Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/370

354 An’ when the win’ do whissle sh’ill &emsp;We’ll screen it vrom your poll.” Cried Grammer, “God is true. &emsp;&emsp;I can’t but feel &emsp;&emsp;He smote to heal My wounded heart in you; An’ zoo ’tis well, if ’tis His will, That I be here ’ithin a wall.”

day at Whitsuntide, &emsp;As soon’s the zun begun to vall, We all stroll’d up the steep hill-zide &emsp;To Meldon, girt an’ small; Out where the castle wall stood high A-mwoldrèn to the zunny sky.

An’ there wi’ Jenny took a stroll &emsp;Her youngest sister, Poll, so gaÿ, Bezide John Hind, ah! merry soul, &emsp;An’ mid her wedlock faÿ; An’ at our zides did plaÿ an’ run My little maïd an’ smaller son.

Above the beäten mwold upsprung &emsp;The driven doust, a-spreadèn light, An’ on the new-leav’d thorn, a-hung, &emsp;Wer wool a-quiv’rèn white; An’ corn, a sheenèn bright, did bow, On slopèn Meldon’s zunny brow.

There, down the rufless wall did glow &emsp;The zun upon the grassy vloor, An’ weakly-wandrèn winds did blow, &emsp;Unhinder’d by a door;