Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/450

434 Or had the goold the richest bank &emsp;Can shovel from his horde, O, I’d love her still, if even then She wer a leäser in a glen.

I vu’st know’d o’ my true love, &emsp;As the bright moon up above, Though her brightness wer my pleasure, &emsp;She wer heedless o’ my love. Tho’ ’twer all gaÿ to my eyes, Where her feäir feäce did arise, She noo mwore thought upon my thoughts, &emsp;Than the high moon in the skies.

Oh! I vu’st heärd her a-zingèn, &emsp;As a sweet bird on a tree, Though her zingèn wer my pleasure, &emsp;’Twer noo zong she zung to me. Though her sweet vaïce that wer nigh, Meäde my wild heart to beat high, She noo mwore thought upon my thoughts, &emsp;Than the birds would passers by.

Oh! I vu’st know’d her a-weepèn, &emsp;As a raïn-dimm’d mornèn sky, Though her teär-draps dimm’d her blushes, &emsp;They wer noo draps I could dry. Ev’ry bright tear that did roll, Wer a keen païn to my soul, But noo heärt’s pang she did then veel, &emsp;Wer vor my words to console.

But the wold times be a-vanish’d, &emsp;An’ my true love is my bride.