Chapter 13

Oh! aye! the spring 'ithin the leäne, A-leäden down to Lyddan Brook; An' still a-nesslèn in his nook, As weeks do pass, an' moons do weäne. Nwone the drier, Nwone the higher, Nwone the nigher to the door Where we did live so long avore.

An' oh! what vo'k his mossy brim Ha' gathered in the run o' time! The wife a-blushèn in her prime; The widow wi' her eyezight dim; Maïdens dippèn, Childern sippèn, Water drippèn, at the cool Dark wallèn ov the little pool.

Behind the spring do lie the lands My father till'd, vrom Spring to Spring, Awäitèn on vor time to bring The crops to paÿ his weary hands. Wheat a-growèn, Beäns a-blowèn, Grass vor mowèn, where the bridge Do leäd to Ryall's on the ridge.

But who do know when liv'd an' died The squier o' the mwoldrèn hall; That lined en wi' a stwonèn wall, An' steän'd so cleän his wat'ry zide? We behind en, Now can't vind en, But do mind en, an' do thank His meäker vor his little tank.

THE POPLARS.

If theäse day's work an' burnèn sky 'V'a-zent hwome you so tired as I, Let's zit an' rest 'ithin the screen O' my wold bow'r upon the green; Where I do goo myself an' let The evenèn aiër cool my het, When dew do wet the grasses bleädes, A-quiv'rèn in the dusky sheädes.

There yonder poplar trees do plaÿ Soft music, as their heads do swaÿ, While wind, a-rustlèn soft or loud, Do stream ageän their lofty sh'oud; An' seem to heal the ranklèn zore My mind do meet wi' out o' door, When I've a-bore, in downcast mood, Zome evil where I look'd vor good.

O' they two poplars that do rise So high avore our naïghbours' eyes, A-zet by gramfer, hand by hand, Wi' grammer, in their bit o' land; The woone upon the western zide Wer his, an' woone wer grammer's pride, An' since they died, we all do teäke Mwore ceäre o'm vor the wold vo'k's seäke.

An' there, wi' stems a-growèn tall Avore the houses mossy wall, The while the moon ha' slowly past The leafy window, they've a-cast Their sheädes 'ithin the window peäne; While childern have a-grown to men, An' then ageän ha' left their beds, To bear their childern's heavy heads.

THE LINDEN ON THE LAWN.

No! Jenny, there's noo pleäce to charm My mind lik' yours at Woakland farm, A-peärted vrom the busy town, By longsome miles ov aïry down, Where woonce the meshy wall did gird Your flow'ry geärden, an' the bird Did zing in zummer wind that stirr'd The spreädèn linden on the lawn.

An' now ov all the trees wi' sheädes A-wheelèn round in Blackmwore gleädes, There's noo tall poplar by the brook, Nor elem that do rock the rook, Nor ash upon the shelvèn ledge, Nor low-bough'd woak bezide the hedge, Nor withy up above the zedge, So dear's thik linden on the lawn.

Vor there, o' zummer nights, below The wall, we zot when aïr did blow, An' sheäke the dewy rwose a-tied Up roun' the window's stwonèn zide. An' while the carter rod' along A-zingèn, down the dusky drong, There you did zing a sweeter zong Below the linden on the lawn.

An' while your warbled ditty wound Drough plaÿsome flights o' mellow sound, The nightèngeäle's sh'ill zong, that broke The stillness ov the dewy woak, Rung clear along the grove, an' smote To sudden stillness ev'ry droat; As we did zit, an' hear it float Below the linden on the lawn.

Where dusky light did softly vall 'Ithin the stwonèn-window'd hall, Avore your father's blinkèn eyes, His evenèn whiff o' smoke did rise, An' vrom the bedroom window's height Your little John, a-cloth'd in white, An' gwaïn to bed, did cry "good night" Towards the linden on the lawn.

