Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/338

322 An’ I’ll laugh till my two zides do eäche Or o’ naïghbours in sorrow o’ soul, An’ I’ll tweil all the night vor their seäke; An’ show that to teäke things amiss Idden bliss, to Gruffmoody Grim.

An’ then let my child clim’ my lag, An’ I’ll lift en, wi’ love, to my chin; Or my maïd come an’ coax me to bag Vor a frock, an’ a frock she shall win; Or, then if my wife do meäke light O’ whatever the bwoys mid ha’ broke, It wull seem but so small in my zight, As a leaf a-het down vrom a woak An’ not meäke me ceäper an’ froth Vull o’ wrath, lik’ Gruffmoody Grim.

wings o’ the rook wer a-glitterèn bright, As he wheel’d on above, in the zun’s evenèn light, An’ noo snow wer a-left, but in patches o’ white, &emsp;On the hill at the turn o’ the days. An’ along on the slope wer the beäre-timber’d copse, Wi’ the dry wood a-sheakèn, wi’ red-twiggèd tops. Vor the dry-flowèn wind, had a-blow’d off the drops &emsp;O’ the rain, at the turn o’ the days.

There the stream did run on, in the sheäde o’ the hill, So smooth in his flowèn, as if he stood still, An’ bright wi’ the skylight, did slide to the mill, &emsp;By the meäds, at the turn o’ the days. An’ up by the copse, down along the hill brow, Wer vurrows a-cut down, by men out at plough, So straïght as the zunbeams, a-shot drough the bough &emsp;O’ the tree at the turn o’ the days.