Random Rhymes and Rambles Part 4

Coud az Leead.

An' arta fra thee father torn, So early e thi yuthful morn, An' mun aw pine away forlorn, E greef an' pane; Fer consalashun aw sall scorn If tha be taen.

O yes, tha art, an' aw mun wail Thy loss thro' ivvery hill an' dale, Fer nah it is too true a tale, Tha'rt coud az lead.

An' nah thee bonny face iz pale, Thart deead, thart deead.

Aw's miss thee wen aw c.u.m fra t'shop, An' see thi bat, an' ball, an' top; An' aw's be awmost fit ta drop Aw sall so freat, And O my very heart may stop And cease to beat.

I'd allus aimed if tha'd been spar'd, Of summat better to hev shared Ner what thi poor oud father fared, E this coud sphere; Yet after all aw'st noan o' cared If tha'd stayen here.

But O! Tha Conkerer Divine, 'At vanquished deeath e Palestine, Tak to thi arms this lad o' mine Noan freely given, But mak him same as wun o' thine, We thee e heven.

The Factory Girl.

Sho stud beside hur looms an' watch'd The shuttle pa.s.sin in, But yet hur soul wor sumweer else, 'Twor face ta face wi' John.

They saw hur lips move az in speech, Yet none cud heear a word, An' but fer t'grinding o' the wheels, This langwidge mite be heard.

"It spite o' all thi trecherus art, At length aw breeath again; The pityin stars hez tane mi part, An' eased a wretch's pain.

An' O, aw feel az fra a chain, Mi rescued soul is free, Aw know it is no idle dream Of fancied liberty.

"Extingwish'd nah iz ivvery spark, No love for thee remains, Fer heart-felt love e vane sall strive Ta lurk beneath disdain, No longer wen thi name I hear, Mi conshus colour flies: No longer wen thi face aw see, Mi heart's emoshun rise.

"Catch't e the burd-lime's trecherus twigs, To weer he chanc'd to stray, The burd iz fa.s.send fathers leaves, Then gladly flies away.

Hiz shatter'd wings he soon renews, Of traps he iz awair; Fer by experience he iz wise, An' shuns each futshur snair.

Awm speikin nah, an' all mi aim Iz but to pleas mi mind, An' yet aw care not if mi words Wi thee can credit find.

Ner du I care if my decease Sud be approved by thee; Or wether tha wi ekwal ease Does tawk again wi me.

"But, yet tha false decevin man, Tha's lost a heart sincere; Aw naw net wich wants comfert most, Or wich hez t'mooast ta fear.

But awm suer a la.s.s more fond and true No lad cud ivver find; But a lad like thee iz easily found, False, faithless, and unkind."

Bonny Lark.

Sweetest warbler of the wood, Rise thy soft bewitching strain, And in pleasure's sprightly mood, Soar again.

With the sun's returning beam, First appearance from the east, Dimpling every limpid stream, Up from rest.

Thro' the airy mountains stray, Chant thy welcome songs above, Full of sport and full of play, Songs of love.

When the evening cloud prevails, And the sun gives way for night, When the shadows mark the vales, Return thy flight.

Like the cottar or the swain, Gentle shepherd, or the herd; Best thou till the morn again, Bonny bird.

Like thee, on freedom's airy wing, May the poet's rapturous spark, Hail the first approach of spring.

Bonny lark.

T'oud Blacksmith's Advise ta hiz Son Ned.

So, Ned, awm geen ta understand, Tha'rt bahn ta join e wedlock band, Ta travil thru life's weeary strand, Yond la.s.s an' thee.

But if yor joinin heart an' hand, It pleases me.

Nah tha'll hev trubbles, Ned, ta bear, Wile pus.h.i.+n thru this world o' care, An' wat tha'll hev it face ta stare, Its hard ta tell; Life's ups and dahns tha'll get thi share, So pleas thisell.

Tha'rt weel an' strong, long may it last; But age an' care creep on us fast; Then akt az tha can luke at past An' feel no shame; Then if tha'rt poor az sum ahtcast, Tha's noan ta blame.

Doant sport abaht an' wagers bet, But mind an' shun that foolish set At cannut mak ther awn ta fet, Thaw shame ta say it.

An' mind tha keeps fra being e dett, An' tha'll be reight.

An' stick fast hod o' iron will; Push bouldly on an' feear no ill; Keep Him e vue, whoas merces fill The wurld sa wide.

No daht but His omnishent skill, Al be thi guide.

So Ned, mi lad, tak this advise, Prove wurth o' yond la.s.se's choise, E yeears ta c.u.m tha may rejoise, Tha tuke hur hand; An' listened to thi father's voise, An' hiz command.

Address ta mi Bed.

Oud stocks on thee I first began To be that curious crater man, Ta travel thro this life's short span, By fate's dekree; Till aw fulfilled grate Nater's plan, An' cease ta be.

Wen sikkness c.u.ms ta thee aw fly, Ta sooth mi pain an' cloise mi eye; On thee, alas! aw sumtimes sigh, An' ofttimes weep;- Till by sum means, aw knaw not why, I fall asleep.

Wen tore wi' labor or wi pane, Ha often aw am glad an' fane, Ta seek thi downy brest again; Yet heaves mi breast For wretches in the pelting rain, At hev no rest.

How oft within thy little s.p.a.ce Does mony a thout oft find a place?

Aw think at past, an' things ta face, My mind hiz filled, Th' wild gooise too aw offen chase, An' ca.s.sels bild.

O centre place o' rest an' greefe, Disease or deeath, a kind releef, Monarks of a time so breef, Alternate reign, Till death's grim reaper cut the sheaf, And clears the plain.

Aw, awm convinced by thee alone, This grate important truth ta awn, On thee aw furst saw life, 'tis knawn, E mortal birth; Till a few fleetin haars flown, Then back ta earth.

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