But now, as Dobbin, wi' a nod Vor ev'ry heavy step he trod, Did bring me on, to-night, avore The geäbled house's pworchèd door, Noo laughèn child a-cloth'd in white, Look'd drough the stwonèn window's light, An' noo vaïce zung, in dusky night, Below the linden on the lawn.

An' zoo, if you should ever vind My kindness seem to grow less kind, An' if upon my clouded feäce My smile should yield a frown its pleäce, Then, Jenny, only laugh an' call My mind 'ithin the geärden wall, Where we did plaÿ at even-fall, Below the linden on the lawn.

OUR ABODE IN ARBY WOOD.

Though ice do hang upon the willows Out bezide the vrozen brook, An' storms do roar above our pillows, Drough the night, 'ithin our nook; Our evenèn he'th's a-glowèn warm, Drough wringèn vrost, an' roarèn storm, Though winds mid meäke the wold beams sheäke, In our abode in Arby Wood.

An' there, though we mid hear the timber Creake avore the windy raïn; An' climèn ivy quiver, limber, Up ageän the window peäne; Our merry vaïces then do sound, In rollèn glee, or dree-vaïce round; Though wind mid roar, 'ithout the door, Ov our abode in Arby Wood.

SLOW TO COME, QUICK AGONE.

Ah! there's a house that I do know Besouth o' yonder trees, Where northern winds can hardly blow But in a softest breeze. An' there woonce sounded zongs an' teäles Vrom vaïce o' maïd or youth, An' sweeter than the nightèngeäle's Above the copses lewth.

How swiftly there did run the brooks, How swift wer winds in flight, How swiftly to their roost the rooks Did vlee o'er head at night. Though slow did seem to us the peäce O' comèn days a-head, That now do seem as in a reäce Wi' aïr-birds to ha' vled.

THE VIER-ZIDE.

'Tis zome vo'ks jaÿ to teäke the road, An' goo abro'd, a-wand'rèn wide, Vrom shere to shere, vrom pleäce to pleäce, The swiftest peäce that vo'k can ride. But I've a jaÿ 'ithin the door, Wi' friends avore the vier-zide.

An' zoo, when winter skies do lour, An' when the Stour's a-rollèn wide, Drough bridge-voot raïls, a-païnted white, To be at night the traveller's guide, Gi'e me a pleäce that's warm an' dry, A-zittèn nigh my vier-zide.

Vor where do love o' kith an' kin, At vu'st begin, or grow an' wride, Till souls a-lov'd so young, be wold, Though never cwold, drough time nor tide But where in me'th their gather'd veet Do often meet--the vier-zide.

If, when a friend ha' left the land, I shook his hand a-most wet-eyed, I velt too well the ob'nèn door Would leäd noo mwore where he did bide An' where I heärd his vaïces sound, In me'th around the vier-zide.

As I've a-zeed how vast do vall The mwold'rèn hall, the wold vo'ks pride, Where merry hearts wer woonce a-ved Wi' daily bread, why I've a-sigh'd, To zee the wall so green wi' mwold, An' vind so cwold the vier-zide.

An' Chris'mas still mid bring his me'th To ouer he'th, but if we tried To gather all that woonce did wear Gay feäces there! Ah! zome ha' died, An' zome be gone to leäve wi' gaps O' missèn laps, the vier-zide.

But come now, bring us in your hand, A heavy brand o' woak a-dried, To cheer us wi' his het an' light, While vrosty night, so starry-skied, Go gather souls that time do speäre To zit an' sheäre our vier-zide.

KNOWLWOOD.

I don't want to sleep abrode, John, I do like my hwomeward road, John; An' like the sound o' Knowlwood bells the best. Zome would rove vrom pleäce to pleäce, John, Zome would goo from feäce to feäce, John, But I be happy in my hwomely nest; An' slight's the hope vor any pleäce bezide, To leäve the plaïn abode where love do bide.

