Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/87

Rh The verse wer short, but very good, I stood an’ larn’d en where I stood:— “Mid God, dear Meäry, gi’e me greäce To vind, lik’ thee, a better pleäce, Where I woonce mwore mid zee thy feäce; &emsp;An’ bring thy childern up to know &emsp;His word, that they mid come an’ show &emsp;&emsp;Thy soul how much I lov’d thee.”

“Where’s father, then,” I zaid, “my chile?” “Dead too,” she answer’d wi’ a smile; “An’ I an’ brother Jim do bide At Betty White’s, o’ tother zide O’ road.”&emsp;“Mid He, my chile,” I cried, &emsp;“That’s father to the fatherless, &emsp;Become thy father now, an’ bless, &emsp;&emsp;An’ keep, an’ lead, an’ love thee.”

Though she’ve a-lost, I thought, so much, Still He don’t let the thoughts o’t touch Her litsome heart by day or night; An’ zoo, if we could teäke it right, Do show He’ll meäke his burdens light &emsp;To weaker souls, an’ that his smile &emsp;Is sweet upon a harmless chile, &emsp;&emsp;When they be dead that lov’d it.

out to the parrock, come out to the tree, The maïdens an’ chaps be a-waïtèn vor thee; There’s Jim wi’ his fiddle to plaÿ us some reels, Come out along wi’ us, an’ fling up thy heels.

Come, all the long grass is a-mow’d an’ a-carr’d, An’ the turf is so smooth as a bwoard an’ so hard;