Poems Of Rural Life In The Dorset Dialect Part 38

Oh! no, I quite inja'd the ride Behind wold Dobbin's heavy heels, Wi' Jeane a-prattlen at my zide, Above our peair o' spinnen wheels, As grey-rin'd ashes' swaen tops Did creak in moonlight in the copse, Above the quiv'ren gra.s.s, a-beat By wind a-blowen drough the geat.

If weary souls did want their sleep, They had a-zent vor sleep the night; Vor vo'k that had a call to keep Awake, lik' us, there still wer light.

An' He that shut the sleepers' eyes, A-waten vor the zun to rise, Ha' too much love to let em know The ling'ren night did goo so slow.

But if my wife did catch a zight O' zome queer pollard, or a post, Poor soul! she took en in her fright To be a robber or a ghost.

A two-stump'd withy, wi' a head, Mus' be a man wi' earms a-spread; An' foam o' water, round a rock, Wer then a drownen leady's frock.

Zome staddle stwones to bear a mow, Wer dancen vearies on the lag; An' then a snow-white sheeted cow Could only be, she thought, their flag, An owl a-vleen drough the wood Wer men on watch vor little good; An' geates a slam'd by wind, did goo, She thought, to let a robber drough.

But after all, she lik'd the zight O' cows asleep in glitt'ren dew; An' brooks that gleam'd below the light, An' dim vield paths 'ithout a shoe.

An' galy talk'd bezide my ears, A-laughen off her needless fears: Or had the childern uppermost In mind, instead o' thief or ghost.

An' when our house, wi' open door, Did rumble hollow round our heads, She heasten'd up to tother vloor, To zee the childern in their beds; An' vound woone little head awry, Wi' woone a-turn'd toward the sky; An' wrung her hands agean her breast, A-smilen at their happy rest.

ZUN-ZET.

Where the western zun, unclouded, Up above the grey hill-tops, Did sheen drough ashes, lofty sh'ouded On the turf bezide the copse, In zummer weather, We together, Sorrow-slighten, work-vorgetten.

Gambol'd wi' the zun a-zetten.

There, by flow'ry bows o' bramble, Under hedge, in ash-tree sheades, The dun-hear'd ho'se did slowly ramble On the gra.s.ses' dewy bleades, Zet free o' lwoads, An' stwony rwoads, Vorgetvul o' the lashes fretten, Grazen wi' the zun a-zetten.

There wer rooks a-beaten by us Drough the ar, in a vlock, An' there the lively blackbird, nigh us, On the meaple bough did rock, Wi' ringen droat, Where zunlight smote The yollow boughs o' zunny hedges Over western hills' blue edges.

Waters, drough the meads a-purlen, Glissen'd in the evenen's light, An' smoke, above the town a-curlen, Melted slowly out o' zight; An' there, in glooms Ov unzunn'd rooms, To zome, wi' idle sorrows fretten, Zuns did set avore their zetten.

We were out in geames and reaces, Loud a-laughen, wild in me'th, Wi' windblown heair, an' zunbrown'd feaces, Leapen on the high-sky'd e'th, Avore the lights Wer tin'd o' nights, An' while the gossamer's light netten Sparkled to the zun a-zetten.

SPRING.

Now the zunny ar's a-blowen Softly over flowers a-growen; An' the sparklen light do quiver On the ivy-bough an' river; Bleaten lambs, wi' woolly feaces, Now do pla, a-runnen reaces; An' the springen Lark's a-zingen, Lik' a dot avore the cloud, High above the ashes sh'oud.

Housen, in the open brightness, Now do sheen in spots o' whiteness; Here an' there, on upland ledges, In among the trees an' hedges, Where, along by vlocks o' sparrows, Chatt'ren at the ploughman's harrows.

Dousty rwoaded, Errand-lwoaded; Jenny, though her cloak is thin, Do wish en hwome upon the pin.

Zoo come along, noo longer heedvul Ov the vier, leately needvul, Over gra.s.s o' slopen leazes, Zingen zongs in zunny breezes; Out to work in copse, a-mooten, Where the primrwose is a-shooten, An in gladness, Free o' sadness, In the warmth o' Spring vorget Leafless winter's cwold an' wet.

THE ZUMMER HEDGE.

As light do gleare in ev'ry ground, Wi' boughy hedges out a-round A-climmen up the slopen brows O' hills, in rows o' sheady boughs: The while the hawthorn buds do blow As thick as stars, an' white as snow; Or cream-white blossoms be a-spread About the guelder-rwoses' head; How cool's the sheade, or warm's the lewth, Bezide a zummer hedge in blooth.