Where the shelvèn knap do vall, John, Under trees a-springèn tall, John; 'Tis there my house do show his sheenèn zide, Wi' his walls vor ever green, John, Under ivy that's a screen, John, Vrom wet an' het, an' ev'ry changèn tide, An' I do little ho vor goold or pride, To leäve the plaïn abode where love do bide.

There the bendèn stream do flow, John, By the mossy bridge's bow, John; An' there the road do wind below the hill; There the miller, white wi' meal, John, Deafen'd wi' his foamy wheel, John, Do stan' o' times a-lookèn out o' mill: The while 'ithin his lightly-sheäken door. His wheatèn flour do whitèn all his floor.

When my daily work's a-done, John, At the zettèn o' the zun, John, An' I all day 've a-plaÿ'd a good man's peärt, I do vind my ease a-blest, John, While my conscience is at rest, John; An' while noo worm's a-left to fret my heart; An' who vor finer hwomes o' restless pride, Would pass the plaïn abode where peace do bide?

By a windor in the west, John, There upon my fiddle's breast, John, The strings do sound below my bow's white heäir; While a zingèn drush do swaÿ, John, Up an' down upon a spraÿ, John, An' cast his sheäde upon the window square; Vor birds do know their friends, an' build their nest, An' love to roost, where they can live at rest.

Out o' town the win' do bring, John, Peals o' bells when they do ring, John, An' roun' me here, at hand, my ear can catch The maïd a-zingèn by the stream, John, Or carter whislèn wi' his team, John, Or zingèn birds, or water at the hatch; An' zoo wi' sounds o' vaïce, an' bird an' bell, Noo hour is dull 'ithin our rwosy dell.

An' when the darksome night do hide, John, Land an' wood on ev'ry zide, John; An' when the light's a-burnèn on my bwoard, Then vor pleasures out o' door, John, I've enough upon my vloor, John: My Jenny's lovèn deed, an' look, an' word, An' we be lwoth, lik' culvers zide by zide, To leäve the plaïn abode where love do bide.

HALLOWED PLEÄCES.

At Woodcombe farm, wi' ground an' tree Hallow'd by times o' youthvul glee, At Chris'mas time I spent a night Wi' feäces dearest to my zight; An' took my wife to tread, woonce mwore, Her maïden hwome's vorseäken vloor, An' under stars that slowly wheel'd Aloft, above the keen-aïr'd vield, While night bedimm'd the rus'lèn copse, An' darken'd all the ridges' tops, The hall, a-hung wi' holly, rung Wi' many a tongue o' wold an' young.

There, on the he'th's well-hetted ground, Hallow'd by times o' zittèn round, The brimvul mug o' cider stood An' hiss'd avore the bleäzèn wood; An' zome, a-zittèn knee by knee, Did tell their teäles wi' hearty glee, An' others gamboll'd in a roar O' laughter on the stwonèn vloor; An' while the moss o' winter-tide Clung chilly roun' the house's zide, The hall, a-hung wi' holly, rung Wi' many a tongue o' wold an' young.

There, on the pworches bench o' stwone, Hallow'd by times o' youthvul fun, We laugh'd an' sigh'd to think o' neämes That rung there woonce, in evenèn geämes; An' while the swaÿèn cypress bow'd, In chilly wind, his darksome sh'oud An' honeyzuckles, beäre o' leäves, Still reach'd the window-sheädèn eaves Up where the clematis did trim The stwonèn arches mossy rim, The hall, a-hung wi' holly, rung Wi' many a tongue o' wold an' young.

There, in the geärden's wall-bound square, Hallow'd by times o' strollèn there, The winter wind, a-hufflèn loud, Did swaÿ the pear-tree's leafless sh'oud, An' beät the bush that woonce did bear The damask rwose vor Jenny's heäir; An' there the walk o' peävèn stwone That burn'd below the zummer zun, Struck icy-cwold drough shoes a-wore By maïdens vrom the hetted vloor In hall, a-hung wi' holm, where rung Vull many a tongue o' wold an' young.

