Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/142

126 An’ she press’d en ageän her warm bosom so tight, &emsp;An’ she rock’d en so sorrowfully; An’ there laid a-nestlèn the poor little bwoy, Till his struggles grew weak, an’ his cries died awoy.

An’ the moon wer a-sheenèn down into the pleäce, &emsp;&emsp;(Under the dark elem tree), An’ his mother could zee that his lips an’ his feäce &emsp;Wer so white as cleän axen could be; An’ her tongue wer a-tied an’ her still heart did zwell, Till her senses come back wi’ the vu’st tear that vell.

Never mwore can she veel his warm feäce in her breast, &emsp;&emsp;(Under the green elem tree), Vor his eyes be a-shut, an’ his hands be at rest, &emsp;An’ he’s now vrom his païn a-zet free; Vor his soul, we do know, is to heaven a-vled, Where noo païn is a-known, an’ noo tears be a-shed.

mother! be the teäties done? Here’s father now a-comèn down the track. Hes got his nitch o’ wood upon his back, An’ such a speäker in en! I’ll be bound, He’s long enough to reach vrom ground Up to the top ov ouer tun; ’Tis jist the very thing vor Jack an’ I To goo a-colepecksèn wi’, by an’ by.