Poems Of Rural Life In The Dorset Dialect Part 20

An' zome birds do keep under ruffen Their young vrom the storm, An' zome wi' nest-hoodens o' moss And o' wool, do lie warm.

An' we wull look well to the houseruf That o'er thee mid leak, An' the blast that mid beat on thy winder Shall not smite thy cheak.

Lullaby, Lilibrow. Lie asleep; Blest be thy rest.

MEARY-ANN'S CHILD.

Meary-Ann wer alwone wi' her beaby in earms, In her house wi' the trees over head, Vor her husban' wer out in the night an' the storms, In his business a-tweilen vor bread; An' she, as the wind in the elems did roar, Did grievy vor Robert all night out o' door.

An' her kinsvo'k an' na'bours did zay ov her chile, (Under the high elem tree), That a prettier never did babble or smile Up o' top ov a proud mother's knee; An' his mother did toss en, an' kiss en, an' call En her darlen, an' life, an' her hope, an' her all.

But she vound in the evenen the chile werden well, (Under the dark elem tree), An' she thought she could gi'e all the worold to tell, Vor a truth what his alen mid be; An' she thought o'en last in her praers at night, An' she look'd at en last as she put out the light.

An' she vound en grow wo'se in the dead o' the night, (Under the dark elem tree), An' she press'd en agean her warm bosom so tight, An' she rock'd en so sorrowfully; An' there laid a-nestlen the poor little bwoy, Till his struggles grew weak, an' his cries died awoy.

An' the moon wer a-sheenen down into the pleace, (Under the dark elem tree), An' his mother could zee that his lips an' his feace Wer so white as clean axen could be; An' her tongue wer a-tied an' her still heart did zwell, Till her senses come back wi' the vu'st tear that vell.

Never mwore can she veel his warm feace in her breast, (Under the green elem tree), Vor his eyes be a-shut, an' his hands be at rest, An' he's now vrom his pan a-zet free; Vor his soul, we do know, is to heaven a-vled, Where noo pan is a-known, an' noo tears be a-shed.

[Gothic: Eclogue.]

FATHER COME HWOME.

_John, Wife, an' Child._

CHILD.

O mother, mother! be the teaties done?

Here's father now a-comen down the track, Hes got his nitch o' wood upon his back, An' such a speaker in en! I'll be bound, He's long enough to reach vrom ground Up to the top ov ouer tun; 'Tis jist the very thing vor Jack an' I To goo a-colepecksen wi' by an' by.

WIFE.

The teaties must be ready pretty nigh; Do teake woone up upon the fork' an' try.

The ceake upon the vier, too, 's a-burnen, I be afeard: do run an' zee, an' turn en.

JOHN.

Well, mother! here I be woonce mwore, at hwome.

WIFE.

Ah! I be very glad you be a-come.

You be a-tired an' cwold enough, I s'pose; Zit down an' rest your bwones, an' warm your nose.

JOHN.

Why I be nippy: what is there to eat?

WIFE.

Your supper's nearly ready. I've a got Some teaties here a-doen in the pot; I wish wi' all my heart I had some meat.

I got a little ceake too, here, a-beaken o'n Upon the vier. 'Tis done by this time though.

He's nice an' moist; vor when I wer a-meaken o'n I stuck some bits ov apple in the dough.

CHILD.

Well, father; what d'ye think? The pig got out This mornen; an' avore we zeed or heard en, He run about, an' got out into gearden, An' routed up the groun' zoo wi' his snout!

JOHN.

Now only think o' that! You must contrive To keep en in, or else he'll never thrive.

CHILD.

An' father, what d'ye think? I voun' to-day The nest where thik wold hen ov our's do lay: 'Twer out in orcha'd hedge, an' had vive aggs.

WIFE.

Lo'k there: how wet you got your veet an' lags!

How did ye get in such a pickle, Jahn?

JOHN.

I broke my hoss, an' been a-fwo'ced to stan'

All's day in mud an' water vor to dig, An' meade myzelf so wetshod as a pig.

CHILD.

Father, teake off your shoes, then come, and I Will bring your wold woones vor ye, nice an' dry.

WIFE.

An' have ye got much hedgen mwore to do?

JOHN.

Enough to last vor dree weeks mwore or zoo.

WIFE.

An' when y'ave done the job you be about, D'ye think you'll have another vound ye out?