Poems Of Rural Life In The Dorset Dialect Part 14

We can't keep back the daily zun, The wind is never still, An' never ha' the streams a-done A-runnen down at hill.

Zoo they that ha' their work to do, Should do't so soon's they can; Vor time an' tide will come an' goo, An' never wat vor man, As the c.o.c.k do gi'e me warnen; When, light or dark, So brisk's a lark, I'm up so rathe in mornen.

We've leazes where the ar do blow, An' meads wi' deairy cows, An' copse wi' lewth an' sheade below The overhangen boughs.

An' when the zun, noo time can tire, 'S a-quench'd below the west, Then we've, avore the bleazen vire, A settle vor to rest,-- To be up agean nex' mornen So brisk's a lark, When, light or dark, The c.o.c.k do gi'e us warnen.

OUT A-NUTTeN.

Last week, when we'd a haul'd the crops, We went a-nutten out in copse, Wi' nutten-bags to bring hwome vull, An' beaky nutten-crooks to pull The bushes down; an' all o's wore Wold clothes that wer in rags avore, An' look'd, as we did skip an' zing, Lik' merry gipsies in a string, A-gwan a-nutten.

Zoo drough the stubble, over rudge An' vurrow, we begun to trudge; An' Sal an' Nan agreed to pick Along wi' me, an' Poll wi' d.i.c.k; An' they went where the wold wood, high An' thick, did meet an' hide the sky; But we thought we mid vind zome good Ripe nuts among the shorter wood, The best vor nutten.

We voun' zome bushes that did feace The downcast zunlight's highest pleace, Where cl.u.s.ters hung so ripe an' brown, That some slipp'd sh.e.l.l an' vell to groun'.

But Sal wi' me zoo hitch'd her lag In brembles, that she coulden wag; While Poll kept clwose to d.i.c.k, an' stole The nuts vrom's hinder pocket-hole, While he did nutty.

An' Nanny thought she zaw a sneake, An' jump'd off into zome girt breake, An' tore the bag where she'd a-put Her sheare, an' shatter'd ev'ry nut.

An' out in vield we all zot roun'

A white-stemm'd woak upon the groun', Where yollor evenen light did strik'

Drough yollow leaves, that still wer thick In time o' nutten,

An' twold ov all the luck we had Among the bushes, good an' bad!

Till all the madens left the bwoys, An' skipp'd about the leaze all woys Vor musherooms, to car back zome, A treat vor father in at hwome.

Zoo off we trudg'd wi' clothes in slents An' libbets, jis' lik' Jack-o'-lents, Vrom copse a-nutten.

TEAKEN IN APPLES.

We took the apples in last week, An' got, by night, zome eachen backs A-stoopen down all day to pick So many up in mawns an' zacks.

An' there wer Liz so proud an' prim, An' dumpy Nan, an' Poll so sly; An' dapper Tom, an' loppen Jim, An' little d.i.c.k, an' Fan, an' I.

An' there the lwoaded tree bent low, Behung wi' apples green an' red; An' springen gra.s.s could hardly grow, Drough windvalls down below his head.

An' when the madens come in roun'

The heavy boughs to vill their laps, We slily shook the apples down Lik' hal, an' gi'ed their backs some raps.

An' zome big apple, Jimmy flung To squal me, gi'ed me sich a crack; But very shortly his ear rung, Wi' woone I zent to pa en back.

An' after we'd a-had our squals, Poor Tom, a-jumpen in a bag, Wer pinch'd by all the maden's nals, An' rolled down into hwome-groun' quag.

An' then they carr'd our Fan all roun', 'Ithin a mawn, till zome girt stump Upset en over on the groun', An' drow'd her out along-straght, plump.

An' in the cider-house we zot Upon the windla.s.s Poll an' Nan, An' spun 'em roun' till they wer got So giddy that they coulden stan'.

MEAPLE LEAVES BE YOLLOW.

