Poems Of Rural Life In The Dorset Dialect Part 42

JESSIE LEE.

Above the timber's benden sh'ouds, The western wind did softly blow; An' up avore the knap, the clouds Did ride as white as driven snow.

Vrom west to east the clouds did zwim Wi' wind that plied the elem's lim'; Vrom west to east the stream did glide, A-sheenen wide, wi' winden brim.

How feair, I thought, avore the sky The slowly-zwimmen clouds do look; How soft the win's a-streamen by; How bright do roll the weavy brook: When there, a-pa.s.sen on my right, A-waiken slow, an' treaden light, Young Jessie Lee come by, an' there Took all my ceare, an' all my zight.

Vor lovely wer the looks her feace Held up avore the western sky: An' comely wer the steps her peace Did meake a-walken slowly by: But I went east, wi' beaten breast, Wi' wind, an' cloud, an' brook, vor rest, Wi' rest a-lost, vor Jessie gone So lovely on, toward the west.

Blow on, O winds, athirt the hill; Zwim on, O clouds; O waters vall, Down maeshy rocks, vrom mill to mill; I now can overlook ye all.

But roll, O zun, an' bring to me My day, if such a day there be, When zome dear path to my abode Shall be the road o' Jessie Lee.

TRUE LOVE.

As evenen ar, in green-treed Spring, Do sheake the new-sprung pa'sley bed, An' wither'd ash-tree keys do swing An' vall a-flutt'ren roun' our head: There, while the birds do zing their zong In bushes down the ash-tree drong, Come Jessie Lee, vor sweet's the pleace Your vace an' feace can meake vor me.

Below the budden ashes' height We there can linger in the lew, While boughs, a-gilded by the light, Do sheen avore the sky o' blue: But there by zetten zun, or moon A-risen, time wull vlee too soon Wi' Jessie Lee, vor sweet's the pleace Her vace an' feace can meake vor me.

Down where the darksome brook do flow, Below the bridge's arched wall, Wi' alders dark, a-leanen low, Above the gloomy watervall; There I've a-led ye hwome at night, Wi' noo feace else 'ithin my zight But yours so feair, an' sweet's the pleace Your vace an' feace ha' meade me there.

An' oh! when other years do come, An' zetten zuns, wi' yollow gleare, Drough western window-peanes, at hwome, Do light upon my evenen chair: While day do weane, an' dew do vall, Be wi' me then, or else in call, As time do vlee, vor sweet's the pleace Your vace an' feace do meake vor me.

Ah! you do smile, a-thinken light O' my true words, but never mind; Smile on, smile on, but still your flight Would leave me little ja behind: But let me not be zoo a-tried Wi' you a-lost where I do bide, O Jessie Lee, in any pleace Your vace an' feace ha' blest vor me.

I'm sure that when a soul's a-brought To this our life ov ar an' land, Woone mwore's a-mark'd in G.o.d's good thought, To help, wi' love, his heart an' hand.

An' oh! if there should be in store An angel here vor my poor door, 'Tis Jessie Lee, vor sweet's the pleace Her vace an' feace can meake vor me.

THE BEAN VIELD.

'Twer where the zun did warm the lewth, An' win' did whiver in the sheade, The sweet-ar'd beans were out in blooth, Down there 'ithin the elem gleade; A yollow-banded bee did come, An' softly-pitch, wi' hushen hum, Upon a bean, an' there did sip, Upon a swaen blossom's lip: An' there cried he, "Aye, I can zee, This blossom's all a-zent vor me."

A-jilted up an' down, astride Upon a lofty ho'se a-trot, The measter then come by wi' pride, To zee the beans that he'd a-got; An' as he zot upon his ho'se, The ho'se agean did snort an' toss His high-ear'd head, an' at the zight Ov all the blossom, black an' white: "Ah! ah!" thought he, the seame's the bee, "Thease beans be all a-zent vor me."

Zoo let the worold's riches breed A strife o' clams, wi' weak and strong, Vor now what cause have I to heed Who's in the right, or in the wrong; Since there do come drough yonder hatch, An' bloom below the house's thatch, The best o' madens, an' do own That she is mine, an' mine alwone: Zoo I can zee that love do gi'e The best ov all good gifts to me.