There at the geäte that woonce wer blue Hallow'd by times o' passèn drough, Light strawmotes rose in flaggèn flight, A-floated by the winds o' night, Where leafy ivy-stems did crawl In moonlight on the windblown wall, An' merry maïdens' vaïces vled In echoes sh'ill, vrom wall to shed, As shiv'rèn in their frocks o' white They come to bid us there "Good night," Vrom hall, a-hung wi' holm, that rung Wi' many a tongue o' wold an' young.

There in the narrow leäne an' drong Hallow'd by times o' gwaïn along, The lofty ashes' leafless sh'ouds Rose dark avore the clear-edged clouds, The while the moon, at girtest height, Bespread the pooly brook wi' light, An' as our child, in loose-limb'd rest, Lay peäle upon her mother's breast, Her waxen eyelids seal'd her eyes Vrom darksome trees, an' sheenèn skies, An' halls a-hung wi' holm, that rung Wi' many a tongue, o' wold an' young.

THE WOLD WALL.

Here, Jeäne, we vu'st did meet below The leafy boughs, a-swingèn slow, Avore the zun, wi' evenèn glow, Above our road, a-beamèn red; The grass in zwath wer in the meäds, The water gleam'd among the reeds In aïr a-steälèn roun' the hall, Where ivy clung upon the wall. Ah! well-a-day! O wall adieu! The wall is wold, my grief is new.

An' there you walk'd wi' blushèn pride, Where softly-wheelèn streams did glide, Drough sheädes o' poplars at my zide, An' there wi' love that still do live, Your feäce did wear the smile o' youth, The while you spoke wi' age's truth, An' wi' a rwosebud's mossy ball, I deck'd your bosom vrom the wall. Ah! well-a-day! O wall adieu! The wall is wold, my grief is new.

But now when winter's raïn do vall, An' wind do beät ageän the hall, The while upon the wat'ry wall In spots o' grey the moss do grow; The ruf noo mwore shall overspread The pillor ov our weary head, Nor shall the rwose's mossy ball Behang vor you the house's wall. Ah! well-a-day! O wall adieu! The wall is wold, my grief is new.

BLEÄKE'S HOUSE IN BLACKMWORE.

John Bleäke he had a bit o' ground Come to en by his mother's zide; An' after that, two hunderd pound His uncle left en when he died; "Well now," cried John, "my mind's a-bent To build a house, an' paÿ noo rent." An' Meäry gi'ed en her consent. "Do, do,"--the maïdens cried "True, true,"--his wife replied. "Done, done,--a house o' brick or stwone," Cried merry Bleäke o' Blackmwore.

Then John he call'd vor men o' skill, An' builders answer'd to his call; An' met to reckon, each his bill; Vor vloor an' window, ruf an' wall. An' woone did mark it on the groun', An' woone did think, an' scratch his crown, An' reckon work, an' write it down: "Zoo, zoo,"--woone treädesman cried, "True, true,"--woone mwore replied. "Aye, aye,--good work, an' have good paÿ," Cried merry Bleäke o' Blackmwore.

The work begun, an' trowels rung, An' up the brickèn wall did rise, An' up the slantèn refters sprung, Wi' busy blows, an' lusty cries! An' woone brought planks to meäke a vloor, An' woone did come wi' durns or door, An' woone did zaw, an' woone did bore, "Brick, brick,--there down below, Quick, quick,--why b'ye so slow?" "Lime, lime,--why we do weäste the time, Vor merry Bleäke o' Blackmwore."

The house wer up vrom groun' to tun, An' thatch'd ageän the raïny sky, Wi' windows to the noonday zun, Where rushy Stour do wander by. In coo'se he had a pworch to screen The inside door, when win's wer keen, An' out avore the pworch, a green. "Here! here!"--the childern cried: "Dear! dear!"--the wife replied; "There, there,--the house is perty feäir," Cried merry Bleäke o' Blackmwore.

