Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/430

414 You can’t but stop an’ spend a cwein Wi’ leädies that ha’ goods so fine; &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;An’ all to meäke, vor childern’s seäke, &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;The School at Maïden Newton.

the leafless hazzle-wride &emsp;The wind-drove raïn did quickly vall, An’ on the meäple’s ribby zide &emsp;Did hang the raïn-drops quiv’rèn ball; Out where the brook o’ foamy yollow Roll’d along the meäd’s deep hollow, An’ noo birds wer out to beät, Wi’ flappèn wings, the vleèn wet O’ zunless clouds on flow’rless ground. How time do bring the seasons round!

The moss, a-beät vrom trees, did lie &emsp;Upon the ground in ashen droves, An’ western wind did huffle high, &emsp;Above the sheds’ quick-drippèn oves. An’ where the ruslèn straw did sound &emsp;So dry, a-shelter’d in the lew, I staïed alwone, an’ weather-bound, &emsp;An’ thought on times, long years agoo. Wi’ water-floods on flow’rless ground. How time do bring the seasons round!

We then, in childhood plaÿ, did seem &emsp;In work o’ men to teäke a peärt, A-drevèn on our wild bwoy team, &emsp;Or lwoadèn o’ the tiny cart. Or, on our little refters, spread The zedgen ruf above our head.