Zoo here be your childern, a-sheÄrÈn

Your feÄir-day, an' each wi' a feÄirÈn.

Aye, well, there's noo peace 'ithout comÈn

To stannÈn an' show, in the zummer.

An' how is your JeÄne? still as merry

As ever, wi' cheÄks lik' a cherry?

Still merry, but beauty's as feÄdesome

'S the raÏn's glowÈn bow in the zummer.

Well now, I do hope we shall vind ye

Come soon, wi' your childern behind ye,

To Stowe, while o' bwoth zides o' hedges,

The zunsheen do glow in the zummer.

Well, aye, when the mowÈn is over,

An' ee-grass do whiten wi' clover.

A man's a-tired out, vor much walken,

The while he do mow in the zummer.

I'll goo, an' we'll zet up a wicket,

An' have a good innÈns at cricket;

An' teÄke a good plounce in the water.

Where clote-leaves do grow in the zummer.

I'll goo, an' we'll play "Thread the needle"

Or "HuntÈn the slipper," or wheedle

Young Jemmy to fiddle, an' reely

So brisk to an' fro in the zummer.

An' JeÄne. Mind you don't come 'ithout her,

My wife is a-thinkÈn about her;

At our house she'll find she's as welcome

'S the rwose that do blow in the zummer.

At Lindenore upon the steep,

Bezide the trees a-reachÈn high,

The while their lower limbs do zweep

The river-stream a-flowÈn by;

By grÆgle bells in beds o' blue,

Below the tree-stems in the lew,

Calm aÏr do vind the rwose-bound door,

Ov Ellen Dare o' Lindenore.

An' there noo foam do hiss avore

Swift bwoats, wi' water-plowÈn keels,

An' there noo broad high-road's a-wore

By vur-brought trav'lers' cracklÈn wheels;

Vor there the town, wi' zun-bright walls,

Do sheen vur off, by hills o' grey,

An' town-vo'k ha' but seldom calls

O' business there, from day to day:

But Ellen didden leÄve her ruf

To be admir'd, an' that's enough—

Vor I've a-vound 'ithin her door,

FeÄir Ellen Dare o' Lindenore.

O when theÄse elems' crooked boughs,

A'most too thin to sheÄde the cows,

Did slowly swing above the grass

As winds o' Spring did softly pass,

An' zunlight show'd the shiftÈn sheÄde,

While youthful me'th wi' laughter loud,

Did twist his lim's among the crowd

Down there below; up there above

Wer bright-ey'd me'th below the tree.

Down there the merry vo'k did vill

The stwonÈn doorway, now so still;

An' zome did joke, wi' ceÄsement wide,

Wi' other vo'k a-stood outside,

Wi' words that head by head did heed.

Below blue sky an' blue-smok'd tun,

'Twer jaÿ to zee an' hear their fun,

But sweeter jaÿ up here above

Wi' bright-ey'd me'th below the tree.

No, no, good MeÄster Collins cried,

Why you've a good wife at your zide;

Zoo do believe the heart is true

That gi'ed up all bezide vor you,

Think how her girlhood met noo ceÄre

To peÄle the bloom her feÄce did weÄr,

An' how her glossy temple prest

Her pillow down, in still-feÄced rest,

While sheÄdes o' window bars did vall

In moonlight on the gloomy wall,

In cool-aÏr'd nights o' June;

The while her lids, wi' bendÈn streÄks

O' lashes, met above her cheÄks,

A-bloomÈn to the moon.

Think how she left her childhood's pleÄce,

An' only sister's long-known feÄce,

An' brother's jokes so much a-miss'd,

An' mother's cheÄk, the last a-kiss'd;

An' how she lighted down avore

Her new abode, a husband's door,

Your weddÈn night in June;

Wi' heart that beÄt wi' hope an' fear,

While on each eye-lash hung a tear,

A-glisnÈn to the moon.

Think how her father zot all dum',

A-thinkÈn on her, back at hwome,

The while grey axan gather'd thick,

On dyÈn embers, on the brick;

An' how her mother look'd abrode,

Drough window, down the moon-bright road,

Zoo don't zit thoughtless at your cup

An' keep your wife a-wÄitÈn up,

The while the clock's a-tickÈn slow

The chilly hours o' vrost an' snow,

Until the zinkÈn candle's light

Is out avore her drowsy sight,

A-dimm'd wi' grief too soon;

A-leÄvÈn there alwone to murn

The feÄdÈn cheÄk that woonce did burn,

A-bloomÈn to the moon.

O, aye! they had woone child bezide,

An' a finer your eyes never met,

'Twer a dear little fellow that died

In the zummer that come wi' such het;

By the mowers, too thoughtless in fun,

He wer then a-zent off vrom our eyes,

Vrom the light ov the dew-dryÈn zun,—

Aye! vrom days under blue-hollow'd skies.

He went out to the mowers in meÄd,

When the zun wer a-rose to his height,

An' the men wer a-swingÈn the sneÄd,

Wi' their eÄrms in white sleeves, left an' right;

An' out there, as they rested at noon,

O! they drench'd en vrom eÄle-horns too deep,

Till his thoughts wer a-drown'd in a swoon;

Aye! his life wer a-smother'd in sleep.

Where the bridge out at Woodley did stride,

Wi' his wide arches' cool sheÄded bow,

Up above the clear brook that did slide

By the popples, befoam'd white as snow:

As the gilcups did quiver among

The white deÄisies, a-spread in a sheet.

