  WOONE SMILE MWOREO! MeÄry, when the zun went down, Woone night in Spring, wi' vi'ry rim, Behind thik nap wi' woody crown, An' left your smilÈn feÄce so dim; Your little sister there, inside, Wi' bellows on her little knee, Did blow the vier, a-glearÈn wide Drough window-peÄnes, that I could zee,— As you did stan' wi' me, avore The house, a-peÄrten,—woone smile mwore. The chatt'rÈn birds, a-risÈn high, An' zinkÈn low, did swiftly vlee Vrom shrinkÈn moss, a-growÈn dry, Upon the leÄnÈn apple tree. An' there the dog, a-whippÈn wide His heÄiry taÏl, an' comÈn near, Did fondly lay ageÄn your zide His coal-black nose an' russet ear: To win what I'd a-won avore, Vrom your gaÿ feÄce, his woone smile mwore. An' while your mother bustled sprack, A-gettÈn supper out in hall, An' cast her sheÄde, a-whiv'rÈn black Avore the vier, upon the wall; Your brother come, wi' easy peÄce, In drough the slammÈn geÄte, along The path, wi' healthy-bloomÈn feÄce, A-whis'lÈn shrill his last new zong; An' when he come avore the door, He met vrom you his woone smile mwore. Now you that wer the daughter there, Be mother on a husband's vloor, An' mid ye meet wi' less o' ceÄre Than what your hearty mother bore; An' if abroad I have to rue The bitter tongue, or wrongvul deed, Mid I come hwome to sheÄre wi' you What's needvul free o' pinchÈn need: An' vind that you ha' still in store, My evenÈn meal, an' woone smile mwore. THE ECHO.About the tow'r an' churchyard wall, Out nearly overright our door, A tongue ov wind did always call Whatever we did call avore. The vaÏce did mock our neÄmes, our cheers, Our merry laughs, our hands' loud claps, An' mother's call "Come, come, my dears" —my dears; Or "Do as I do bid, bad chaps" —bad chaps. An' when o' Zundays on the green, In frocks an' cwoats as gaÿ as new, We walk'd wi' shoes a-meÄde to sheen So black an' bright's a vull-ripe slooe We then did hear the tongue ov aÏr A-mockÈn mother's vaÏce so thin, "Come, now the bell do goo vor praÿ'r" —vor pray'r; "'Tis time to goo to church; come in" —come in. The night when little Anne, that died, Begun to zickÈn, back in Maÿ, An' she, at dusk ov evenÈn-tide, Wer out wi' others at their plaÿ, Within the churchyard that do keep Her little bed, the vaÏce o' thin Dark aÏr, mock'd mother's call "To sleep" —to sleep; "'Tis bed time now, my love, come in" —come in. An' when our JeÄne come out so smart A-married, an' we help'd her in To Henry's newly-paÏnted cart, The while the wheels begun to spin, An' her gaÿ nods, vor all she smil'd, Did sheÄke a tear-drop vrom each eye, The vaÏce mock'd mother's call, "Dear child" —dear child; "God bless ye evermwore; good bye" —good bye. VULL A MAN.No, I'm a man, I'm vull a man, You beÄt my manhood, if you can. You'll be a man if you can teÄke All steÄtes that household life do meÄke. The love-toss'd child, a-croodlÈn loud, The bwoy a-screamÈn wild in plaÿ, The tall grown youth a-steppÈn proud, The father staÏd, the house's staÿ. No; I can boast if others can, I'm vull a man. A young-cheÄk'd mother's tears mid vall, When woone a-lost, not half man-tall, Vrom little hand, a-called vrom plaÿ, Do leÄve noo tool, but drop a taÿ, An' die avore he's father-free To sheÄpe his life by his own plan; An' vull an angel he shall be, But here on e'th not vull a man, No; I could boast if others can, I'm vull a man. I woonce, a child, wer father-fed, An' I've a vound my childern bread; My eÄrm, a sister's trusty crook, Is now a faÏthvul wife's own hook; An' I've a-gone where vo'k did zend, An' gone upon my own free mind, An' of'en at my own wits' end. A-led o' God while I wer blind. No; I could boast if others can I'm vull a man. An' still, ov all my tweil ha' won, My lovÈn maÏd an' merry son, Though each in turn's a jaÿ an' ceÄre, 'Ve a-had, an' still shall have, their sheÄre: An' then, if God should bless their lives, Why I mid zend vrom son to son My life, right on drough men an' wives, As long, good now, as time do run. No; I could boast if others can, I'm vull a man. NAIGHBOUR PLAÿMEÄTES.O jaÿ betide the dear wold mill, My naÏghbour plaÿmeÄtes' happy