Poems Of Rural Life In The Dorset Dialect Part 26

We now mid hope vor better cheer, My smilen wife o' twice vive year.

Let others frown, if thou bist near Wi' hope upon thy brow, Jeane; Vor I vu'st lov'd thee when thy light Young sheape vu'st grew to woman's height; I loved thee near, an' out o' zight, An' I do love thee now, Jeane.

An' we've a-trod the sheenen bleade Ov eegra.s.s in the zummer sheade, An' when the leaves begun to feade Wi' zummer in the weane, Jeane; An' we've a-wander'd drough the groun'

O' swayen wheat a-turnen brown, An' we've a-stroll'd together roun'

The brook an' drough the leane, Jeane.

An' nwone but I can ever tell Ov all thy tears that have a-vell When trials meade thy bosom zwell, An' nwone but thou o' mine, Jeane; An' now my heart, that heav'd wi' pride Back then to have thee at my zide, Do love thee mwore as years do slide, An' leave them times behine, Jeane.

THE DREE WOAKS.

By the brow o' thik hangen I spent all my youth, In the house that did peep out between The dree woaks, that in winter avworded their lewth, An' in zummer their sheade to the green; An' there, as in zummer we play'd at our geames, We [=e]ach own'd a tree, Vor we wer but dree, An' zoo the dree woaks wer a-call'd by our neames.

An' two did grow scraggy out over the road, An' they wer call'd Jimmy's an' mine; An' tother wer Jeannet's, much kindlier grow'd, Wi' a knotless an' white ribbed rine.

An' there, o' fine nights avore gwain in to rest, We did dance, vull o' life, To the sound o' the fife, Or pla at some geame that poor Jeannet lik'd best.

Zoo happy wer we by the woaks o' the green, Till we lost sister Jeannet, our pride; Vor when she wer come to her last blushen _teen_, She suddenly zicken'd an' died.

An' avore the green leaves in the fall wer gone by, The lightnen struck dead Her woaken tree's head, An' left en a-stripp'd to the wintery sky.

But woone ov his eacorns, a-zet in the Fall, Come up the Spring after, below The trees at her head-stwone 'ithin the church-wall, An' mother, to see how did grow, Shed a tear; an' when father an' she wer bwoth dead, There they wer laid deep, Wi' their Jeannet, to sleep, Wi' her at his zide, an' her tree at her head.

An' vo'k do still call the wold house the dree woaks, Vor thik is a-reckon'd that's down, As mother, a-neamen her childern to vo'ks, Meade dree when but two wer a-voun'; An' zaid that hereafter she knew she should zee Why G.o.d, that's above, Vound fit in his love To strike wi' his han' the poor mad an' her tree.

THE HWOMESTEAD A-VELL INTO HAND.

The house where I wer born an' bred, Did own his woaken door, John, When vu'st he shelter'd father's head, An' gramfer's long avore, John.

An' many a ramblen happy chile, An' chap so strong an' bwold, An' bloomen mad wi' plasome smile, Did call their hwome o' wold Thik ruf so warm, A kept vrom harm By elem trees that broke the storm.

An' in the orcha'd out behind, The apple-trees in row, John, Did swa wi' moss about their rind Their heads a-nodden low, John.

An' there, bezide zome groun' vor corn, Two strips did skirt the road; In woone the cow did toss her horn, While tother wer a-mow'd, In June, below The lofty row Ov trees that in the hedge did grow.

A-worken in our little patch O' parrock, rathe or leate, John, We little ho'd how vur mid stratch The squier's wide esteate, John.

Our hearts, so honest an' so true, Had little vor to fear; Vor we could pay up all their due An' gi'e a friend good cheer At hwome, below The lofty row O' trees a-swaen to an' fro.

An' there in het, an' there in wet, We tweil'd wi' busy hands, John; Vor ev'ry stroke o' work we het, Did better our own lands, John.

But after me, ov all my kin, Not woone can hold em on; Vor we can't get a life put in Vor mine, when I'm a-gone Vrom thik wold brown Thatch ruf, a-boun'

By elem trees a-growen roun'.

