Poems Of Rural Life In The Dorset Dialect Part 27

THE BELLS OV ALDERBURNHAM.

While now upon the win' do zwell The church-bells' evenen peal, O, Along the bottom, who can tell How touch'd my heart do veel, O.

To hear agean, as woonce they rung In holidays when I wer young, Wi' merry sound A-ringen round, The bells ov Alderburnham.

Vor when they rung their gaest peals O' zome sweet day o' rest, O, We all did ramble drough the viels, A-dress'd in all our best, O; An' at the bridge or roaren weir, Or in the wood, or in the gleare Ov open ground, Did hear ring round The bells ov Alderburnham.

They bells, that now do ring above The young brides at church-door, O, Woonce rung to bless their mother's love, When they were brides avore, O.

An' sons in tow'r do still ring on The merry peals o' fathers gone, Noo mwore to sound, Or hear ring round, The bells ov Alderburnham.

Ov happy peairs, how soon be zome A-wedded an' a-pearted!

Vor woone ov ja, what peals mid come To zome o's broken-hearted!

The stronger mid the sooner die, The gaer mid the sooner sigh; An' who do know What grief's below The bells ov Alderburnham!

But still 'tis happiness to know That there's a G.o.d above us; An' he, by day an' night, do ho Vor all ov us, an' love us, An' call us to His house, to heal Our hearts, by his own Zunday peal Ov bells a-rung Vor wold an' young, The bells ov Alderburnham.

THE GIRT WOLD HOUSE O' MOSSY STWONE.

The girt wold house o' mossy stwone, Up there upon the knap alwone, Had woonce a bleazen kitchen-vier, That cook'd vor poor-vo'k an' a squier.

The very last ov all the reace That liv'd the squier o' the pleace, Died off when father wer a-born, An' now his kin be all vorlorn Vor ever,--vor he left noo son To teake the house o' mossy stwone.

An' zoo he vell to other hands, An' gramfer took en wi' the lands: An' there when he, poor man, wer dead, My father shelter'd my young head.

An' if I wer a squier, I Should like to spend my life, an' die In thik wold house o' mossy stwone, Up there upon the knap alwone.

Don't talk ov housen all o' brick, Wi' rocken walls nine inches thick, A-trigg'd together zide by zide In streets, wi' fronts a straddle wide, Wi' yards a-sprinkled wi' a mop, Too little vor a vrog to hop; But let me live an' die where I Can zee the ground, an' trees, an' sky.

The girt wold house o' mossy stwone Had wings vor either sheade or zun: Woone where the zun did glitter drough, When vu'st he struck the mornen dew; Woone feaced the evenen sky, an' woone Push'd out a pworch to zweaty noon: Zoo woone stood out to break the storm, An' meade another lew an' warm.

An' there the timber'd copse rose high, Where birds did build an' heares did lie, An' beds o' graegles in the lew, Did deck in Ma the ground wi' blue.

An' there wer hills an' slopen grounds, That they did ride about wi' hounds; An' drough the mead did creep the brook Wi' bushy bank an' rushy nook, Where perch did lie in sheady holes Below the alder trees, an' shoals O' gudgeon darted by, to hide Theirzelves in hollows by the zide.

An' there by leanes a-winden deep, Wer mossy banks a-risen steep; An' stwonen steps, so smooth an' wide, To stiles an' vootpaths at the zide.

An' there, so big's a little ground, The gearden wer a-wall'd all round: An' up upon the wall wer bars A-sheaped all out in wheels an' stars, Vor vo'k to walk, an' look out drough Vrom trees o' green to hills o' blue.

An' there wer walks o' peavement, broad Enough to meake a carriage-road, Where steately leadies woonce did use To walk wi' hoops an' high-heel shoes, When yonder hollow woak wer sound, Avore the walls wer ivy-bound, Avore the elems met above The road between em, where they drove Their coach all up or down the road A-comen hwome or gwan abroad.

The zummer ar o' thease green hill 'V a-heav'd in bosoms now all still, An' all their hopes an' all their tears Be unknown things ov other years.

But if, in heaven, souls be free To come back here; or there can be An e'thly pleace to meake em come To zee it vrom a better hwome,-- Then what's a-twold us mid be right, That still, at dead o' tongueless night, Their gauzy sheapes do come an' glide By vootways o' their youthvul pride.

An' while the trees do stan' that grow'd Vor them, or walls or steps they know'd Do bide in pleace, they'll always come To look upon their e'thly hwome.

