Poems Of Rural Life In The Dorset Dialect Part 2

An' there, in leater years, I roved Wi' thik poor mad I fondly lov'd,-- The mad too feair to die so soon,-- When evenen twilight, or the moon, Cast light enough 'ithin the pleace To show the smiles upon her feace, Wi' eyes so clear's the gla.s.sy pool, An' lips an' cheaks so soft as wool.

There han' in han', wi' bosoms warm, Wi' love that burn'd but thought noo harm, Below the wide-bough'd tree we past The happy hours that went too vast; An' though she'll never be my wife, She's still my leaden star o' life.

She's gone: an' she've a-left to me Her mem'ry in the girt woak tree; Zoo I do love noo tree so well 'S the girt woak tree that's in the dell

An' oh! mid never ax nor hook Be brought to spweil his steately look; Nor ever roun' his ribby zides Mid cattle rub ther heairy hides; Nor pigs rout up his turf, but keep His lwonesome sheade vor harmless sheep; An' let en grow, an' let en spread, An' let en live when I be dead.

But oh! if men should come an' vell The girt woak tree that's in the dell, An' build his planks 'ithin the zide O' zome girt s.h.i.+p to plough the tide, Then, life or death! I'd goo to sea, A salen wi' the girt woak tree: An' I upon his planks would stand, An' die a-fighten vor the land,-- The land so dear,--the land so free,-- The land that bore the girt woak tree; Vor I do love noo tree so well 'S the girt woak tree that's in the dell.

VELLEN O' THE TREE.

Aye, the girt elem tree out in little hwome groun'

Wer a-stannen this mornen, an' now's a-cut down.

Aye, the girt elem tree, so big roun' an' so high, Where the mowers did goo to their drink, an' did lie In the sheade ov his head, when the zun at his heighth Had a-drove em vrom mowen, wi' het an' wi' drith, Where the ha-meakers put all their picks an' their reakes, An' did squot down to snabble their cheese an' their ceakes, An' did vill vrom their flaggons their cups wi' their eale, An' did meake theirzelves merry wi' joke an' wi' teale.

Ees, we took up a rwope an' we tied en all round At the top o'n, wi' woone end a-hangen to ground, An' we cut, near the ground, his girt stem a'most drough, An' we bent the wold head o'n wi' woone tug or two; An' he sway'd all his limbs, an' he nodded his head, Till he vell away down like a pillar o' lead: An' as we did run vrom en, there; clwose at our backs, Oh! his boughs come to groun' wi' sich whizzes an' cracks; An' his top wer so lofty that, now he is down, The stem o'n do reach a-most over the groun'.

Zoo the girt elem tree out in little hwome groun'

Wer a-stannen this mornen, an' now's a-cut down.

BRINGEN WOONE GWAN[A] O' ZUNDAYS.

Ah! John! how I do love to look At thease green hollor, an' the brook Among the withies that do hide The stream, a-growen at the zide; An' at the road athirt the wide An' shallow vword, where we young bwoys Did peart, when we did goo half-woys, To bring ye gwan o' Zundays.

Vor after church, when we got hwome, In evenen you did always come To spend a happy hour or two Wi' us, or we did goo to you; An' never let the comers goo Back hwome alwone, but always took A stroll down wi' em to the brook To bring em gwan o' Zundays.

How we did scote all down the groun', A-pushen woone another down!

Or challengen o' zides in jumps Down over bars, an' vuzz, an' humps; An' peart at last wi' slaps an' thumps, An' run back up the hill to zee Who'd get hwome soonest, you or we.

That brought ye gwan o' Zundays.

O' leater years, John, you've a-stood My friend, an' I've a-done you good; But tidden, John, vor all that you Be now, that I do like ye zoo, But what you wer vor years agoo: Zoo if you'd stir my heart-blood now.

Tell how we used to play, an' how You brought us gwan o' Zundays.

[Footnote A: "To bring woone gwan,"--to bring one going; to bring one on his way.]

EVENeN TWILIGHT.

Ah! they vew zummers brought us round The happiest days that we've a-vound, When in the orcha'd, that did stratch To westward out avore the patch Ov high-bough'd wood, an' shelve to catch The western zun-light, we did meet Wi' merry tongues an' skippen veet At evenen in the twilight.