There a quick-trippÈn maÏd come along,—

Aye, a girl wi' her light-steppÈn veet.

An' she cried "I do praÿ, is the road

Out to Lincham on here, by the meÄd?"

An' "oh! ees," I meÄde answer, an' show'd

Her the way it would turn an' would leÄd:

"Goo along by the beech in the nook,

Where the childern do play in the cool,

To the steppÈn stwones over the brook,—

Aye, the grey blocks o' rock at the pool."

All up the down's cool brow

I work'd in noontide's gleÄre,

On where the slow-wheel'd plow

'D a-wore the grass half bare.

The while my eÄrms did swing

Wi' work I had on hand,

The quick-wing'd lark did zing

Above the green-tree'd land,

An' bwoys below me chafed

The dog vor fun,

An' he, vor all they laef'd,

Did meÄke em run.

The south zide o' the hill,

My own tun-smoke rose blue,—

In North Coomb, near the mill,

My mother's wer in view—

Where woonce her vier vor all

Ov us did burn,

As I have childern small

Round mine in turn.

An' zoo I still wull cheer

Her life wi' my small store,

As she do drop a tear

Bezide her lwonesome door.

The love that I do owe

Her ruf, I'll paÿ,

An' then zit down below

My own wi' jaÿ.

Well, you mid keep the town an' street,

Wi' grassless stwones to beÄt your veet,

An' zunless windows where your brows

Be never cooled by swaÿÈn boughs;

An' let me end, as I begun,

My days in oben aÏr an' zun,

Where zummer win's a-blowÈn sweet,

Wi' blooth o' trees as white's a sheet;

Or swaÿÈn boughs, a-bendÈn low

Wi' rip'nÈn apples in a row,

An' we a-risÈn rathe do meet

The bright'nÈn dawn wi' dewy veet,

An' leÄve, at night, the vootless groves,

To rest 'ithin our thatchen oves.

An' here our childern still do bruise

The deÄisy buds wi' tiny shoes,

As we did meet avore em, free

Vrom ceÄre, in play below the tree.

An' there in me'th their lively eyes

Do glissen to the zunny skies,

As aÏr do blow, wi' leÄzy peÄce

To cool, in sheÄde, their burnÈn feÄce.

Where leaves o' spreadÈn docks do hide

The zawpit's timber-lwoaded zide,

An' trees do lie, wi' scraggy limbs,

Among the deÄisy's crimson rims.

An' they, so proud, wi' eÄrms a-spread

To keep their balance good, do tread

Wi' ceÄreful steps o' tiny zoles

The narrow zides o' trees an' poles.

An' zoo I'll leÄve vor your light veet

The peÄvement o' the zunless street,

While I do end, as I begun,

My days in oben aÏr an' zun.

Ah! mam! you woonce come here the while

The zun, long years agoo, did shed

His het upon the wheat in hile,

Wi' yollow hau'm an' ears o' red,

Wi' little shoes too thin vor walks

Upon the scratchÈn stubble-stalks;

You hardly reach'd wi' glossy head,

The vore wheel's top o' dousty red.

How time's a-vled! How years do vlee!

An' there you went an' zot inzide

A hile, in aÏr a-streamÈn cool,

As if 'ithin a room, vull wide

An' high, you zot to guide an' rule.

You leÄz'd about the stubbly land,

An' soon vill'd up your small left hand

Wi' ruddy ears your right hand vound,

An' traÏl'd the stalks along the ground.

How time's a-gone! How years do goo!

Then in the waggon you did teÄke

A ride, an' as the wheels vell down

Vrom ridge to vurrow, they did sheÄke

On your small head your poppy crown,

An' now your little maÏd, a dear,

Your childhood's very daps, is here,

Zoo let her staÿ, that her young feÄce

Mid put a former year in pleÄce.

How time do run! How years do roll!

Come here an' zit a while below

TheÄse tower, grey and ivy-bound,

In sheÄde, the while the zun do glow

So hot upon the flow'ry ground;

An' winds in flight,

Do briskly smite

The blossoms bright, upon the gleÄde,

But never stir the sleepÈn sheÄde.

As when you stood upon the brink

O' yonder brook, wi' back-zunn'd head,

Your zunny-grounded sheÄde did zink

Upon the water's grav'lly bed,

Where weÄves could zweep

Away, or keep,

The gravel heap that they'd a-meÄde,

But never wash away the sheÄde.

An' zoo, when you can woonce vulvil

What's feÄir, a-tried by heaven's light,

Why never fear that evil will

Can meÄke a wrong o' your good right.

The right wull stand,

Vor all man's hand,

Till streams on zand, an' wind in gleÄdes,

Can zweep awaÿ the zuncast sheÄdes.

Here did swÄy the eltrot flow'rs,

When the hours o' night wer vew,

An' the zun, wi' eÄrly beams

There the milkmaÏd hung her brow

By the cow, a-sheenÈn red;

An' the dog, wi' upward looks,

Watch'd the rooks above his head,

An' the brook, vrom bow to bow,

Here went swift, an' there wer slow.

Now the cwolder-blowÈn blast,

Here do cast vrom elems' heads

FeÄded leaves, a-whirlÈn round,

Down to ground, in yollow beds,

RuslÈn under milkers' shoes,

When the day do dry the dews.

Soon shall grass, a-vrosted bright,

Glisten white instead o' green,

An' the wind shall smite the cows,

Where the boughs be now their screen.

Things do change as years do vlee;

What ha' years in store vor me?