Then John he ax'd his friends to warm His house, an' they, a goodish batch, Did come alwone, or eärm in eärm, All roads, a-meäkèn vor his hatch: An' there below the clavy beam The kettle-spout did zing an' steam; An' there wer ceäkes, an' tea wi' cream. "Lo! lo!"--the women cried; "Ho! ho!"--the men replied; "Health, health,--attend ye wi' your wealth, Good merry Bleäke o' Blackmwore."

Then John, a-praïs'd, flung up his crown, All back a-laughèn in a roar. They praïs'd his wife, an' she look'd down A-simperèn towards the vloor. Then up they sprung a-dancèn reels, An' up went tooes, an' up went heels, A-windèn roun' in knots an' wheels. "Brisk, brisk,"--the maïdens cried; "Frisk, frisk,"--the men replied; "Quick, quick,--there wi' your fiddle-stick," Cried merry Bleäke o' Blackmwore.

An' when the morrow's zun did sheen, John Bleäke beheld, wi' jaÿ an' pride, His brickèn house, an' pworch, an' green, Above the Stour's rushy zide. The zwallows left the lwonesome groves, To build below the thatchèn oves, An' robins come vor crumbs o' lwoaves: "Tweet, tweet,"--the birds all cried; "Sweet, sweet,"--John's wife replied; "Dad, dad,"--the childern cried so glad, To merry Bleäke o' Blackmwore.

JOHN BLEÄKE AT HWOME AT NIGHT.

No: where the woak do overspread, The grass begloom'd below his head, An' water, under bowèn zedge, A-springèn vrom the river's edge, Do ripple, as the win' do blow, An' sparkle, as the sky do glow; An' grey-leav'd withy-boughs do cool, Wi' darksome sheädes, the clear-feäced pool, My chimny smoke, 'ithin the lew O' trees is there arisèn blue; Avore the night do dim our zight, Or candle-light, a-sheenèn bright, Do sparkle drough the window.

When crumpled leaves o' Fall do bound Avore the wind, along the ground, An' wither'd bennet-stems do stand A-quiv'rèn on the chilly land; The while the zun, wi' zettèn rim, Do leäve the workman's pathway dim; An' sweet-breath'd childern's hangèn heads Be laid wi' kisses, on their beds; Then I do seek my woodland nest, An' zit bezide my vier at rest, While night's a-spread, where day's a-vled, An' lights do shed their beams o' red, A-sparklèn drough the window.

If winter's whistlèn winds do vreeze The snow a-gather'd on the trees, An' sheädes o' poplar stems do vall In moonlight up athirt the wall; An' icicles do hang below The oves, a-glitt'rèn in a row, An' risèn stars do slowly ride Above the ruf's upslantèn zide; Then I do lay my weary head Asleep upon my peaceful bed, When middle-night ha' quench'd the light Ov embers bright, an' candles white A-beamèn drough the window.

MILKEN TIME.

'Twer when the busy birds did vlee, Wi' sheenèn wings, vrom tree to tree, To build upon the mossy lim', Their hollow nestes' rounded rim; The while the zun, a-zinkèn low, Did roll along his evenèn bow, I come along where wide-horn'd cows, 'Ithin a nook, a-screen'd by boughs, Did stan' an' flip the white-hoop'd païls Wi' heäiry tufts o' swingèn taïls; An' there wer Jenny Coom a-gone Along the path a vew steps on. A-beärèn on her head, upstraïght, Her païl, wi' slowly-ridèn waïght, An' hoops a-sheenèn, lily-white, Ageän the evenèn's slantèn light; An' zo I took her païl, an' left Her neck a-freed vrom all his heft; An' she a-lookèn up an' down, Wi' sheäpely head an' glossy crown, Then took my zide, an' kept my peäce A-talkèn on wi' smilèn feäce, An' zettèn things in sich a light, I'd faïn ha' heär'd her talk all night; An' when I brought her milk avore The geäte, she took it in to door, An' if her païl had but allow'd Her head to vall, she would ha' bow'd, An' still, as 'twer, I had the zight Ov her sweet smile droughout the night.