Ov eight good hwomes, where, I can mind Vo'k liv'd upon their land, John, But dree be now a-left behind; The rest ha' vell in hand, John, An' all the happy souls they ved Be scatter'd vur an' wide.

An' zome o'm be a-wanten bread, Zome, better off, ha' died, Noo mwore to ho, Vor homes below The trees a-swaen to an' fro.

An' I could lead ye now all round The parish, if I would, John, An' show ye still the very ground Where vive good housen stood, John In broken orcha'ds near the spot, A vew wold trees do stand; But dew do vall where vo'k woonce zot About the burnen brand In housen warm, A-kept vrom harm By elems that did break the storm.

THE GUIDE POST.

Why thik wold post so long kept out, Upon the knap, his earms astrout, A-zenden on the weary veet By where the dree cross roads do meet; An' I've a-come so much thik woy, Wi' happy heart, a man or bwoy, That I'd a-meade, at last, a'most A friend o' thik wold guiden post.

An' there, wi' woone white earm he show'd, Down over bridge, the Leyton road; Wi' woone, the leane a-leaden roun'

By Bradlinch Hill, an' on to town; An' wi' the last, the way to turn Drough common down to Rus.h.i.+burn,-- The road I lik'd to goo the mwost Ov all upon the guiden post.

The Leyton road ha' lofty ranks Ov elem trees upon his banks; The woone athirt the hill do show Us miles o' hedgy meads below; An' he to Rus.h.i.+burn is wide Wi' strips o' green along his zide, An' ouer brown-ruf'd house a-most In zight o' thik wold guiden post.

An' when the ha-meakers did zwarm O' zummer evenens out vrom farm.

The merry madens an' the chaps, A-pearten there wi' jokes an' slaps, Did goo, zome woone way off, an' zome Another, all a-zingen hwome; Vor vew o'm had to goo, at mwost, A mile beyond the guiden post.

Poor Nanny Brown, woone darkish night, When he'd a-been a-panted white, Wer frighten'd, near the gravel pits, So dead's a hammer into fits, A-thinken 'twer the ghost she know'd Did come an' haunt the Leyton road; Though, after all, poor Nanny's ghost Turn'd out to be the guiden post.

GWAIN TO FEaIR.

To morrow stir so brisk's you can, An' get your work up under han'; Vor I an' Jim, an' Poll's young man, Shall goo to feair; an' zoo, If you wull let us gi'e ye a earm Along the road, or in the zwarm O' vo'k, we'll keep ye out o' harm, An' gi'e ye a feairen too.

We won't stay leate there, I'll be boun'; We'll bring our sheades off out o' town A mile, avore the zun is down, If he's a sheenen clear.

Zoo when your work is all a-done, Your mother can't but let ye run An' zee a little o' the fun, There's nothen there to fear.

JEaNE O' GRENLEY MILL.

When in happy times we met, Then by look an' deed I show'd, How my love wer all a-zet In the smiles that she bestow'd.

She mid have, o' left an' right, Madens feairest to the zight; I'd a-chose among em still, Pretty Jeane o' Grenley Mill.

She wer feairer, by her cows In her work-day frock a-drest, Than the rest wi' scornvul brows All a-flanten in their best.

Ga did seem, at feast or feair, Zights that I had her to sheare; Ga would be my own heart still, But vor Jeane o' Grenley Mill.

Jeane--a-checken ov her love-- Lean'd to woone that, as she guess'd, Stood in worldly wealth above Me she know'd she lik'd the best.

He wer wild, an' soon run drough All that he'd a-come into, Heartlessly a-treaten ill Pretty Jeane o' Grenley Mill.

Oh! poor Jenny! thou'st a tore Hopen love vrom my poor heart, Losen vrom thy own small store, All the better, sweeter peart.

Hearts a-slighted must vorseake Slighters, though a-doom'd to break; I must scorn, but love thee still, Pretty Jeane o' Grenley Mill.

Oh! if ever thy soft eyes Could ha' turn'd vrom outward show, To a lover born to rise When a higher woone wer low; If thy love, when zoo a-tried, Could ha' stood agean thy pride, How should I ha' lov'd thee still, Pretty Jeane o' Grenley Mill.