Poems Of Rural Life In The Dorset Dialect Part 51

A happy day, a happy year.

A zummer Zunday, dazzlen clear, I went athirt vrom Lea to Noke.

To goo to church wi' f.a.n.n.y's vo'k: The sky o' blue did only show A cloud or two, so white as snow, An' ar did swa, wi' softest strokes, The eltrot roun' the dark-bough'd woaks.

O day o' rest when bells do toll!

O day a-blest to ev'ry soul!

How sweet the zwells o' Zunday bells.

An' on the cowslip-knap at Creech, Below the grove o' steately beech, I heard two tow'rs a-cheemen clear, Vrom woone I went, to woone drew near, As they did call, by flow'ry ground, The bright-shod veet vrom housen round, A-drownen wi' their holy call, The goocoo an' the water-vall.

Die off, O bells o' my dear pleace, Ring out, O bells avore my feace, Vull sweet your zwells, O ding-dong bells.

Ah! then vor things that time did bring My kinsvo'k, _Lea_ had bells to ring; An' then, agean, vor what bevell My wife's, why _Noke_ church had a bell; But soon wi' hopevul lives a-bound In woone, we had woone tower's sound, Vor our high jas all vive bells rung Our losses had woone iron tongue.

Oh! ring all round, an' never mwoan So deep an' slow woone bell alwone, Vor sweet your swells o' vive clear bells.

WOAK HILL.

When sycamore leaves wer a-spreaden, Green-ruddy, in hedges, Bezide the red doust o' the ridges, A-dried at Woak Hill;

I packed up my goods all a-sheenen Wi' long years o' handlen, On dousty red wheels ov a waggon, To ride at Woak Hill.

The brown thatchen ruf o' the dwellen, I then wer a-leaven, Had shelter'd the sleek head o' Meary, My bride at Woak Hill.

But now vor zome years, her light voot-vall 'S a-lost vrom the vlooren.

Too soon vor my ja an' my childern, She died at Woak Hill.

But still I do think that, in soul, She do hover about us; To ho vor her motherless childern, Her pride at Woak Hill.

Zoo--lest she should tell me hereafter I stole off 'ithout her, An' left her, uncall'd at house-ridden, To bide at Woak Hill--

I call'd her so fondly, wi' lippens All soundless to others, An' took her wi' ar-reachen hand, To my zide at Woak Hill.

On the road I did look round, a-talken To light at my shoulder, An' then led her in at the door-way, Miles wide vrom Woak Hill.

An' that's why vo'k thought, vor a season, My mind wer a-wandren Wi' sorrow, when I wer so sorely A-tried at Woak Hill.

But no; that my Meary mid never Behold herzelf slighted, I wanted to think that I guided My guide vrom Woak Hill.

THE HEDGER.

Upon the hedge thease bank did bear, Wi' lwonesome thought untwold in words, I woonce did work, wi' noo sound there But my own strokes, an' chirpen birds; As down the west the zun went wan, An' days brought on our Zunday's rest, When sounds o' cheemen bells did vill The ar, an' hook an' axe wer stll.

Along the wold town-path vo'k went, An' met unknown, or friend wi' friend, The mad her busy mother zent, The mother wi' noo mad to zend; An' in the light the gleazier's gla.s.s, As he did pa.s.s, wer dazzlen bright, Or woone went by w' down-cast head, A wrapp'd in blackness vor the dead.

An' then the bank, wi' risen back, That's now a-most a-trodden down, Bore thorns wi' rind o' sheeny black, An' meaple stems o' ribby brown; An' in the lewth o' thease tree heads, Wer primrwose beds a-sprung in blooth, An' here a geate, a-slammen to, Did let the slow-wheel'd plough roll drough.

Ov all that then went by, but vew Be now a-left behine', to beat The mornen flow'rs or evenen dew, Or slam the woaken vive-bar'd geate; But woone, my wife, so litty-stepp'd, That have a-kept my path o' life, Wi' her vew errands on the road, Where woonce she bore her mother's lwoad.

IN THE SPRING.

My love is the mad ov all madens, Though all mid be comely, Her skin's lik' the jessamy blossom A-spread in the Spring.

Her smile is so sweet as a beaby's Young smile on his mother, Her eyes be as bright as the dew drop A-shed in the Spring.

O grey-leafy pinks o' the gearden, Now bear her sweet blossoms; Now deck wi' a rwose-bud, O briar.

Her head in the Spring.

O light-rollen wind blow me hither, The vaice ov her talken, Or bring vrom her veet the light doust, She do tread in the Spring.

O zun, meake the gil'cups all glitter, In goold all around her; An' meake o' the deaisys' white flowers A bed in the Spring.

O whissle ga birds, up bezide her, In drong-wa, an' woodlands, O zing, swingen lark, now the clouds, Be a-vled in the Spring.

An' who, you mid ax, be my prases A-meaken so much o', An' oh! 'tis the mad I'm a-hopen To wed in the Spring.

THE FLOOD IN SPRING.

Last night below the elem in the lew Bright the sky did gleam On water blue, while ar did softly blow On the flowen stream, An' there wer gil'cups' buds untwold, An' deaisies that begun to vwold Their low-stemm'd blossoms vrom my zight Agean the night, an' evenen's cwold.

But, oh! so cwold below the darksome cloud Soon the night-wind roar'd, Wi' rany storms that zent the zwollen streams Over ev'ry vword.

The while the drippen tow'r did tell The hour, wi' storm-be-smother'd bell, An' over ev'ry flower's bud Roll'd on the flood, 'ithin the dell.

But when the zun arose, an' lik' a rwose Shone the mornen sky; An' roun' the woak, the wind a-blowen weak, Softly whiver'd by.

Though drown'd wer still the deasy bed Below the flood, its feace instead O' flow'ry grown', below our shoes Show'd feairest views o' skies o'er head.

An' zoo to try if all our fath is true Ja mid end in tears, An' hope, woonce feair, mid sadden into fear, Here in e'thly years.

But He that tried our soul do know To meake us good amends, an' show Instead o' things a-took awa, Some higher ja that He'll bestow.

COMEN HWOME.