Hwomely Rhymes. A second collection of poems in the Dorset dialect

Preface

. Kind Reader, I have taken for this volume of Dorset Poems, a mode of spelling which I believe is more intelligible than that of the former one, inasmuch as it gives the lettered Dialect more of the book-form of the national speech, and yet is so marked as to preserve, as correctly as the other, the Dorset pronunciation. Tk in thatch, thick, thief, thimble, thin, thing, think, thong, thorn, thumb, represent the soft clipping of th in thee. Your humble Servant, WILLIAM BARNES. CONTENTS. PACK Maidens ....... t My Orchet in Linden Lea 3 Bishop's Caendle ........ 4 Hay Meaken — Nunchen Time ...... 7 A Faether Out, and Mother Hwome 10 Riddles 12 Day's Work a-done . . . . . . . .15 ? The Waggon a-stooded 17 Grwain down the Steps vor Water . . . . .21 Ellen Brine of Allenburu ....... 23 The Motherless Child 25 The Leady's Tower 27 Faetherhood 33 The Maid o' Newton 36 Childhood 38 Meary's Smile 39 Meary Wedded 41 The Stwonen Bwoy upon the Pillar 43 The Young that died in Beauty 45 Fair Emily ov Yarrow Mill 47 The Scud CONTENTS.

VI PAGE Minden House 51 The Lovely Maid ov Elwell Mead 53 Our Faethera' Works 55 The Wold Vo'k Dead 56 Culver Dell and the Squire _ §9 Our Bethpleiice 62 The Windor Freamed wi' Stwone 64 The Water-spring in the Leane 66 The Poplars 67 The Linden on the Lawn 69 Our Abode in Arby Wood .71 TheVier-zide 72 Knowlwood '4 Hallowed Pleaces • ' The Wold Wall 80 Bleake's House in Blaekmwore 81 John Bleake at Hwome at Night 85 Milken Time 87 When Birds be still 88 Bidfen Hwome at Night 90 Zun-zet .......... 92 Spring 94 The Zummer Hedge 95 The Water Crowvoot 97 The Lilac 99 The Blackbird 100 The Slanten Light o' Fall 102 Thissledown 104 Lydlinch Bells .......... 105 The Stage Coach CONTENTS. Vll PAGK Wayfearen 109 The Leane 112 The Railroad 115 The Railroad 116 Seats 117 Sound o' Water 119 Trees be Company 120 A Pleiice in Zight 122 Owain to Brookwell . 123 Brookwell 126 The Shy Man .129 The Winter's Willow 132 I know Who 134 Jessie Lee 136 True Love 137 The Bean Vield 139 Wold Friends a-met 141 Fifehead 144 Ivy Hall 145 False Friends-like 147 The Bachelor 148 Married Peair's Love Walk 150 A Wife a-praised 152 The Wife a-lost 154 The Thorns in the G-eiite 155 Angels by the Door 157 Vo'k a-comen into Church 158 Oone Rule 160 Good Measter Collins 161 Herrenston CONTENTS.

VIII PAGE , , . . 166 Out at Plough The Pleace our own agean 170 John an' Thomas 174 Pent ridge by the River . 176 Wheat 179 The Mead in June 181 Early Ri^en Zellen Oone's Honey to Buy Zome'hat Sweet . . -182 1 84- Dobbin Dead rr ■ ... 186 Happiness TOO Gruffmoody Grim 10° T . 1 Ql Sam'el down vrom Lon on The Sparrow Club .193 n ■ 195 Gammony day TheHeiii-e 199 Nanny Gill . 200 My Love's Guardian Angel -03 Leeburn Mill 20i o' Dorset HWOMELY RHYMES BLACKMWORE MAIDENS. The primrwose in the sheade do blow, The cowslip in the zun, The thyme upon the down do grow, The clote where streams do run ; An' where do pretty maidens grow An' blow, but where the tow'r Do rise among the bricken tuns, In Blackmwore by the Stour. If you could zee their comely gait, An' pretty feaces' smiles, A-trippen on so light o' wai'ght, An' steppen off the stiles ; A-gwain to church, as bells do swing An' ring within the tow'r, You 'd own the pretty maidens' pleace Is Blackmwore by the Stour.