Vor whose be all the crops an' land A-won an' lost, an' bought, an zwold Or whose, a-roll'd vrom hand to hand, The highest money that's a-twold?

Vrom man to man a pa.s.sen on, 'Tis here to-day, to-morrow gone.

But there's a blessen high above It all--a soul o' stedvast love: Zoo let it vlee, if G.o.d do gi'e Sweet Jessie vor a gift to me.

WOLD FRIENDS A-MET.

Aye, vull my heart's blood now do roll, An' ga do rise my happy soul, An' well they mid, vor here our veet Avore woone vier agean do meet; Vor you've avoun' my feace, to greet Wi' welcome words my startlen ear.

An' who be you, but John o' Weer, An' I, but William Wellburn.

Here, light a candle up, to shed Mwore light upon a wold friend's head, An' show the smile, his feace woonce mwore Ha' brought us vrom another sh.o.r.e.

An' I'll heave on a brand avore The vier back, to meake good cheer, O' roaren fleames, vor John o' Weer To chat wi' William Wellburn.

Aye, aye, it mid be true that zome, When they do wander out vrom hwome, Do leave their nearest friends behind, Bwoth out o' zight, an' out o' mind; But John an' I ha' ties to bind Our souls together, vur or near, For, who is he but John o' Weer.

An' I, but William Wellburn.

Look, there he is, with twinklen eyes, An' elbows down upon his thighs.

A-chucklen low, wi' merry grin.

Though time ha' roughen'd up his chin, 'Tis still the seame true soul 'ithin, As woonce I know'd, when year by year, Thik very chap, thik John o' Weer, Did pla wi' William Wellburn.

Come, John, come; don't be dead-alive Here, reach us out your cl.u.s.t'r o' vive.

Oh! you be happy. Ees, but that Woon't do till you can laugh an' chat.

Don't blinky, lik' a purren cat, But leap an' laugh, an' let vo'k hear What's happen'd, min, that John o' Weer Ha' met wi' William Wellburn.

Vor zome, wi' selfishness too strong Vor love, do do each other wrong; An' zome do wrangle an' divide In hets ov anger, bred o' pride; But who do think that time or tide Can breed ill-will in friends so dear, As William wer to John o' Weer, An' John to William Wellburn?

If other vo'ks do gleen to zee How loven an' how glad we be, What, then, poor souls, they had but vew Sich happy days, so long agoo, As they that I've a-spent wi' you; But they'd hold woone another dear, If woone o' them wer John o' Weer, An' tother William Wellburn.

FIFEHEAD.

'Twer where my fondest thoughts do light, At Fifehead, while we spent the night; The millwheel's resten rim wer dry, An' houn's held up their evenen cry; An' lofty, drough the midnight sky, Above the vo'k, wi' heavy heads, Asleep upon their darksome beds, The stars wer all awake, John.

Noo birds o' day wer out to spread Their wings above the gully's bed, An' darkness roun' the elem-tree 'D a-still'd the charmy childern's glee.

All he'ths wer cwold but woone, where we Wer ga, 'tis true, but ga an' wise, An' laugh'd in light o' maden's eyes, That glissen'd wide awake, John.

An' when we all, lik' loosen'd hounds, Broke out o' doors, wi' merry sounds, Our friends among the plasome team, All brought us gwain so vur's the stream.

But Jeane, that there, below a gleam O' light, watch'd woone o's out o' zight; Vor willenly, vor his "Good night,"

She'd longer bide awake, John.

An' while up _Leighs_ we stepp'd along Our gra.s.sy path, wi' joke an' zong, There _Plumber_, wi' its woody ground, O' slopen knaps a-screen'd around, Rose dim 'ithout a breath o' sound, The wold abode o' squiers a-gone, Though while they lay a-sleepen on, Their stars wer still awake, John.

IVY HALL.

If I've a-stream'd below a storm, An' not a-velt the ran, An' if I ever velt me warm, In snow upon the plan, 'Twer when, as evenen skies wer dim, An' vields below my eyes wer dim, I went alwone at evenen-fall, Athirt the vields to Ivy Hall.