Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/165

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try to win a maïden’s heart, &emsp;To leäve her in her love,—’tis wrong: ’Tis bitter to her soul to peärt &emsp;Wi’ woone that is her sweetheart long. &emsp;A maïd’s vu’st love is always strong; An’ if do faïl, she’ll linger on, Wi’ all her best o’ pleasure gone, &emsp;&emsp;An’ hope a-left behind her.

Thy poor lost Jenny wer a-grow’d &emsp;So kind an’ thoughtvul vor her years, When she did meet wi’ vo’k a-know’d &emsp;The best, her love did speak in tears. &emsp;She walk’d wi’ thee, an’ had noo fears O’ thy unkindness, till she zeed Herzelf a-cast off lik’ a weed, &emsp;&emsp;An’ hope a-left behind her.

Thy slight turn’d peäle her cherry lip; &emsp;Her sorrow, not a-zeed by eyes, Wer lik’ the mildew, that do nip &emsp;A bud by darksome midnight skies &emsp;The day mid come, the zun mid rise, But there’s noo hope o’ day nor zun; The storm ha’ blow’d, the harm’s a-done, &emsp;&emsp;An’ hope’s a-left behind her.

The time will come when thou wouldst gi’e &emsp;The worold vor to have her smile, Or meet her by the parrock tree, Or catch her jumpèn off the stile; &emsp;Thy life’s avore thee vor a while, &emsp;But thou wilt turn thy mind in time, An’ zee the deèd as ’tis,—a crime, &emsp;&emsp;An’ hope a-left behind thee.