J If you vrom Wimborne took your road, To Stower or Paladore, An' all the farmers' housen show'd Their daeters at the door ; You 'd cry to bachelors at hwome — " Here, come : 'ithin an hour You '11 vind ten maidens to your mind In Blackmwore by the Stour." An' if you look'd 'ithin their door, To zee em in their pleace, A-doen housework up avore Their smilen mother's feace ; You 'd cry — " Why, if a man would wive An' thrive, 'ithout a dow'r, Then let en look en out a wife In Blackmwore by the Stour. As I upon my road did pass A school-house back in May, There out upon the beaten grass Wer maidens at their play ; An' as the pretty souls did twile An' smile, I cried, " The flow'r O' beauty, then, is still in bud In Blackmwore by the Stour." MY ORCHET IN LINDEN LEA Tthin the woodlands, flow'ry gleiided, By the woak tree's mossy moot, The sheenen grass-bleades, timber-sheaded Now do quiver under voot ; An' birds do whissle auver head, An' water 's bubblen in its bed, An' there vor me the apple tree Do lean down low in Linden Lea.

When leaves that leately wer a-springen Now do feade 'ithin the copse, An' painted birds do hush ther zingen Up upon the timber's tops ; An' brown-leav'd fruit 's a-turnen red, In cloudless zunsheen, auver head, Wi' fruit vor me, the apple tree Do lean down low in Linden Lea. Let other vo'k meake money vaster In the air o' dark-room'd towns, I don't dread a peevish measter; Though noo man do heed my frowns, I be free to goo abrode, Or teake agean my hwomeward road To where, vor me, the apple tree Do lean down low in Linden Lea. BISHOP'S CAENDLE. At peace dae, who but we should goo To Caendle vor an hour or two : As gay a dae as ever broke Above the heads o' Caendle vo'k, Vor peace, a-come vor all, did come To them wi' two new friends at hwome. Zoo while we kept, wi' nimble peace, The wold dun tow'r avore our feace, The air at laste begun to come Wi' drubbens ov a beaten drum ; An' then we heard the horns' loud droats Play off a tuen's upper notes ; An' a'ter that a risen chearm Vrom tongues o' people in a zwarm : An' zoo, at laste, we stood among The merry feaces o' the drong.

An' there we vound, wi' garlands tied In wreaths an' bows on every zide, An' color'd flags, a-flutt'ren high An' bright avore the sheenen sky, The very d'rection-post a-drest Wi' posies on his earms an' breast. At laste, the vo'k zwarm'd in by scores An' hundreds droo the gert barn doors, To dine on English feare in ranks A-zot on chairs, or stools, or planks, By teables reachen row an' row, Wi' cloths as white as driven snow. An' while they took, wi' merry cheer, Ther pleaces at the meat an' beer, The band did blow an' beat aloud Ther merry tuens to the crowd ; An' slowly-zwingen flags did spread Ther hangen colors auver head. An' then the vo'k, wi' jay an' pride, Stood up in stillness, zide by zide, Wi' downcast heads, the while ther friend Rose up avore the teable's end, An' zaed a timely greace, an' blest The welcome meat to every guest.

An' then a-rose a mingled naise O' knives an' pleates, an' cups an' trays, An' tongues wi merry tongues a-drown'd Below a deaf'nen storm o' sound. An' zoo, at laste, their worthy host Stood up to gie 'em all a twoast, That they did drink, wi' shouts o' glee, An' whirlen earms to dree times dree. An' when the bwoards at laste wer beiire Ov' all the cloths an' goodly feiire, An' froth noo longer rose to zwim Tthin the beermug's sheenen rim, The vo'k, a-streamen droo the door, Went out to geiimes they had in store. An' on the blue-reav'd waggon's bed, Above his vower wheels o' red, Musicians zot in rows, an play'd Ther tuens up to chap an' maid, That beat, wi' playsome tooes an' heels, The level ground in nimble reels. An' zome agean, a-zet in line, An' starten at a given sign, Wi' outreach'd breast, a-breathen quick Droo op'nen lips, did nearly kick Ther polls, a-runnen sich a peace, Wi' streamen heair, to win the rerice.

