little aw have yo'st have t'share on.

That poor little maase aw dooant think meant me harm, Shoo ne'er knew what that bonnet had cost me; All shoo wanted wor some little nook snug an' warm, An' a gooid two o'-three shillin its lost me.

Aw should think as they've come into th' world born i' silk, They'll be aristocratical varmin; But awm wasting mi time! awl goa get 'em some milk, An' na daat but th' owd la.s.s likes it warmin.

Bless mi life! a few drops 'll sarve them! If we try, Awm weel sure we can easily spare 'em, But as sooin as they're able, awl mak 'em all fly!

Never mind' if aw dooant! harum scarum!

An Old Man's Christmas Morning.

Its a long time sin' thee an' me have met befoor, owd lad,-- Soa pull up thi cheer, an' sit daan, for ther's noabdy moor welcome nor thee: Thi toppin's grown whiter nor once,-- yet mi heart feels glad, To see ther's a rooas o' thi cheek, an' a bit ov a leet i' thi e'e.

Thi limbs seem to totter an' shake, like a crazy owd fence, 'At th' wind maks to tremel an' creak; but tha still fills thi place; An' it shows 'at tha'rt bless'd wi' a bit o' gradely gooid sense, 'At i' spite o' thi years an' thi cares, tha still wears a smile o' thi face.

Come fill up thi pipe-- for aw knaw tha'rt reight fond ov a rick,-- An' tha'll find a drop o' hooarm-brew'd i' that pint up o'th' hob, aw dar say; An' nah, wol tha'rt toastin thi shins, just scale th' foir, an' aw'll side thi owd stick, Then aw'll tell thi some things 'ats happen'd sin tha went away.

An' first of all tha mun knaw 'at aw havn't been spar'd, For trials an' troubles have come, an' mi heart has felt well nigh to braik; An' mi wife, 'at tha knaws wor mi pride, an' mi fortuns has shared, Shoo bent under her griefs, an' shoo's flown far, far away aat o' ther raik.

My life's like an owd gate 'ats n.o.bbut one hinge for support, An' sometimes aw wish--aw'm soa lonely-- at tother 'ud drop off wi' rust; But it hasn't to be, for it seems Life maks me his spooart, An' Deeath cannot even spare time, to turn sich an owd man into dust.

Last neet as aw sat an' watched th' yule log awd put on to th' fire, As it cracked, an' sparkled, an' flared up wi' sich gusto an' spirit, An' when it wor touch'd it shone breeter, an' flared up still higher, Till at last aw'd to shift th' cheer further back for aw couldn't bide near it.

Th' dull saand o' th' church bells coom to tell me one moor Christmas mornin', Had come, for its welcome-- but ha could aw welcome it when all aloan?

For th' snow wor fallin soa thickly, an' th' cold wind wor moanin, An' them 'at aw lov'd wor asleep i' that cold church yard, under a stoan:

Soa aw went to bed an' aw slept, an' then began dreamin, 'At mi wife stood by mi side, an' smiled, an' mi heart left off its beatin', An' aw put aat mi hand, an' awoke, an' mornin' wor gleamin'; An' its made me feel sorrowful, an aw cannot give ovver freatin.

For aw think what a glorious Christmas day 'twod ha' been, If awd goan to that place, where ther's noa moor cares, nor partin', nor sorrow, For aw know shoo's thear, or that dream aw sud nivver ha' seen, But aw'll try to be patient, an' maybe shoo'll come fotch me to-morrow.

It's forty' long summers an' winters, sin tha bade "gooid bye,"

An' as fine a young fella tha wor, as iver aw met i' mi life; When tha went to some far away land, thi fortune to try, An' aw stopt at hooam to toil on, becoss it wor th' wish o' my wife.

An' shoo wor a bonny young wench, an' better nor bonny,-- Aw seem nah as if aw can see her, wi' th' first little bairn on her knee, An' we called it Ann, for aw liked that name best ov ony, An' fowk said it wor th' pictur o' th' mother, wi' just a strinklin o' me.

An' th' next wor a lad, an' th' next wor a lad!

then a la.s.s came,-- That made us caant six,-- an' six happier fowk niver sat to a meal, An' they grew like hop plants--full o' life-- but waikly i' th' frame, An' at last one drooped, an' Deeath coom an' marked her with his seal.