Zoo I would always let alwone The girt wold house o' mossy stwone: I woulden pull a wing o'n down, To meake ther speechless sheades to frown; Vor when our souls, mid woonce become Lik' their's, all bodiless an' dumb, How good to think that we mid vind Zome thought vrom them we left behind, An' that zome love mid still unite The hearts o' blood wi' souls o' light.

Zoo, if 'twer mine, I'd let alwone The girt wold house o' mossy stwone.

A WITCH.

There's thik wold hag, Moll Brown, look zee, jus' past!

I wish the ugly sly wold witch Would tumble over into ditch; I woulden pull her out not very vast.

No, no. I don't think she's a bit belied, No, she's a witch, aye, Molly's evil-eyed.

Vor I do know o' many a-withren blight A-cast on vo'k by Molly's mutter'd spite; She did, woone time, a dreadvul deal o' harm To Farmer Gruff's vo'k, down at Lower Farm.

Vor there, woone day, they happened to offend her, An' not a little to their sorrow, Because they woulden gi'e or lend her Zome'hat she come to bag or borrow; An' zoo, they soon began to vind That she'd agone an' left behind Her evil wish that had such pow'r, That she did meake their milk an' eale turn zour, An' addle all the aggs their vowls did lay; They coulden vetch the b.u.t.ter in the churn, An' all the cheese begun to turn All back agean to curds an' whey; The little pigs, a-runnen wi' the zow, Did zicken, zomehow, noobody know'd how, An' vall, an' turn their snouts toward the sky.

An' only gi'e woone little grunt, and die; An' all the little ducks an' chicken Wer death-struck out in yard a-picken Their bits o' food, an' vell upon their head, An' flapp'd their little wings an' drapp'd down dead.

They coulden fat the calves, they woulden thrive; They coulden seave their lambs alive; Their sheep wer all a-coath'd, or gi'ed noo wool; The hosses vell away to skin an' bwones, An' got so weak they coulden pull A half a peck o' stwones: The dog got dead-alive an' drowsy, The cat vell zick an' woulden mousy; An' every time the vo'k went up to bed, They wer a-hag-rod till they wer half dead.

They us'd to keep her out o' house, 'tis true, A-nalen up at door a hosses shoe; An' I've a-heard the farmer's wife did try To dawk a needle or a pin In drough her wold hard wither'd skin, An' draw her blood, a-comen by: But she could never vetch a drap, For pins would ply an' needless snap Agean her skin; an' that, in coo'se, Did meake the hag bewitch em woo'se.

[Gothic: Eclogue.]

THE TIMES.

_John an' Tom._

JOHN.

Well, Tom, how be'st? Zoo thou'st a-got thy neame Among the leaguers, then, as I've a heard.

TOM.

Aye, John, I have, John; an' I ben't afeard To own it. Why, who woulden do the seame?

We shant goo on lik' this long, I can tell ye.

Bread is so high an' wages be so low, That, after worken lik' a hoss, you know, A man can't earn enough to vill his belly.

JOHN.

Ah! well! Now there, d'ye know, if I wer sure That theasem men would gi'e me work to do All drough the year, an' always pay me mwore Than I'm a-earnen now, I'd jein em too.

If I wer sure they'd bring down things so cheap, That what mid buy a pound o' mutton now Would buy the hinder quarters, or the sheep, Or what wull buy a pig would buy a cow: In short, if they could meake a s.h.i.+llen goo In market just so vur as two, Why then, d'ye know, I'd be their man; But, hang it! I don't think they can.

TOM.

Why ees they can, though you don't know't, An' theasem men can meake it clear.

Why vu'st they'd zend up members ev'ry year To Parli'ment, an' ev'ry man would vote; Vor if a fellow midden be a squier, He mid be just so fit to vote, an' goo To meake the laws at Lon'on, too, As many that do hold their noses higher.

Why shoulden fellows meake good laws an' speeches A-dressed in fusti'n cwoats an' cord'roy breeches?

Or why should hooks an' shovels, zives an' axes, Keep any man vrom voten o' the taxes?

An' when the poor've a-got a sheare In meaken laws, they'll teake good ceare To meake some good woones vor the poor.

Do stan' by reason, John; because The men that be to meake the laws, Will meake em vor theirzelves, you mid be sure.

JOHN.

Ees, that they wull. The men that you mid trust To help you, Tom, would help their own zelves vu'st.

TOM.