Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/378

362 Up on the plough’d hill brow, &emsp;Still wer the zull’s wheel’d beam, Still wer the red-wheel’d plough, &emsp;Free o’ the strong limb’d team. Still wer the shop that the smith meäde ring, Dark where the sparks did spring; Low shot the zun’s last beams. Lim’-weary souls “Good dreams,”

Where I vrom dark bank-sheädes &emsp;Turn’d up the west hill road, Where all the green grass bleädes &emsp;Under the zunlight glow’d. Startled I met, as the zunbeams plaÿ’d Light, wi’ a zunsmote maïd, Come vor my day’s last zight. Zun-brighten’d maïd “Good night.”

the slope, the hedge did bound The vield wi’ blossom-whited zide, An’ charlock patches, yollow-dyed, Did reach along the white-soil’d ground; An’ vo’k, a-comèn up vrom meäd, &emsp;Brought gil’cup meal upon the shoe; Or went on where the road did leäd, &emsp;Wi’ smeechy doust from heel to tooe. As noon did smite, wi’ burnèn light, The road so white, to Meldonley.

An’ I did tramp the zun-dried ground, By hedge-climb’d hills, a-spread wi’ flow’rs, An’ watershootèn dells, an’ tow’rs, By elem-trees a-hemm’d all round,