Poems Of Rural Life In The Dorset Dialect Part 10

I GOT TWO VIELDS.

I got two vields, an' I don't ceare What squire mid have a bigger sheare.

My little zummer-leaze do stratch All down the hangen, to a patch O' mead between a hedge an' rank Ov elems, an' a river bank.

Where yollow clotes, in spreaden beds O' floaten leaves, do lift their heads By benden bulrushes an' zedge A-swaen at the water's edge, Below the withy that do spread Athirt the brook his grey-leav'd head.

An' eltrot flowers, milky white, Do catch the slanten evenen light; An' in the meaple boughs, along The hedge, do ring the blackbird's zong; Or in the day, a-vleen drough The leafy trees, the whoa'se gookoo Do zing to mowers that do zet Their zives on end, an' stan' to whet.

From my wold house among the trees A leane do goo along the leaze O' yollow gravel, down between Two mossy banks vor ever green.

An' trees, a-hangen overhead, Do hide a trinklen gully-bed, A-cover'd by a bridge vor hoss Or man a-voot to come across.

Zoo wi' my hwomestead, I don't ceare What squire mid have a bigger sheare!

POLLY BE-EN UPZIDES WI' TOM.

Ah! yesterday, d'ye know, I voun'

Tom Dumpy's cwoat an' smock-frock, down Below the pollard out in groun'; An' zoo I slyly stole An' took the smock-frock up, an' tack'd The sleeves an' collar up, an' pack'd Zome nice sharp stwones, all fresh a-crack'd 'Ithin each pocket-hole.

An' in the evenen, when he shut Off work, an' come an' donn'd his cwoat, Their edges gi'ed en sich a cut, How we did stan' an' laugh!

An' when the smock-frock I'd a-zow'd Kept back his head an' hands, he drow'd Hizzelf about, an' teav'd, an' blow'd, Lik' any up-tied calf.

Then in a veag away he flung His frock, an' after me he sprung, An' mutter'd out sich dreats, an' wrung His vist up sich a size!

But I, a-runnen, turn'd an' drow'd Some doust, a-pick'd up vrom the road, Back at en wi' the wind, that blow'd It right into his eyes.

An' he did blink, an' vow he'd catch Me zomehow yet, an' be my match.

But I wer nearly down to hatch Avore he got vur on; An' up in chammer, nearly dead Wi' runnen, lik' a cat I vled, An' out o' window put my head To zee if he wer gone.

An' there he wer, a-prowlen roun'

Upon the green; an' I look'd down An' told en that I hoped he voun'

He mussen think to peck Upon a body zoo, nor whip The meare to drow me off, nor tip Me out o' cart agean, nor slip Cut hoss-heair down my neck.

BE'MI'STER.

Sweet Be'mi'ster, that bist a-bound By green an' woody hills all round, Wi' hedges, reachen up between A thousan' vields o' zummer green, Where elems' lofty heads do drow Their sheades vor ha-meakers below, An' wild hedge-flow'rs do charm the souls O' madens in their evenen strolls.

When I o' Zunday nights wi' Jeane Do saunter drough a vield or leane, Where elder-blossoms be a-spread Above the eltrot's milk-white head, An' flow'rs o' blackberries do blow Upon the brembles, white as snow, To be outdone avore my zight By Jean's ga frock o' dazzlen white;

Oh! then there's nothen that's 'ithout Thy hills that I do ho about,-- Noo bigger pleace, noo gaer town, Beyond thy sweet bells' dyen soun', As they do ring, or strike the hour, At evenen vrom thy wold red tow'r.

No: shelter still my head, an' keep My bwones when I do vall asleep.

THATCHEN O' THE RICK.

As I wer out in mead last week, A-thatchen o' my little rick, There green young ee-gra.s.s, ankle-high, Did sheen below the cloudless sky; An' over hedge in tother groun', Among the bennets dry an' brown, My dun wold meare, wi' neck a-freed Vrom Zummer work, did snort an' veed; An' in the sheade o' leafy boughs, My vew wold ragged-cwoated cows Did rub their zides upon the rals, Or switch em wi' their heairy tals.

