Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/432

416 The while ageän my lwonesome ears Did russle weatherbeäten spears, Below the withy’s leafless head That overhung the river’s bed; I there did think o’ days that dried The new-mow’d grass o’ zummer-tide, When white-sleev’d mowers’ whetted bleädes Rung sh’ill along the green-bough’d gleädes, An’ maïdens gaÿ, wi’ plaÿsome chaps, A-zot wi’ dinners in their laps, Did talk wi’ merry words that rung Around the ring, vrom tongue to tongue; An’ welcome, when the leaves ha’ died, Be zummer thoughts in winter-tide.

out, when, in the Winter’s blast, &emsp;The zun, a-runnèn lowly round, Do mark the sheädes the hedge do cast &emsp;At noon, in hoarvrost, on the ground. I’m out when snow’s a-lyèn white &emsp;In keen-aïr’d vields that I do pass, An’ moonbeams, vrom above, do smite &emsp;On ice an’ sleeper’s window-glass. &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;I’m out o’ door, &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;When win’ do zweep, &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;By hangèn steep, &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;Or hollow deep, &emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;&emsp;At Lindenore.

O welcome is the lewth a-vound &emsp;By rustlèn copse, or ivied bank, Or by the haÿ-rick, weather-brown’d &emsp;By barken-grass, a-springèn rank;