Poems Of Rural Life In The Dorset Dialect Part 39

THE SLANTeN LIGHT O' FALL.

Ah! Jeane, my mad, I stood to you, When you wer christen'd, small an' light, Wi' tiny earms o' red an' blue, A-hangen in your robe o' white.

We brought ye to the hallow'd stwone, Vor Christ to teake ye vor his own, When harvest work wer all a-done, An' time brought round October zun-- The slanten light o' Fall.

An' I can mind the wind wer rough, An' gather'd clouds, but brought noo storms, An' you did nessle warm enough, 'Ithin your smilen mother's earms.

The whindlen gra.s.s did quiver light, Among the stubble, feaded white, An' if at times the zunlight broke Upon the ground, or on the vo'k, 'Twer slanten light o' Fall.

An' when we brought ye drough the door O' Knapton Church, a child o' greace, There cl.u.s.ter'd round a'most a score O' vo'k to zee your tiny feace.

An' there we all did veel so proud, To zee an' op'nen in the cloud, An' then a stream o' light break drough, A-sheenen brightly down on you-- The slanten light o' Fall.

But now your time's a-come to stand In church, a-blushen at my zide, The while a bridegroom vrom my hand Ha' took ye vor his fathvul bride.

Your christen neame we gi'd ye here, When Fall did cool the weasten year; An' now, agean, we brought ye drough The doorway, wi' your surneame new, In slanten light o' Fall.

An' zoo vur, Jeane, your life is feair, An' G.o.d ha' been your steadvast friend, An' mid ye have mwore ja than ceare, Vor ever, till your journey's end.

An' I've a-watch'd ye on wi' pride, But now I soon mus' leave your zide, Vor you ha' still life's spring-tide zun, But my life, Jeane, is now a-run To slanten light o' Fall.

THISSLEDOWN.

The thissledown by wind's a-roll'd In Fall along the zunny plan, Did catch the gra.s.s, but lose its hold, Or cling to bennets, but in van.

But when it zwept along the gra.s.s, An' zunk below the hollow's edge, It lay at rest while winds did pa.s.s Above the pit-bescreenen ledge.

The plan ha' brightness wi' his strife, The pit is only dark at best, There's pleasure in a worksome life, An' sloth is tiresome wi' its rest.

Zoo, then, I'd sooner bear my peart, Ov all the trials vo'k do rue, Than have a deadness o' the heart, Wi' nothen mwore to veel or do.

THE MAY-TREE.

I've a-come by the Ma-tree all times o' the year, When leaves wer a-springen, When vrost wer a-stingen, When cool-winded mornen did show the hills clear, When night wer bedimmen the vields vur an' near.

When, in zummer, his head wer as white as a sheet, Wi' white buds a-zwellen, An' blossom, sweet-smellen, While leaves wi' green leaves on his bough-zides did meet, A-sheaden the deaisies down under our veet.

When the zun, in the Fall, wer a-wanderen wan, An' haws on his head Did sprinkle en red, Or bright drops o' ran wer a-hung loosely on, To the tips o' the sprigs when the scud wer a-gone.

An' when, in the winter, the zun did goo low, An' keen win' did huffle, But never could ruffle The hard vrozen feace o' the water below, His limbs wer a-fringed wi' the vrost or the snow.

LYDLINCH BELLS.

When skies wer peale wi' twinklen stars, An' whislen ar a-risen keen; An' birds did leave the icy bars To vind, in woods, their mossy screen; When vrozen gra.s.s, so white's a sheet, Did scrunchy sharp below our veet, An' water, that did sparkle red At zunzet, wer a-vrozen dead; The ringers then did spend an hour A-ringen changes up in tow'r; Vor Lydlinch bells be good vor sound, An' liked by all the naghbours round.

An' while along the leafless boughs O' ruslen hedges, win's did pa.s.s, An' orts ov ha, a-left by cows, Did russle on the vrozen gra.s.s, An' madens' pals, wi' all their work A-done, did hang upon their vurk, An' they, avore the fleamen brand, Did teake their needle-work in hand, The men did cheer their heart an hour A-ringen changes up in tow'r; Vor Lydlinch bells be good vor sound, An' liked by all the naghbours round.

