Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/422

406 Mid peace droughout her e’thly day, &emsp;Betide her waÿ, to happy rest, An’ mid she, all her weanèn life, &emsp;Or maïd or wife, be loved and blest. Though I mid never zing anew To neäme the maïd so feäir an’ true, A-blushèn, wi’ a rwose o’ red, Bezide her glossy head.

souls a-toss’d at sea I bore &emsp;Sad strokes o’ trial, shock by shock, An’ now, lik’ souls a-cast ashore &emsp;To rest upon the beäten rock, I still do seem to hear the sound O’ weäves that drove me vrom my track, An’ zee my strugglèn hopes a-drown’d, An’ all my jaÿs a-floated back. By storms a-toss’d, I’ll gi’e God praïse, Wi’ much a-lost I still ha’ jaÿs. My peace is rest, my faïth is hope, An’ freedom’s my unbounded scope.

Vor faïth mid blunt the sting o’ fear. &emsp;An’ peace the pangs ov ills a-vound, An’ freedom vlee vrom evils near, &emsp;Wi’ wings to vwold on other ground. Wi’ much a-lost, my loss is small, Vor though ov e’thly goods bereft, A thousand times well worth em all Be they good blessèns now a-left. What e’th do own, to e’th mid vall, But what’s my own my own I’ll call, My faïth, an’ peace, the gifts o’ greäce, An’ freedom still to shift my pleäce.