Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/291

Rh We went a-rottlèn on, an’ meäde Our way along to Brookwell Sleäde; An’ then we vound ourselves draw nigh The Leädy’s Tow’r that rose on high, An’ seem’d a-comèn on to meet, Wi’ growfen height, wold Dobbin’s veet.

I do zay ’tis wo’th woone’s while To beät the doust a good six mile To zee the pleäce the squier plann’d At Brookwell, now a-meäde by hand; Wi’ oben lawn, an’ grove, an’ pon’, An’ gravel-walks as clean as bron; An’ grass a’most so soft to tread As velvet-pile o’ silken thread; An’ mounds wi’ mæsh, an’ rocks wi’ flow’rs, An’ ivy-sheäded zummer bow’rs, An’ dribblèn water down below The stwonèn archès lofty bow. An’ there do sound the watervall Below a cavern’s mæshy wall, Where peäle-green light do struggle down A leafy crevice at the crown. An’ there do gush the foamy bow O’ water, white as driven snow; An’ there, a zittèn all alwone, A little maïd o’ marble stwone Do leän her little cheäk azide Upon her lily han’, an’ bide Bezide the vallèn stream to zee Her pitcher vill’d avore her knee. An’ then the brook, a-rollèn dark Below a leänèn yew-tree’s bark,