An' in the house, an' on the green, An' in the shrubb'ry's leafy screen, A J. A On ev'ry zide we zeed sich lots 0' smilen friends in happy knots, That I do think, that droo the feast In Caendle, vor a dae at least, You woudden vind a scowlen feiice Or dumpy heart in all the pleace. HAY MEAKEN— NUNCHEN TIME Anne an John a-ta'kin o't. Back here, but now, the jobber John Come by, an' cried, " Well done, zing on, I thought as I come down the hill, An' heard your zongs a-ringen sh'ill, Who woudden like to come, an' fling A peair o' prongs where you did zing." Aye, aye, he woudden vind it play, To work all dae a-meaken hay, Or pitchen it, to earms a-spread By lwoaders, yards above his head, 'T 'ud meake en wipe his drippen brow. Or only reaken a'ter plow. do drow, Or worken wi' his nimble pick, A-stiffled wi' the hay at rick.

J. A. Our company would suit en best, When we do teake our bit o' rest, At nunch, a-gather'd here below The sheade thease wide-bough'd woak Where hissen froth mid rise, an' float In horns o' eiile, to wet oone's droat. J. Aye, if his swellen han' could drag A meat-slice vrom his dinner-bag. 'T 'ud meake the busy little chap Look rather glum, to zee his lap Wi' all his meal ov oone dry crowst, An' vinny cheese so dry as dowst. A Well, I don't grumble at my food, 'Tis wholesome, John, an' zoo 'tis good. .1. Whose reake is that a-lyen there ? Do look a bit the woose vor wear. A Oh ! I mus' get the man to meake A tooth or two vor thik wold reake, 'Tis leabor lost to strik a stroke Wi' he, wi' haef his teeth a-broke. J. I should ha' thought your han' too fine To break your reake, if I broke mine. \ J A The ramsclaes thin'd his wooden gum 0' two teeth here, an' here were zome That broke off when I reak'd a patch 0' groun' wi' Jimmy vor a match : An' here 's a gap where oone or two Wer broke by Simon's clumsy shoe, An' when I gi'd his pole a poke, Vor better luck, another broke.

In what a veag have you a-swung Your pick, though, John ? His stem 'a a-sprung. When I an' Simon had a het 0' pooken yonder vor a bet, The prongs o'n gi'd a tump a poke, An' then I vound the stem o'n broke, But they do meake the stems o' picks O' stuff so brittle as a kicks. There 's poor wold Jeane, wi' wrinkled skin, A tellen, wi' her peaked chin, Zome teale ov her young daes, poor soul. Do meake the young-oones smile. 'Tis droll. What is it ? Stop, an' let 's goo near. I do like thease wold teales. Let 's hear. 1* A FAETHER OUT, AN' MOTHER HWOME. The snow-white clouds did float on high In shoals avore the sheenen sky, An' runnen weaves in pon' did chease Each other on the water's feiice, As hufflen win' did blow between The new-leav'd boughs o' sheenen green. An' there, the while I walk'd along The paeth, droo leaze, above the drong, A little maid, wi' bloomen feiice, Went on up hill wi' nimble peace, A-leanen to the right-han' zide, To car a basket that did ride, A-hangen down, wi' all his heft, Upon her elbow at her left.

An' eet she hardly seem'd to bruise The grass-bleades wi' her tiny shoes, That pass'd each other, left an' right, In steps a'most too quick vor zight. But she 'd aleft her mother's door A-bearen vrom her little store Her faether's welcome bit o' food, Vor he wer out at work in wood : An' she wer' bless'd wi' mwore than zome A f aether out, an' mother hwome. An' there, a-vell'd 'ithin the copse, Below the timber's new-leav'd tops, Wer ashen poles, a-casten straight, On primrwose beds, their langthy waight ; Below the yollor hght, a-shed Droo boughs upon the vi'let's head, By climen ivy, that did reach, A-sheenen roun' the dead-leav'd beech. An' there her faether zot, an' meade His whomely meal bezide a gleade ; While she, a-croopen down to ground, Did pull the flowers, where she vound The droopen vi'let out in blooth, Or yollor primrwose in the lewth, That she mid car 'em proudly back, An' zet 'em on her mother's tack; Vor she wer bless'd with mwore than zome A faether out, an' mother hwome.

