Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/244

228 An’ while the woäk, wi’ spreadèn head, Did sheäde the foxes’ verny bed; An’ runnèn heäres, in zunny gleädes, Did beät the grasses’ quiv’rèn’ bleädes; An’ speckled pa’tridges took flight In stubble vields a-feädèn white; Or he could zee the pheasant strut In sheädy woods, wi’ painted cwoat; Or long-tongued dogs did love to run Among the leaves, bezide his gun; We didden want vor call to dwell At hwome in peace in Culver Dell.

But now I hope his kindly feäce Is gone to vind a better pleäce; But still, wi’ vo’k a-left behind He’ll always be a-kept in mind, Vor all his springy-vooted hounds Ha’ done o’ trottèn round his grounds, An’ we have all a-left the spot, To teäke, a-scatter’d, each his lot; An’ even Father, lik’ the rest, Ha’ left our long vorseäken nest; An’ we should vind it sad to dwell, Ageän at hwome in Culver Dell.

The aïry mornèns still mid smite Our windows wi’ their rwosy light, An’ high-zunn’d noons mid dry the dew On growèn groun’ below our shoe; The blushèn evenèn still mid dye, Wi’ viry red, the western sky; The zunny spring-time’s quicknèn power Mid come to oben leaf an’ flower; An’ days an’ tides mid bring us on Woone pleasure when another’s gone. But we must bid a long farewell To days an’ tides in Culver Dell.