There sons did pull the bells that rung Their mothers' wedden peals avore, The while their fathers led em young An' blushen vrom the churches door, An' still did cheem, wi' happy sound, As time did bring the Zundays round, An' call em to the holy pleace Vor heav'nly gifts o' peace an' greace; An' vo'k did come, a-streamen slow Along below the trees in row, While they, in merry peals, did sound The bells vor all the naghbours round.

An' when the bells, wi' changen peal, Did smite their own vo'ks window-peanes, Their sof'en'd sound did often steal Wi' west winds drough the Bagber leanes; Or, as the win' did s.h.i.+ft, mid goo Where woody Stock do nessle lew, Or where the risen moon did light The walls o' Thornhill on the height; An' zoo, whatever time mid bring To meake their vive clear vaces zing, Still Lydlinch bells wer good vor sound, An' liked by all the naghbours round.

THE STAGE COACH.

Ah! when the wold vo'k went abroad They thought it vast enough, If vow'r good ho'ses beat the road Avore the coach's ruf; An' there they zot, A-cwold or hot, An' roll'd along the ground, While the whip did smack On the ho'ses' back, An' the wheels went swiftly round, Good so's; The wheels went swiftly round.

Noo iron rals did streak the land To keep the wheels in track.

The coachman turn'd his vow'r-in-hand, Out right, or left, an' back; An' he'd stop avore A man's own door, To teake en up or down: While the rens vell slack On the ho'ses' back, Till the wheels did rottle round agean; Till the wheels did rottle round.

An' there, when wintry win' did blow, Athirt the plan an' hill, An' the zun wer peale above the snow, An' ice did stop the mill, They did laugh an' joke Wi' cwoat or cloke, So warmly roun' em bound, While the whip did crack On the ho'ses' back, An' the wheels did trundle round, d'ye know; The wheels did trundle round.

An' when the rumblen coach did pa.s.s Where hufflen winds did roar, They'd stop to teake a warmen gla.s.s By the sign above the door; An' did laugh an' joke An' ax the vo'k The miles they wer vrom town, Till the whip did crack On the ho'ses back, An' the wheels did truckle roun', good vo'k; The wheels did truckle roun'.

An' galy rod wold age or youth, When zummer light did vall On woods in leaf, or trees in blooth, Or girt vo'ks parkzide wall.

An' they thought they past The pleaces vast, Along the dousty groun', When the whip did smack On the ho'ses' back, An' the wheels spun swiftly roun'. Them days The wheels spun swiftly roun'.

WAYFEAREN.

The sky wer clear, the zunsheen glow'd On droopen flowers drough the day, As I did beat the dousty road Vrom hinder hills, a-feaden gray; Drough hollows up the hills, Vrom knaps along by mills, Vrom mills by churches tow'rs, wi' bells That twold the hours to woody dells.

An' when the winden road do guide The thirsty vootman where mid flow The water vrom a rock bezide His vootsteps, in a sheenen bow; The hand a-hollow'd up Do beat a goolden cup, To catch an' drink it, bright an' cool, A-vallen light 'ithin the pool.

Zoo when, at last, I hung my head Wi' thirsty lips a-burnen dry, I come bezide a river-bed Where water flow'd so blue's the sky; An' there I meade me up O' coltsvoot leaf a cup, Where water vrom his lip o' gray, Wer sweet to sip thik burnen day.

But when our work is right, a ja Do come to bless us in its tran, An' hards.h.i.+ps ha' zome good to pa The thoughtvul soul vor all their pain: The het do sweeten sheade, An' weary lim's ha' meade A bed o' slumber, still an' sound, By woody hill or gra.s.sy mound.

An' while I zot in sweet delay Below an elem on a hill, Where boughs a-halfway up did swa In sheades o' lim's above em still, An' blue sky show'd between The flutt'ren leaves o' green; I woulden gi'e that gloom an' sheade Vor any room that wealth ha' meade.

But oh! that vo'k that have the roads Where weary-vooted souls do pa.s.s, Would leave bezide the stwone vor lwoads, A little strip vor zummer gra.s.s; That when the stwones do bruise An' burn an' gall our tooes, We then mid cool our veet on beds O' wild-thyme sweet, or deaisy-heads.