Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/247

Rh They zot to rest their litty veet Upon the window’s woaken seat, An’ chatted there, in light that shone In drough the window freäm’d wi’ stwone.

An’ as the seasons, in a ring, Roll’d slowly roun’ vrom Spring to Spring, An’ brought em on zome holy-tide, When they did cast their tools azide; How glad it meäde em all to spy In Stwonylands their friends draw nigh, As they did know em all by neäme Out drough the window’s stwonèn freäme.

O evenèn zun, a-ridèn drough The sky, vrom Sh’oton Hill o’ blue, To leäve the night a-broodèn dark At Stalbridge, wi’ its grey-wall’d park; Small jaÿ to me the vields do bring, Vor all their zummer birds do zing, Since now thy beams noo mwore do fleäme In drough the window’s stwonèn freäme.

aye! the spring ’ithin the leäne, A-leäden down to Lyddan Brook; An’ still a-nesslèn in his nook, As weeks do pass, an’ moons do weäne. &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;Nwone the drier, &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;Nwone the higher, Nwone the nigher to the door Where we did live so long avore.

An’ oh! what vo’k his mossy brim Ha’ gathered in the run o’ time!