A faether out, and mother hwome, Be blessens early lost by zome ; Alost by me, an' zoo I pray'd They mid be spear'd the little maid. RIDDLES. Anne (1) an' Joey (2) a-ldken. (1) A plague ! theiise cow wont stand a bit, Noo sooner do she zee me zit Agean her, than she 's in a trot, A-runnen to another spot. (2) Why 'tis the dog do sceare the cow, He worried her a-vield benow. (1) Goo in, Ah ! Liplap, where 's your tail ! (2) He 's gone, then, up athirt the rail. Well, thik there cow 's a come to han' A goodish milcher. (1) If she 'd stan', But then she '11 steare an' sheake wi' fright To zee a dumbledore in flight. She kick'd her pail laest week, an' spill' d A-haef the milk, a-haef a-vill'd. (2) Ha ! Ha ! But Anny, here, what lout Ha' broke your small pail's bottom out ? (1) What lout indeed !

What do ye own The neame ? Who dropp'd en on a stwone ? (2) Hee ! Hee ! WeU now he 's out o' trim Wi' n'ar a bottom to en ; Could you still vill en' to the brim An' let noo milk run droo en ! (1) Aye, as vor nonsense, Joe, your head Do hold it all so tight 's a blather, But if 'tis any good, do shed It all so leaky as a lather. Could you vill pails 'ithout a bottom, Yourself that be so deeply skill'd ? (2) Well, ees, I could, if I'd a-got em Inside o' bigger oones a-vill'd. (1) La ! that is zome'hat vor to hatch ! Here answer me thease little catch. There 's horn vor Goodman's eye-zight seiike ; There 's horn vor Goodman's mouth to teiike ; There 's horn vor Goodman's ears, as well As horn vor Goodman's nose to smell — What horns be they, then ? Do your hat Hold wit enough to tell us that ?

(2) Oh ! Horns an' horns ! no I woont try, The cows ha' horns enough vor I. (1) Horn vor the mouth 's a hornen cup. (2) An' eale 's good stuff to vill en up. (1) An' horn vor eyes is horn vor light, Vrom Goodman's lantern a'ter night ; (2) Horn vor the ears is oone to sound Vor hunters out wi' lioss an' hound ; But horn to smell, an' not to drink o't, Is hartshorn ! There now, what d'ye, think o't ? How proud you be ! if I could paint ye ! Hartshorn is horn ! oh ! I shall fainty ! Well here then, Anne, while we be at it, 'S a ball vor you if you can bat it. Oone evenen two-lags zot wi' pride On dree-lags, up at vow'r-lags' zide ; Then zix-lags gi'd vow'r-lags a prick, An' vow'r-lags gi'd two-lags a kick, An' two an' dree-lags veil, all vive, Slap down, zome dead an' zome alive. Teeh ! heeh ! what have ye now then, Joe, At laest, to meake a riddle o' ?

Your dree-lagg'd stool oone night did bear Up you a-milken wi' a pair ; An' there a zix-lagg'd stout did prick Your vow'r-lagg'd cow, an' meiike her kick, A-hetten, wi' a pretty pat, Your stool an' you so flat 's a mat. You scrambled up a little dirty, But I do hope it didden hurt ye. You hope, indeed ! a likely cease, Wi' thik broad grin athirt your feace. You sa'cy good-vor-nothen chap, I'll gi'e your grinnen feace a slap, Your drawlen tongue can only run To turn a body into fun. (2) Oh ! I woont do it ageiin. Oh ! dear ! Till next time, Anny. Oh ! my ear ! Oh ! Anne, why you've a-het my hat 'Ithin the milk, now look at that. (I) Do sar ye right, then, I don't ceare, I'll thump your noddle,— there— there— there. DAY'S WORK A-DONE. And oh ! the jay our rest did yield, At evenen by the mossy wall, When we 'd a-work'd all day a-vield, While zummer zuns did rise an' vail As there a-letten Goo all fretten, An' vorgetten all our twiles, We zot among our childern's smiles. ■j An' under skies that glitter'd white, The while our smoke, arisen blue, Did melt in aier, out o' zight, Above the trees that kept us lew ; Wer birds a-zingen, Tongues a-ringen, Childern springen, vull o' jay, A-finishen the day in play.