hwome, Wi' rollÈn wheel, an' leÄpÈn foam, Below the overhangÈn hill, Where, wide an' slow, The stream did flow, An' flags did grow, an' lightly vlee Below the grey-leav'd withy tree, While clack, clack, clack, vrom hour to hour, Wi' whirlÈn stwone, an' streamÈn flour, Did goo the mill by cloty Stour. An' there in geÄmes by evenÈn skies, When MeÄry zot her down to rest, The broach upon her pankÈn breast, Did quickly vall an' lightly rise, While swans did zwim In steÄtely trim. An' swifts did skim the water, bright Wi' whirlÈn froth, in western light; An' clack, clack, clack, that happy hour, Wi' whirlÈn stwone, an' streamÈn flour, Did goo the mill by cloty Stour. Now mortery jeints, in streaks o' white, Along the geÄrdÈn wall do show In Maÿ, an' cherry boughs do blow, Wi' bloomÈn tutties, snowy white, Where rollÈn round, Wi' rumblÈn sound, The wheel woonce drown'd the vaÏce so dear To me. I faÏn would goo to hear The clack, clack, clack, vor woone short hour, Wi' whirlÈn stwone, an' streamÈn flour, Bezide the mill on cloty Stour. But should I vind a-heavÈn now Her breast wi' aÏr o' thik dear pleÄce? Or zee dark locks by such a brow, Or het o' plaÿ on such a feÄce? No! She's now staÏd, An' where she plaÿ'd, There's noo such maÏd that now ha' took The pleÄce that she ha' long vorsook, Though clack, clack, clack, vrom hour to hour, Wi' whirlÈn stwone an' streamÈn flour, Do goo the mill by cloty Stour. An' still the pulley rwope do heist The wheat vrom red-wheeled waggon beds. An' ho'ses there wi' lwoads of grist, Do stand an' toss their heavy heads; But on the vloor, Or at the door, Do show noo mwore the kindly feÄce Her father show'd about the pleÄce, As clack, clack, clack, vrom hour to hour, Wi' whirlÈn stwone, an' streamÈn flour, Did goo his mill by cloty Stour. THE LARK.As I, below the mornÈn sky, Wer out a workÈn in the lew O' black-stemm'd thorns, a-springÈn high, Avore the worold-boundÈn blue, A-reÄkÈn, under woak tree boughs, The orts a-left behin' by cows. Above the grey-grow'd thistle rings, An' deÄisy-buds, the lark, in flight, Did zing a-loft, wi' flappÈn wings, Tho' mwore in heÄrÈn than in zight; The while my bwoys, in plaÿvul me'th, Did run till they wer out o' breath. Then woone, wi' han'-besheÄded eyes, A-stoppÈn still, as he did run, Look'd up to zee the lark arise A-zingÈn to the high-gone zun; The while his brother look'd below Vor what the groun' mid have to show Zoo woone did watch above his head The bird his hands could never teÄke; An' woone, below, where he did tread, Vound out the nest within the breÄke; But, aggs be only woonce a-vound, An' uncaught larks ageÄn mid sound. THE TWO CHURCHES.A happy day, a happy year. A zummer Zunday, dazzlÈn clear, I went athirt vrom Lea to Noke. To goo to church wi' Fanny's vo'k: The sky o' blue did only show A cloud or two, so white as snow, An' aÏr did swaÿ, wi' softest strokes, The eltrot roun' the dark-bough'd woaks. O day o' rest when bells do toll! O day a-blest to ev'ry soul! How sweet the zwells o' Zunday bells. An' on the cowslip-knap at Creech, Below the grove o' steÄtely beech, I heÄrd two tow'rs a-cheemÈn clear, Vrom woone I went, to woone drew near, As they did call, by flow'ry ground, The bright-shod veet vrom housen round, A-drownÈn wi' their holy call, The goocoo an' the water-vall. Die off, O bells o' my dear pleÄce, Ring out, O bells avore my feÄce, Vull sweet your zwells, O ding-dong bells. Ah! then vor things that time did bring My kinsvo'k, Lea had bells to ring; An' then, ageÄn, vor what bevell My wife's, why Noke church had a bell; But soon wi' hopevul lives a-bound In woone, we had woone tower's sound, Vor our high jaÿs all vive bells rung Our losses had woone iron tongue. Oh! ring all round, an' never mwoÄn So deep an' slow woone bell alwone, Vor sweet your swells o' vive clear bells. WOAK HILL.When sycamore leaves wer a-spreadÈn, Green-ruddy, in hedges, Bezide the red doust o' the ridges, A-dried at Woak Hill; I packed up my goods all a-sheenÈn Wi' long years o' handlÈn, On dousty red wheels ov a waggon, To ride at Woak