When we've a-work'd drough longsome hours, Till dew's a-dried vrom dazzlen flow'rs, The while the climmen zun ha' glow'd Drough mwore than half his daily road: Then where the sheades do slily pa.s.s Athirt our veet upon the gra.s.s, As we do rest by lofty ranks Ov elems on the flow'ry banks; How cool's the sheade, or warm's the lewth, Bezide a zummer hedge in blooth.

But oh! below woone hedge's zide Our ja do come a-most to pride; Out where the high-stemm'd trees do stand, In row bezide our own free land, An' where the wide-leav'd clote mid zwim 'Ithin our water's rushy rim: An' ran do vall, an' zuns do burn, An' each in season, and in turn, To cool the sheade or warm the lewth Ov our own zummer hedge in blooth.

How soft do sheake the zummer hedge-- How soft do sway the zummer zedge-- How bright be zummer skies an' zun-- How bright the zummer brook do run; An' feair the flow'rs do bloom, to feade Behind the swaen mower's bleade; An' sweet be merry looks o' ja, By weales an' pooks o' June's new ha, Wi' smilen age, an laughen youth, Bezide the zummer hedge in blooth.

THE WATER CROWVOOT.

O' small-feac'd flow'r that now dost bloom To stud wi' white the shallow Frome, An' leave the clote to spread his flow'r On darksome pools o' stwoneless Stour, When sof'ly-rizen ars do cool The water in the sheenen pool, Thy beds o' snow-white buds do gleam So feair upon the sky-blue stream, As whitest clouds, a-hangen high Avore the blueness o' the sky; An' there, at hand, the thin-heair'd cows, In ary sheades o' withy boughs, Or up bezide the mossy rals, Do stan' an' zwing their heavy tals, The while the ripplen stream do flow Below the dousty bridge's bow; An' quiv'ren water-gleams do mock The weaves, upon the sheaded rock; An' up athirt the copen stwone The latren bwoy do lean alwone, A-watchen, wi' a stedvast look, The vallen waters in the brook, The while the zand o' time do run An' leave his errand still undone.

An' oh! as long's thy buds would gleam Above the softly-sliden stream, While sparklen zummer-brooks do run Below the lofty-climen zun, I only wish that thou could'st sta Vor noo man's harm, an' all men's ja.

But no, the waterman 'ull weade Thy water wi' his deadly bleade, To slay thee even in thy bloom, Fair small-feaced flower o' the Frome.

THE LILAC.

Dear lilac-tree, a-spreaden wide Thy purple blooth on ev'ry zide, As if the hollow sky did shed Its blue upon thy flow'ry head; Oh! whether I mid sheare wi' thee Thy open ar, my bloomen tree, Or zee thy blossoms vrom the gloom, 'Ithin my zunless worken-room, My heart do leap, but leap wi' sighs, At zight o' thee avore my eyes, For when thy grey-blue head do swa In cloudless light, 'tis Spring, 'tis Ma.

'Tis Spring, 'tis Ma, as Ma woonce shed His glowen light above thy head-- When thy green boughs, wi' bloomy tips, Did sheade my childern's laughen lips; A-screenen vrom the noonday gleare Their rwosy cheaks an' glossy heair; The while their mother's needle sped, Too quick vor zight, the snow-white thread, Unless her han', wi' loven ceare, Did smooth their little heads o' heair;

Or wi' a sheake, tie up anew Vor zome wild voot, a slippen shoe; An' I did lean bezide thy mound Agean the deasy-dappled ground, The while the woaken clock did tick My hour o' rest away too quick, An' call me off to work anew, Wi' slowly-ringen strokes, woone, two.

Zoo let me zee noo darksome cloud Bedim to-day thy flow'ry sh'oud, But let en bloom on ev'ry spra, Drough all the days o' zunny Ma.

THE BLACKBIRD.

'Twer out at Penley I'd a-past A zummer day that went too vast, An' when the zetten zun did spread On western clouds a vi'ry red; The elems' leafy limbs wer still Above the gravel-bedded rill, An' under en did warble sh'ill, Avore the dusk, the blackbird.

An' there, in sheades o' darksome yews, Did vlee the madens on their tooes, A-laughen sh'ill wi' merry feace When we did vind their hiden pleace.

'Ithin the loose-bough'd ivys gloom, Or lofty lilac, vull in bloom, Or hazzle-wrides that gi'ed em room Below the zingen blackbird.

Above our heads the rooks did vlee To reach their nested elem-tree, An' splashen vish did rise to catch The wheelen gnots above the hatch; An' there the miller went along, A-smilen, up the sheady drong, But yeet too deaf to hear the zong A-zung us by the blackbird.

An' there the sh'illy-bubblen brook Did leave behind his rocky nook, To run drough meads a-chill'd wi' dew, Vrom hour to hour the whole night drough; But still his murmurs wer a-drown'd By vaces that mid never sound Agean together on that ground, Wi' whislens o' the blackbird.