An' as the mornen zun rose high Above my mossy roof clwose by, The blue smoke curreled up between The lofty trees o' feaden green: A zight that's touchen when do show A busy wife is down below, A-worken hard to cheer woone's tweil Wi' her best feare, an' better smile.

Mid women still in wedlock's yoke Zend up, wi' love, their own blue smoke, An' husbands vind their bwoards a-spread By fathvul hands when I be dead, An' noo good men in ouer land Think lightly o' the wedden band.

True happiness do bide alwone Wi' them that ha' their own he'th-stwone To gather wi' their childern roun', A-smilen at the worold's frown.

My bwoys, that brought me thatch an' spars, Wer down a-taten on the bars, Or zot a-cutten wi' a knife, Dry eltrot-roots to meake a fife; Or dreven woone another round The rick upon the gra.s.sy ground.

An', as the aer vrom the west Did fan my burnen feace an' breast, An' hoppen birds, wi' twitt'ren beaks, Did show their sheenen spots an' streaks, Then, wi' my heart a-vill'd wi' love An' thankvulness to G.o.d above, I didden think ov anything That I begrudg'd o' lord or king; Vor I ha' round me, vur or near, The mwost to love an' nwone to fear, An' zoo can walk in any pleace, An' look the best man in the feace.

What good do come to eachen heads, O' lien down in silken beds?

Or what's a coach, if woone do pine To zee woone's naghbour's twice so fine?

Contentment is a constant feast, He's richest that do want the least.

BEES A-ZWARMEN.

Avore we went a-milken, vive Or six o's here wer all alive A-teaken bees that zwarm'd vrom hive; An' we'd sich work to catch The hummen rogues, they led us sich A dance all over hedge an' ditch; An' then at last where should they pitch, But up in uncle's thatch?

d.i.c.k rung a sheep-bell in his han'; Liz beat a cannister, an' Nan Did bang the little fryen-pan Wi' thick an' thumpen blows; An' Tom went on, a-carren roun'

A bee-pot up upon his crown, Wi' all his edge a-reachen down Avore his eyes an' nose.

An' woone girt bee, wi' spitevul hum, Stung d.i.c.ky's lip, an' meade it come All up amost so big's a plum; An' zome, a-vleen on, Got all roun' Liz, an' meade her hop An' scream, a-twirlen lik' a top, An' spring away right backward, flop Down into barken pon':

An' Nan' gi'ed Tom a roguish twitch Upon a bank, an' meade en pitch Right down, head-voremost, into ditch,-- Tom coulden zee a wink.

An' when the zwarm wer seafe an' sound In mother's bit o' bee-pot ground, She meade us up a treat all round O' sillibub to drink.

READEN OV A HEAD-STWONE.

As I wer readen ov a stwone In Grenley church-yard all alwone, A little mad ran up, wi' pride To zee me there, an' push'd a-zide A bunch o' bennets that did hide A verse her father, as she zad, Put up above her mother's head, To tell how much he loved her:

The verse wer short, but very good, I stood an' larn'd en where I stood:-- "Mid G.o.d, dear Meary, gi'e me greace To vind, lik' thee, a better pleace, Where I woonce mwore mid zee thy feace; An' bring thy childern up to know His word, that they mid come an' show Thy soul how much I lov'd thee."

"Where's father, then," I zaid, "my chile?"

"Dead too," she answer'd wi' a smile; "An' I an' brother Jim do bide At Betty White's, o' tother zide O' road." "Mid He, my chile," I cried, "That's father to the fatherless, Become thy father now, an' bless, An' keep, an' lead, an' love thee."

Though she've a-lost, I thought, so much, Still He don't let the thoughts o't touch Her litsome heart by day or night; An' zoo, if we could teake it right, Do show He'll meake his burdens light To weaker souls, an' that his smile Is sweet upon a harmless chile, When they be dead that lov'd it.

ZUMMER EVENeN DANCE.