Hill. The brown thatchen ruf o' the dwellÈn, I then wer a-leÄvÈn, Had shelter'd the sleek head o' MeÄry, My bride at Woak Hill. But now vor zome years, her light voot-vall 'S a-lost vrom the vloorÈn. Too soon vor my jaÿ an' my childern, She died at Woak Hill. But still I do think that, in soul, She do hover about us; To ho vor her motherless childern, Her pride at Woak Hill. Zoo—lest she should tell me hereafter I stole off 'ithout her, An' left her, uncall'd at house-riddÈn, To bide at Woak Hill— I call'd her so fondly, wi' lippÈns All soundless to others, An' took her wi' aÏr-reachÈn hand, To my zide at Woak Hill. On the road I did look round, a-talkÈn To light at my shoulder, An' then led her in at the door-way, Miles wide vrom Woak Hill. An' that's why vo'k thought, vor a season, My mind wer a-wandrÈn Wi' sorrow, when I wer so sorely A-tried at Woak Hill. But no; that my MeÄry mid never Behold herzelf slighted, I wanted to think that I guided My guide vrom Woak Hill. THE HEDGER.Upon the hedge theÄse bank did bear, Wi' lwonesome thought untwold in words, I woonce did work, wi' noo sound there But my own strokes, an' chirpÈn birds; As down the west the zun went wan, An' days brought on our Zunday's rest, When sounds o' cheemÈn bells did vill The aÏr, an' hook an' axe wer stÏll. Along the wold town-path vo'k went, An' met unknown, or friend wi' friend, The maÏd her busy mother zent, The mother wi' noo maÏd to zend; An' in the light the gleÄzier's glass, As he did pass, wer dazzlÈn bright, Or woone went by wÏ' down-cast head, A wrapp'd in blackness vor the dead. An' then the bank, wi' risÈn back, That's now a-most a-troddÈn down, Bore thorns wi' rind o' sheeny black, An' meÄple stems o' ribby brown; An' in the lewth o' theÄse tree heads, Wer primrwose beds a-sprung in blooth, An' here a geÄte, a-slammÈn to, Did let the slow-wheel'd plough roll drough. Ov all that then went by, but vew Be now a-left behine', to beÄt The mornÈn flow'rs or evenÈn dew, Or slam the woakÈn vive-bar'd geÄte; But woone, my wife, so litty-stepp'd, That have a-kept my path o' life, Wi' her vew errands on the road, Where woonce she bore her mother's lwoad. IN THE SPRING.My love is the maÏd ov all maÏdens, Though all mid be comely, Her skin's lik' the jessamy blossom A-spread in the Spring. Her smile is so sweet as a beÄby's Young smile on his mother, Her eyes be as bright as the dew drop A-shed in the Spring. O grey-leafy pinks o' the geÄrden, Now bear her sweet blossoms; Now deck wi' a rwose-bud, O briar. Her head in the Spring. O light-rollÈn wind blow me hither, The vÄice ov her talkÈn, Or bring vrom her veet the light doust, She do tread in the Spring. O zun, meÄke the gil'cups all glitter, In goold all around her; An' meÄke o' the deÄisys' white flowers A bed in the Spring. O whissle gaÿ birds, up bezide her, In drong-waÿ, an' woodlands, O zing, swingÈn lark, now the clouds, Be a-vled in the Spring. An' who, you mid ax, be my praÏses A-meÄkÈn so much o', An' oh! 'tis the maÏd I'm a-hopÈn To wed in the Spring. THE FLOOD IN SPRING.Last night below the elem in the lew Bright the sky did gleam On water blue, while aÏr did softly blow On the flowÈn stream, An' there wer gil'cups' buds untwold, An' deÄisies that begun to vwold Their low-stemm'd blossoms vrom my zight AgeÄn the night, an' evenÈn's cwold. But, oh! so cwold below the darksome cloud Soon the night-wind roar'd, Wi' raÏny storms that zent the zwollÈn streams Over ev'ry vword. The while the drippÈn tow'r did tell The hour, wi' storm-be-smother'd bell, An' over ev'ry flower's bud Roll'd on the flood, 'ithin the dell. But when the zun arose, an' lik' a rwose Shone the mornÈn sky; An' roun' the woak, the wind a-blowÈn weak, Softly whiver'd by. Though drown'd wer still the deaÏsy bed Below the flood, its feÄce instead O' flow'ry grown', below our shoes Show'd feÄirest views o' skies o'er head. An' zoo to try if all our faÏth is true Jaÿ mid end in tears, An' hope, woonce feÄir, mid saddÈn into fear, Here in e'thly years. But He that tried our soul do know To meÄke us good amends, an' show