Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/100

84 To dry the leaves the raïn do wet &emsp;An’ evenèn aïr do bring along &emsp;The merry deäiry-maïden’s zong, &emsp;&emsp;The zong of free light hearts, John.

Oh! why do vo’k so often chaïn Their pinèn minds vor love o’ gaïn, An’ gi’e their innocence to rise A little in the worold’s eyes? If pride could lift us to the skies, &emsp;What man do value God do slight, &emsp;An’ all is nothèn in his zight &emsp;&emsp;’Ithout an honest heart, John.

An ugly feäce can’t bribe the brooks To show it back young han’some looks, Nor crooked vo’k intice the light To cast their zummer sheädes upright: Noo goold can blind our Meäker’s zight. &emsp;An’ what’s the odds what cloth do hide &emsp;The bosom that do hold inside &emsp;&emsp;A free an’ honest heart, John?

in the evenèn the zun’s a-zinkèn, &emsp;A-drowèn sheädes vrom the yollow west, An’ mother, weary, ’s a-zot a thinkèn, &emsp;Wi’ vwolded eärms by the vire at rest, &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;Then we do zwarm, O, &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;Wi’ such a charm, O, &emsp;So vull o’ glee by the welshnut tree.

A-leavèn father in-doors, a-leinèn &emsp;In his girt chair in his easy shoes,