The evenen ar did fan, in turn, The cheaks the midday zun did burn.

An' zet the russlen leaves at pla, An' meake the red-stemm'd brembles sway In bows below the snow-white ma; An' whirlen roun' the trees, did sheake Jeane's raven curls about her neck, They evenens in the twilight.

An' there the yollow light did rest Upon the bank toward the west, An' twitt'ren birds did hop in drough The hedge, an' many a skippen shoe Did beat the flowers, wet wi' dew, As underneath the tree's wide limb Our merry sheapes did jumpy, dim, They evenens in the twilight.

How sweet's the evenen dusk to rove Along wi' woone that we do love!

When light enough is in the sky To sheade the smile an' light the eye 'Tis all but heaven to be by; An' bid, in whispers soft an' light 'S the ruslen ov a leaf, "Good night,"

At evenen in the twilight.

An' happy be the young an' strong, That can but work the whole day long So merry as the birds in spring; An' have noo ho vor any thing Another day mid teake or bring; But meet, when all their work's a-done, In orcha'd vor their bit o' fun At evenen in the twilight.

EVENeN IN THE VILLAGE.

Now the light o' the west is a-turn'd to gloom, An' the men be at hwome vrom ground; An' the bells be a-zenden all down the Coombe From tower, their mwoansome sound.

An' the wind is still, An' the house-dogs do bark, An' the rooks be a-vled to the elems high an' dark, An' the water do roar at mill.

An' the flickeren light drough the window-peane Vrom the candle's dull fleame do shoot, An' young Jemmy the smith is a-gone down leane, A-plaen his shrill-vaced flute.

An' the miller's man Do zit down at his ease On the seat that is under the cl.u.s.ter o' trees.

Wi' his pipe an' his cider can.

MAY.

Come out o' door, 'tis Spring! 'tis Ma The trees be green, the vields be ga; The weather's warm, the winter blast, Wi' all his tran o' clouds, is past; The zun do rise while vo'k do sleep, To teake a higher daily zweep, Wi' cloudless feace a-flingen down His sparklen light upon the groun'.

The air's a-streamen soft,--come drow The windor open; let it blow In drough the house, where vire, an' door A-shut, kept out the cwold avore.

Come, let the vew dull embers die, An' come below the open sky; An' wear your best, vor fear the groun'

In colours ga mid sheame your gown: An' goo an' rig wi' me a mile Or two up over geate an' stile, Drough zunny parrocks that do lead, Wi' crooked hedges, to the mead, Where elems high, in steately ranks, Do rise vrom yollow cowslip-banks, An' birds do twitter vrom the spra O' bushes deck'd wi' snow-white ma; An' gil'cups, wi' the deaisy bed, Be under ev'ry step you tread.

We'll wind up roun' the hill, an' look All down the thickly-timber'd nook, Out where the squier's house do show His grey-wall'd peaks up drough the row O' sheady elems, where the rook Do build her nest; an' where the brook Do creep along the meads, an' lie To catch the brightness o' the sky; An' cows, in water to ther knees, Do stan' a-whisken off the vlees.

Mother o' blossoms, and ov all That's feair a-yield vrom Spring till Fall, The gookoo over white-weav'd seas Do come to zing in thy green trees, An' b.u.t.tervlees, in giddy flight, Do gleam the mwost by thy ga light Oh! when, at last, my fleshly eyes Shall shut upon the vields an' skies, Mid zummer's zunny days be gone, An' winter's clouds be comen on: Nor mid I draw upon the e'th, O' thy sweet ar my leatest breath; Ala.s.sen I mid want to sta Behine' for thee, O flow'ry May!

BOB THE FIDDLER.

Oh! Bob the fiddler is the pride O' chaps an' madens vur an' wide; They can't keep up a merry tide, But Bob is in the middle.

If merry Bob do come avore ye, He'll zing a zong, or tell a story; But if you'd zee en in his glory, Jist let en have a fiddle.

Aye, let en tuck a crowd below His chin, an' gi'e his vist a bow, He'll dreve his elbow to an' fro', An' pla what you do please.

At Maypolen, or feast, or feair, His earm wull zet off twenty peair, An' meake em dance the groun' dirt-beare, An' hop about lik' vlees.