Instead o' things a-took awaÿ, Some higher jaÿ that He'll bestow. COMEN HWOMEAs clouds did ride wi' heÄsty flight. An' woods did swÄy upon the height, An' bleÄdes o' grass did sheÄke, below The hedge-row bremble's swingÈn bow, I come back hwome where winds did zwell, In whirls along the woody gleÄdes, On primrwose beds, in windy sheÄdes, To Burnley's dark-tree'd dell. There hills do screen the timber's bough, The trees do screen the leÄze's brow, The timber-sheÄded leÄze do bear A beÄten path that we do wear. The path do stripe the leÄze's zide, To willows at the river's edge. Where hufflÈn winds did sheÄke the zedge An' sparklÈn weÄves did glide. An' where the river, bend by bend, Do drÄin our meÄd, an' mark its end, The hangÈn leÄze do teÄke our cows, An' trees do sheÄde em wi' their boughs, An' I the quicker beÄt the road, To zee a-comÈn into view, Still greener vrom the sky-line's blue, Wold Burnley our abode. GRAMMER A-CRIPPLED."The zunny copse ha' birds to zing, The leÄze ha' cows to low, The elem trees ha' rooks on wing, The meÄds a brook to flow, But I can walk noo mwore, to pass The drashel out abrode, To wear a path in theÄse year's grass Or tread the wheelworn road," Cried Grammer, "then adieu, O runnÈn brooks, An' vleÈn rooks, I can't come out to you. If 'tis God's will, why then 'tis well, That I should bide 'ithin a wall." An' then the childern, wild wi' fun, An' loud wi' jaÿvul sounds, Sprung in an' cried, "We had a run, A-plaÿÈn heÄre an' hounds; But oh! the cowslips where we stopt In Maÿcreech, on the knap!" An' vrom their little han's each dropt Some cowslips in her lap. Cried Grammer, "Only zee! I can't teÄke strolls, An' little souls Would bring the vields to me. Since 'tis God's will, an' mus' be well That I should bide 'ithin a wall." "Oh! there be prison walls to hold The han's o' lawless crimes, An' there be walls arear'd vor wold An' zick in tryÈn times; But oh! though low mid slant my ruf, Though hard my lot mid be, Though dry mid come my daily lwoaf, Mid mercy leÄve me free!" Cried Grammer, "Or adieu To jaÿ; O grounds, An' bird's gaÿ sounds If I mus' gi'e up you, Although 'tis well, in God's good will, That I should bide 'ithin a wall." "Oh! then," we answer'd, "never fret, If we shall be a-blest, We'll work vull hard drough het an' wet To keep your heart at rest: To woaken chair's vor you to vill, For you shall glow the coal, An' when the win' do whissle sh'ill We'll screen it vrom your poll." Cried Grammer, "God is true. I can't but feel He smote to heal My wounded heart in you; An' zoo 'tis well, if 'tis His will, That I be here 'ithin a wall." THE CASTLE RUINS.A happy day at Whitsuntide, As soon's the zun begun to vall, We all stroll'd up the steep hill-zide To Meldon, girt an' small; Out where the castle wall stood high A-mwoldrÈn to the zunny sky. An' there wi' Jenny took a stroll Her youngest sister, Poll, so gaÿ, Bezide John Hind, ah! merry soul, An' mid her wedlock faÿ; An' at our zides did play an' run My little maÏd an' smaller son. Above the beÄten mwold upsprung The driven doust, a-spreadËn light, An' on the new-leav'd thorn, a-hung, Wer wool a-quiv'rÈn white; An' corn, a sheenÈn bright, did bow, On slopÈn Meldon's zunny brow. There, down the rufless wall did glow The zun upon the grassy vloor, An' weakly-wandrÈn winds did blow, Unhinder'd by a door; An' smokeless now avore the zun Did stan' the ivy-girded tun. My bwoy did watch the daws' bright wings A-flappÈn vrom their ivy bow'rs; My wife did watch my maÏd's light springs, Out here an' there vor flow'rs; And John did zee noo tow'rs, the pleÄce Vor him had only Polly's feÄce. An' there, of all that pried about The walls, I overlook'd em best, An' what o' that? Why, I meÄde out Noo mwore than all the rest: That there wer woonce the nest of zome That wer a-gone avore we come. When woonce above the tun the smoke Did wreathy blue among the trees, An' down below, the livÈn vo'k, Did tweil as brisk as bees; Or zit wi' weary knees, the while The sky wer lightless to their tweil.
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