Poems Of Rural Life In The Dorset Dialect Part 40

THE LEANE.

They do zay that a travellen chap Have a-put in the newspeaper now, That the bit o' green ground on the knap Should be all a-took in vor the plough.

He do fancy 'tis easy to show That we can be but stunpolls at best, Vor to leave a green spot where a flower can grow, Or a voot-weary walker mid rest.

Tis hedge-grubben, Thomas, an' ledge-grubben, Never a-done While a sov'ren mwore's to be won.

The road, he do zay, is so wide As 'tis wanted vor travellers' wheels, As if all that did travel did ride An' did never get galls on their heels.

He would leave sich a thin strip o' groun', That, if a man's veet in his shoes Wer a-burnen an' zore, why he coulden zit down But the wheels would run over his tooes.

Vor 'tis meake money, Thomas, an' teake money, What's zwold an' bought Is all that is worthy o' thought.

Years agoo the leane-zides did bear gra.s.s, Vor to pull wi' the geeses' red bills, That did hiss at the vo'k that did pa.s.s, Or the bwoys that pick'd up their white quills.

But shortly, if vower or vive Ov our goslens do creep vrom the agg, They must mwope in the gearden, mwore dead than alive, In a coop, or a-tied by the lag.

Vor to catch at land, Thomas, an' s.n.a.t.c.h at land, Now is the plan; Meake money wherever you can.

The childern wull soon have noo pleace Vor to pla in, an' if they do grow, They wull have a thin musheroom feace, Wi' their bodies so sumple as dough.

But a man is a-meade ov a child, An' his limbs do grow worksome by pla; An' if the young child's little body's a-spweil'd, Why, the man's wull the sooner deca.

But wealth is wo'th now mwore than health is wo'th; Let it all goo, If't 'ull bring but a sov'ren or two.

Vor to breed the young fox or the heare, We can gi'e up whole eacres o' ground, But the greens be a-grudg'd, vor to rear Our young childern up healthy an' sound, Why, there woont be a-left the next age A green spot where their veet can goo free; An' the goocoo wull soon be committed to cage Vor a trespa.s.s in zomebody's tree.

Vor 'tis locken up, Thomas, an' blocken up, Stranger or brother, Men mussen come nigh woone another.

Woone day I went in at a geate, Wi' my child, where an echo did sound, An' the owner come up, an' did reate Me as if I would car off his ground.

But his vield an' the gra.s.s wer a-let, An' the damage that he could a-took Wer at mwost that the while I did open the geate I did rub roun' the eye on the hook.

But 'tis dreven out, Thomas, an' heven out.

Trample noo grounds, Unless you be after the hounds.

Ah! the Squier o' Culver-dell Hall Wer as diff'rent as light is vrom dark, Wi' zome vo'k that, as evenen did vall, Had a-broke drough long gra.s.s in his park; Vor he went, wi' a smile, vor to meet Wi' the trespa.s.sers while they did pa.s.s, An' he zaid, "I do fear you'll catch cwold in your veet, You've a-walk'd drough so much o' my gra.s.s."

His mild words, Thomas, cut em like swords, Thomas, Newly a-whet, An' went vurder wi' them than a dreat.

THE RAILROAD.

I took a flight, awhile agoo, Along the rals, a stage or two, An' while the heavy wheels did spin An' rottle, wi' a deafnen din, In clouds o' steam, the zweepen tran Did shoot along the hill-bound plan, As sheades o' birds in flight, do pa.s.s Below em on the zunny gra.s.s.

An' as I zot, an' look'd abrode On leanen land an' winden road, The ground a-spread along our flight Did vlee behind us out o' zight; The while the zun, our heav'nly guide, Did ride on wi' us, zide by zide.

An' zoo, while time, vrom stage to stage, Do car us on vrom youth to age, The e'thly pleasures we do vind Be soon a-met, an' left behind; But G.o.d, beholden vrom above Our lowly road, wi' yearnen love, Do keep bezide us, stage by stage, Vrom be'th to youth, vrom youth to age.

THE RAILROAD.