Come, let's stroll down so vur's the poun', Avore the sparklen zun is down: The zummer's gone, an' days so feair As thease be now a-getten reare.

The night, wi' mwore than daylight's sheare O' wat'ry sky, do wet wi' dew The ee-gra.s.s up above woone's shoe, An' meaple leaves be yollow.

The last hot doust, above the road, An' vu'st dead leaves ha' been a-blow'd By plasome win's where spring did spread The blossoms that the zummer shed; An' near blue sloos an' conkers red The evenen zun, a zetten soon, Do leave a-quiv'ren to the moon, The meaple leaves so yollow.

Zoo come along, an' let's inja The last fine weather while do sta; While thou canst hang, wi' ribbons slack, Thy bonnet down upon thy back, Avore the winter, cwold an' black, Do kill thy flowers, an' avore Thy bird-cage is a-took in door, Though meaple leaves be yollow.

NIGHT A-ZETTEN IN.

When leazers wi' their laps o' corn Noo longer be a-stoopen, An' in the stubble, all vorlorn, Noo poppies be a-droopen; When thease young harvest-moon do weane, That now've his horns so thin, O, We'll leave off walken in the leane, While night's a zetten in, O.

When zummer doust is all a-laid Below our litty shoes, O; When all the ran-chill'd flow'rs be dead, That now do drink the dews, O; When beauty's neck, that's now a-show'd, 'S a-m.u.f.fled to the chin, O; We'll leave off walken in the road, When night's a-zetten in, O.

But now, while barley by the road Do hang upon the bough, O, A-pull'd by branches off the lwoad A-riden hwome to mow, O; While spiders roun' the flower-stalks Ha' cobwebs yet to spin, O, We'll cool ourzelves in out-door walks, When night's a-zetten in, O.

While down at vword the brook so small, That leately wer so high, O, Wi' little tinklen sounds do vall In roun' the stwones half dry, O; While twilight ha' sich ar in store, To cool our zunburnt skin, O, We'll have a ramble out o' door, When night's a-zetten in, O.

THE WEATHER-BEATEN TREE.

The woaken tree, a-beat at night By stormy winds wi' all their spite, Mid toss his lim's, an' ply, an' mwoan, Wi' unknown struggles all alwone; An' when the day do show his head, A-stripp'd by winds at last a-laid, How vew mid think that didden zee, How night-time had a-tried thik tree.

An' happy vo'k do seldom know How hard our unknown storms do blow, The while our heads do slowly bend Below the trials G.o.d do zend, Like s.h.i.+v'ren bennets, beare to all The dreven winds o' dark'nen fall.

An' zoo in tryen hards.h.i.+ps we Be lik' the weather beaten tree.

But He will never meake our sheare O' sorrow mwore than we can bear, But meake us zee, if 'tis His will, That He can bring us good vrom ill; As after winter He do bring, In His good time, the zunny spring, An' leaves, an' young vo'k vull o' glee A-dancen roun' the woaken tree.

True love's the ivy that do twine Unwith'ren roun' his mossy rine, When winter's zickly zun do sheen Upon its leaves o' glossy green, So patiently a-holden vast Till storms an' cwold be all a-past, An' only liven vor to be A-meated to the woaken tree.

SHRODON FEaIR.

_The vu'st Peart._

An' zoo's the day wer warm an' bright, An' nar a cloud wer up in zight, We wheedled father vor the meare An' cart, to goo to Shrodon feair.

An' Poll an' Nan run off up stairs, To s.h.i.+ft their things, as wild as heares; An' pull'd out, each o'm vrom her box, Their snow-white leace an' newest frocks, An' put their bonnets on, a-lined Wi' blue, an' sashes tied behind; An' turn'd avore the gla.s.s their feace An' back, to zee their things in pleace; While d.i.c.k an' I did brush our hats An' cwoats, an' clean ourzelves lik' cats.