An' back behine, a-stannen tall, The cliff did feace the western light ; Avore us wer the water-fall, A-rottlen loud, an' foamen' white. An' leaves did quiver, Gnots did whiver, By the river, where the pool, In evenen air did glissen cool. An' there the childern, runnen wide, Did play their geiimes along the grove. Vor though 'twer oner jay to bide A-zot at rest, 'twer theirs to move. The while my smilen Jeane, beguilen, All my twilen, wi' her ceare, Did call me to my evenen feiire. THE WAGGON A-STOODED. Dree o'm a-tdken o't. (1) Well, here we be, then, wi' the vu'st poor lwoad 0' vuzz we brought, a-stooded in the road. (2) The road, George, no. There 's na'r a road. That 's wrong. If we 'd a road, we mid ha' got along. (1) Noo road ! Ees 'tis, the road that we do goo. (2) Do goo, George, no. The pleace we can't get droo.

(1) Well, there, the vu'st Iwoad we 've a-hal'd to dae Is here a-stooded in tliease bed o' clae. Here 's rotten groun' ! an' how the wheels do cut ! The little oone 's a-zunk up to the nut. (3) An' eet this rotten groun' don't reach a lug. (1) Well, come, then, gi'e the plow another tug. ■2) They meiires wull never pull the waggon out, A-lwoaded, an' a-stooded in thik rout. (3) We '11 try. Come, Smiler, come ! C up, IVhitevoot, gee ! (2) White-voot wi' lags all awver mud ! Hee ! Hee ! 'Twoon't wag. We shall but snap our gear, An' awverstrain the meares. 'Twoon't wag, 'tis clear. (1) That's your work, William. No, in coo'se, 'twoon't wag. Why did ye draeve en into thease here quag ? The vore wheels be a-zunk above the nuts. (3) What then. I cooden leave the beaten track, To turn the waggon awver on the back Ov oone o' theasem emmet-butts.

If you be sich a drever, an' do know 't, You dreve the plow, then ; but you '11 awverdrow 't. (1) I dreve the plow, indeed ! Oh ! ees, what, now The wheels woont wag, then, / mid dreve the plow ! We 'd better dig away the groun' below The wheels. (2) There 's na'r a speade to dig wi'. (1) An' teake an' cut a lock o' frith, an' drow Upon the clae. (2) Nor hook to cut a twig wi' (1) Oh ! here's a bwoy a-comen. Here, my lad, Dost know vor a'r a speade, that can be had ? (B) At faether's. (1) WeU, where 's that? (Bwoy) At Sam'el Riddick's. (1) Well run, an' ax vor oone. Eling up your heels, An' mind : a speade to dig out theasem wheels, An' hook to cut a little lock o' widdicks. Why, Ave shall want zix hosses, or a dozen, To pull the waggon out, wi' all theiise vuzzen. (1) Well, we mus' lighten en ; come, Jeiimes, then, hop Upon the lwoad, an' jus' fling off the top. 'Tj If I can clini' en ; but 'tis my consait, That I shall awverzet en' wi' my waight.

(1) You awverzet en ! No, Jeames, he won't vail, The lwoad 's a-built so firm 's a wall. (2) Here, gie 's a vooten. There, Oh ! George, 'twoon't stand, Your firm 's a wall, is all so loose as zand ; 'Tis comen all to pieces. Oh ! Teake ceare ! Ho ! I 'm a-vallen, vuzz an' all ! Hae ! There ! (1) Lo'k there, thik fellor is a-vell lik lead, An' haef the fuzzen wi 'n, heels awver head ! There 's all the vuzz a-lyen lik' a staddle, An' he a-deab'd wi' mud. Oh ! Here 's a caddie ! (3) An' zoo you soon got down some vuzzen, Jimmy. (2) O ees, I know 'tis down, I brought it wi' me. (3) Your Iwoad, George, wer a rather slick-built thing, But there, twer prickly vor the han's ! Did sting ! ID Oh ! ees, d'ye think I be a nincompoop, No, no. The lwoad wer built so firm 's a rock, But two o' theasem emmet-butts would knock The tightest barrel out o' hoop.