An' while I went 'ithin a tran, A-riden on athirt the plan, A-clearen swifter than a hound, On twin-laid rails, the zwimmen ground; I cast my eyes 'ithin a park, Upon a woak wi' grey-white bark, An' while I kept his head my mark, The rest did wheel around en.

An' when in life our love do cling The clwosest round zome single thing, We then do vind that all the rest Do wheel roun' that, vor vu'st an' best; Zoo while our life do last, mid nought But what is good an' feair be sought, In word or deed, or heart or thought, An' all the rest wheel round it.

SEATS.

When starbright madens be to zit In silken frocks, that they do wear, The room mid have, as 'tis but fit, A han'some seat vor vo'k so feair; But we, in zun-dried vield an' wood, Ha' seats as good's a goolden chair.

Vor here, 'ithin the woody drong, A ribbed elem-stem do lie, A-vell'd in Spring, an' stratch'd along A bed o' graegles up knee-high, A sheady seat to rest, an' let The burnen het o' noon goo by.

Or if you'd look, wi' wider scope, Out where the gray-tree'd plan do spread, The ash bezide the zunny slope, Do sheade a cool-ar'd deaisy bed, An' gra.s.sy seat, wi' spreaden eaves O' rus'len leaves, above your head.

An' there the tran mid come in zight, Too vur to hear a-rollen by, A-breathen quick, in heasty flight, His breath o' tweil, avore the sky, The while the waggon, wi' his lwoad, Do crawl the rwoad a-winden nigh.

Or now thease happy holiday Do let vo'k rest their weary lim's, An' lwoaded hay's a-hangen gray, Above the waggon-wheels' dry rims, The mead ha' seats in weales or pooks, By winden brooks, wi' crumblen brims.

Or if you'd gi'e your thoughtvul mind To yonder long-vorseaken hall, Then teake a stwonen seat behind The ivy on the broken wall, An' learn how e'thly wealth an' might Mid clim' their height, an' then mid vall.

SOUND O' WATER.

I born in town! oh no, my dawn O' life broke here beside thease lawn; Not where pent ar do roll along, In darkness drough the wall-bound drong, An' never bring the goo-coo's zong, Nor sweets o' blossoms in the hedge, Or benden rush, or sheenen zedge, Or sounds o' flowen water.

The ar that I've a-breath'd did sheake The draps o' ran upon the breake, An' bear aloft the swingen lark, An' huffle roun' the elem's bark, In boughy grove, an' woody park, An' brought us down the dewy dells, The high-wound zongs o' nightingeales.

An' sounds o' flowen water.

An' when the zun, wi' vi'ry rim, 'S a-zinken low, an' wearen dim, Here I, a-most too tired to stand, Do leave my work that's under hand In pathless wood or oben land, To rest 'ithin my thatchen oves, Wi' ruslen win's in leafy groves, An' sounds o' flowen water.

TREES BE COMPANY.

When zummer's burnen het's a-shed Upon the droopen gra.s.ses head, A-dreven under sheady leaves The workvo'k in their snow-white sleeves, We then mid yearn to clim' the height, Where thorns be white, above the vern; An' ar do turn the zunsheen's might To softer light too weak to burn-- On woodless downs we mid be free, But lowland trees be company.

Though downs mid show a wider view O' green a-reachen into blue Than roads a-winden in the glen, An' ringen wi' the sounds o' men; The thissle's crown o' red an' blue In Fall's cwold dew do wither brown, An' larks come down 'ithin the lew, As storms do brew, an' skies do frown-- An' though the down do let us free, The lowland trees be company.

Where birds do zing, below the zun, In trees above the blue-smok'd tun, An' sheades o' stems do overstratch The mossy path 'ithin the hatch; If leaves be bright up over head, When Ma do shed its glitt'ren light; Or, in the blight o' Fall, do spread A yollow bed avore our zight-- Whatever season it mid be, The trees be always company.

When dusky night do nearly hide The path along the hedge's zide, An' dailight's hwomely sounds be still But sounds o' water at the mill; Then if noo feace we long'd to greet Could come to meet our lwonesome treace Or if noo peace o' weary veet, However fleet, could reach its pleace-- However lwonesome we mid be, The trees would still be company.

A PLEaCE IN ZIGHT.