Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/242

226 The backs of all our zilv’ry hills, The brook that still do dreve our mills, The roads a-climèn up the brows O’ knaps, a-screen’d by meäple boughs, War all a-mark’d in sheäde an’ light Avore our wolder fathers’ zight, In zunny days, a-gied their hands For happy work, a-tillèn lands, That now do yield their childern bread Till they do rest wi’ wold vo’k dead.

But livèn vo’k, a-grievfen on, Wi’ lwonesome love, vor souls a-gone, Do zee their goodness, but do vind All else a-stealèn out o’ mind; As air do meäke the vurthest land Look feäirer than the vield at hand, An’ zoo, as time do slowly pass, So still’s a sheäde upon the grass, Its wid’nèn speäce do slowly shed A glory roun’ the wold vo’k dead.

An’ what if good vo’ks’ life o’ breath Is zoo a-hallow’d after death, That they mid only know above, Their times o’ faith, an’ jaÿ, an’ love, While all the evil time ha’ brought ’S a-lost vor ever out o’ thought; As all the moon that idden bright, ’S a-lost in darkness out o’ zight; And all the godly life they led Is glory to the wold vo’k dead.

If things be zoo, an’ souls above Can only mind our e’thly love,