(3) Oh ! now then, here 's the bwoy a-bringen back The speade. Well done, my man. That idden slack. Well done, my lad, sha't have a hoss to ride, When thee'st a meare. (Bwoy) Next never-tide. (2) (3) Now let 's dig out a spit or two O' clae a-vore the little wheels ; Oh ! so's, I can't pull up my heels, I be a-stogg'd up awver shoe. (1) Oh, William, come ! Why do you spuddle So weak 's a chile ? How you do muddle ! Gi'e I the speade. A pig would poke it out A good deal vaster wi' his snout. (3) Oh ! so's, d'ye hear it, then. How we can thunder ! How big we be, then George ! what next I wonder ? d) Now, William, gi'e the waggon oone mwore twitch, The wheels be free, an' 'tis a lighter nitch. (3) Come, Smiler, gee! Cup, JT'hitevoot. (1) That will do. Do wag. (1) Do goo at laest. (3) Well done. 'Tis droo.

(1) Now, William, till you have mwore hosses' lags, Don't dreve the waggon into theasem quags. (3) You build your lwoads up tight enough to ride. (1) I can't do less, d' ye know, wi' you vor guide. GWAIN DOWN THE STEPS VOR WATER. While zuns do roll vrom east to west To bring us work, or leave us rest, There down below the steep hill-zide, Droo time an' tide, the spring do flow ; An' mothers there, vor years agone, Lik' daeters now a-comen on, To bloom when they be weak an' wan, Went down the steps vor water. An' what do yonder ringers tell A-ringen changes, bell by bell ; Or what 's a-show'd by yonder zight O' vo'k in white, upon the road, But that by John o' Woodleys zide, There 's now a-blushen vor his bride, A pretty maid that vu'st he spied, Gwain down the steps vor water. Though she, 'tis true, is feair an' kind, There still be mwore a-left behind ; So clean 's the light the zun do gi'e, So sprack 's a bee when zummer 's bright ; An' if I've luck, I woont be slow To teake off oone that I do know, A-trippen gaily to an' fro, Upon the steps vor water.

Her faether idden poor — but vew In parish be so well to do ; Vor his own cows do swing their tails Behind his pails, below his boughs : An' then agean to win my love, Why, she 's as hwomely as a dove, An' don't hold up herzelf above Gwain down the steps vor water. Gwain down the steps vor water ! No ! How handsome it do meake her grow. If she 'd be straight, or walk abrode, To tread her road wi' comely gait, She coudden do a better thing To zet herzelf upright, than bring Her pitcher on her head, vrom spring Upon the steps, wi' water. No ! don't ye neame in oone seame breath Wi' bachelors the husband's he'th ; The happy pleace, where vingers thin Do pull oone's chin, or pat oone's feiice. But still the bleame is their's, to slight Their happiness, wi' such a zight 0' maidens, mornen, noon, an' night, A-gwain down steps vor water.

ELLEN BRINE OF ALLENBURN Noo soul did hear her lips complain, An' she 's a-gone vrom all her pain, An' others' loss to her is gain, For she do live in heaven's love ; Vidl many a longsome day an' week She bore her ailen, still, an' meek ; A-worken while her strength held on, An' gulden housework, when 'twer gone Vor Ellen Brine ov Allenbum, Oh ! there be souls to mum. The laste time I 'd a-cast my zight Upon her feace, a-feaded white, Wer in a zummer's mornen light In hall avore the smwold'ren vire, The while the childern beat the vloor, In play wi' tiny shoes they wore, An' call'd their mother's eyes to view The feats their little lim's could do. Oh ! Ellen Brine ov Allenburn, They childern now mus' mum. Then oone, a-stoppen vrom his reiice, Went up, an' on her knee did pleace His han', a-looken in her feace, An' wi' a smilen mouth so small, He zaid, " You promised us to goo To Shroton feair, an' teake we two !"

