Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/229

Rh Did seem to come into our hands Vrom others that own’d em avore; An’ all zickness, an’ sorrow, an’ need, Seem’d to die wi’ the wold vo’k a-dyèn, An’ leäve us vor ever a-freed Vrom evils our vorefathers bore.

But happy be childern the while They have elders a-livèn to love em, An’ teäke all the wearisome tweil That zome hands or others mus’ do; Like the low-headed shrubs that be warm, In the lewth o’ the trees up above em, A-screen’d vrom the cwold blowèn storm That the timber avore em must rue.

mornèn winds, a-blowèn high, Do zweep the clouds vrom all the sky, An’ laurel-leaves do glitter bright, The while the newly broken light Do brighten up, avore our view, The vields wi’ green, an’ hills wi’ blue; What then can highten to my eyes The cheerful feäce ov e’th an’ skies, &emsp;&emsp;But Meäry’s smile, o’ Morey’s Mill, &emsp;&emsp;My rwose o’ Mowy Lea.

An’ when, at last, the evenèn dews Do now begin to wet our shoes; An’ night’s a-ridèn to the west, To stop our work, an’ gi’e us rest, Oh! let the candle’s ruddy gleäre But brighten up her sheenèn heäir;