Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/256

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Woodcombe farm, wi’ ground an’ tree Hallow’d by times o’ youthvul glee, At Chris’mas time I spent a night Wi’ feäces dearest to my zight; An’ took my wife to tread, woonce mwore, Her maïden hwome’s vorseäken vloor, An’ under stars that slowly wheel’d Aloft, above the keen-aïr’d vield, While night bedimm’d the rus’lèn copse, An’ darken’d all the ridges’ tops, The hall, a-hung wi’ holly, rung Wi’ many a tongue o’ wold an’ young.

There, on the he’th’s well-hetted ground, Hallow’d by times o’ zittèn round, The brimvul mug o’ cider stood An’ hiss’d avore the bleäzèn wood; An’ zome, a-zittèn knee by knee, Did tell their teäles wi’ hearty glee, An’ others gamboll’d in a roar O’ laughter on the stwonèn vloor; An’ while the moss o’ winter-tide Clung chilly roun’ the house’s zide, The hall, a-hung wi’ holly, rung Wi’ many a tongue o’ wold an’ young.

There, on the pworches bench o’ stwone, Hallow’d by times o’ youthvul fun, We laugh’d an’ sigh’d to think o’ neämes That rung there woonce, in evenèn geämes;