She heard it wi' her two white ears, An' in her eyes there sprung two tears, Vor Ellen Brine ov Allenbum Did veel that they mus' mum. ', September come, wi' Shroton feair, But Ellen Brine wer' never there ! A heavy heart wer' on the meare Their faether rod his hwomeward road. 'Tis true he brought zome feairens back, Vor they two childern all in black ; But they had now, wi' playthings new, Noo mother vor to shew em to, Vor Ellen Brine ov Allenburn Would never mwore return. THE MOTHERLESS CHILD. The zun wer zet back t'other night, But in the zetten pleace The clouds, a-redden'd by his light, Still glow'd avore my feace. « An' I 've a-lost my Meary's smile, I thought ; but still I have her chile, Zoo lik' her, that my eyes can treace The mother's in her daeter's feace. O little feace so near to me, An' lik' thy mother's gone ; why need I zae, Sweet night cloud, wi' the glow o' my lost dae.

Thy looks be always dear to me. The zun wer zet another night ; But, by the moon on high, He still did zend us back his light Below a cwolder sky. My Meary 's in a better land 1 thought, but still her chile 's at hand, An' in her chile she '11 zend me on Her love, though she herself 's a-gone. O little chile so near to me, An' lik' thy mother gone ; why need I zae, Sweet moon, the messenger vrom my lost dae Thy looks be always dear to me. THE LEADY'S TOWER. An' then we went along the gleades 0' zunny turf, in quiv'ren sheades, A-winden off, vrom hand to hand, Along a paeth o' yollor zand, An' clomb a stickle slope, an' vound An open patch o' lofty ground, Up where a steately tow'r did spring, So high as highest larks do zing. " Oh ! Measter Collins," then I zaed, A-looken up wi' back-flung head ; Vor who but he, so mild o' feace, Should teake me there to zee the pleace.

" What is it then thease tower do mean, A -built so feair, an' kept so clean ?" " Ah ! me," 'e zaed, wi' thoughtvul feace, " 'Twer grief that zet thease tower in pleace The squier's e'thly life 's a-blest Wi' gifts that mwost do teake vor best ; The lofty-pinion'd rufs do rise To screen his head vrom stormy skies ; His land 's a-spreaden roun' his hall, An' hands do leabor at his call ; The while the hoss do fling, wi' pride, His lofty head where he do guide ; But still his e'thly jay 's a-vled, His oone true friend, his wife, is dead. Zoo now her happy soul 's a-gone, An' he in grief 's a-ling'ren on, Do do his heart zome good to show, His love to flesh an' blood below. An' zoo he rear'd, wi' smitten soul, Thease Leady's Tower upon the knowl. An' there you '11 zee the tow'r do spring- Twice ten veet up, as roun 's a ring, Wi' pillars bearen mwolded eaves, Above their heads o' carv'd wi' leaves ; An' have to peace, a-walken round His voot, a hunderd veet o' ground.

An' there, above his upper wall, A rounded tower do spring so tall 'S a springen arrow shot upright, A hunderd giddy veet in height. An' if you 'd like to strain your knees A-climen up above the trees, To zee, wi' slowly-wheelen feace, The vursky'd land about the pleace, You '11 have a flight o' steps to wear Vor forty veet, steair a'ter steair, That roun' the risen tow'r do wind, Lik' withwind roun' the saplen's rind, An' reach a landen, wi' a seat, To rest at laest your weary veet, Tthin a breast be-screenen wall, To keep ye vrom a longsome vail. An' roun the winden steairs do spring, Aight stwonen pillars in a ring, A-reachen up their heavy straugth, Droo forty veet o' slender langth, To end wi' carved heads below The brode-vloor'd landen's airy bow. Aight zides, as you do zee, do bound The lower builden on the ground, An' there in oone, a two-leav'd door Do zwing above the marble vloor : An' aye, as luck do zoo betide Our cornen, wi' can goo inside.