WHEN BIRDS BE STILL.

Vor all the zun do leäve the sky, An' all the sounds o' day do die, An' noo mwore veet do walk the dim Vield-path to clim' the stiel's bars, Yeet out below the rizèn stars, The dark'nèn day mid leäve behind Woone tongue that I shall always vind, A-whisperèn kind, when birds be still.

Zoo let the day come on to spread His kindly light above my head, Wi' zights to zee, an' sounds to hear, That still do cheer my thoughtvul mind; Or let en goo, an' leäve behind An' hour to stroll along the gleädes, Where night do drown the beeches' sheädes, On grasses' bleädes, when birds be still.

Vor when the night do lull the sound O' cows a-bleärèn out in ground, The sh'ill-vaïc'd dog do stan' an' bark 'Ithin the dark, bezide the road; An' when noo cracklèn waggon's lwoad Is in the leäne, the wind do bring The merry peals that bells do ring O ding-dong-ding, when birds be still.

Zoo teäke, vor me, the town a-drown'd, 'Ithin a storm o' rumblèn sound, An' gi'e me vaïces that do speak So soft an' meek, to souls alwone; The brook a-gurglèn round a stwone, An' birds o' day a-zingèn clear, An' leaves, that I mid zit an' hear A-rustlèn near, when birds be still.

RIDEN HWOME AT NIGHT.

Oh! no, I quite injaÿ'd the ride Behind wold Dobbin's heavy heels, Wi' Jeäne a-prattlèn at my zide, Above our peäir o' spinnèn wheels, As grey-rin'd ashes' swaÿèn tops Did creak in moonlight in the copse, Above the quiv'rèn grass, a-beät By wind a-blowèn drough the geät.

If weary souls did want their sleep, They had a-zent vor sleep the night; Vor vo'k that had a call to keep Awake, lik' us, there still wer light. An' He that shut the sleepers' eyes, A-waïtèn vor the zun to rise, Ha' too much love to let em know The ling'rèn night did goo so slow.

But if my wife did catch a zight O' zome queer pollard, or a post, Poor soul! she took en in her fright To be a robber or a ghost. A two-stump'd withy, wi' a head, Mus' be a man wi' eärms a-spread; An' foam o' water, round a rock, Wer then a drownèn leädy's frock.

Zome staddle stwones to bear a mow, Wer dancèn veäries on the lag; An' then a snow-white sheeted cow Could only be, she thought, their flag, An owl a-vleèn drough the wood Wer men on watch vor little good; An' geätes a slam'd by wind, did goo, She thought, to let a robber drough.

But after all, she lik'd the zight O' cows asleep in glitt'rèn dew; An' brooks that gleam'd below the light, An' dim vield paths 'ithout a shoe. An' gaïly talk'd bezide my ears, A-laughèn off her needless fears: Or had the childern uppermost In mind, instead o' thief or ghost.

An' when our house, wi' open door, Did rumble hollow round our heads, She heästen'd up to tother vloor, To zee the childern in their beds; An' vound woone little head awry, Wi' woone a-turn'd toward the sky; An' wrung her hands ageän her breast, A-smilèn at their happy rest.

ZUN-ZET.

Where the western zun, unclouded, Up above the grey hill-tops, Did sheen drough ashes, lofty sh'ouded On the turf bezide the copse, In zummer weather, We together, Sorrow-slightèn, work-vorgettèn. Gambol'd wi' the zun a-zetten.

There, by flow'ry bows o' bramble, Under hedge, in ash-tree sheädes, The dun-heaïr'd ho'se did slowly ramble On the grasses' dewy bleädes, Zet free o' lwoads, An' stwony rwoads, Vorgetvul o' the lashes frettèn, Grazèn wi' the zun a-zettèn.

There wer rooks a-beätèn by us Drough the aïr, in a vlock, An' there the lively blackbird, nigh us, On the meäple bough did rock, Wi' ringèn droat, Where zunlight smote The yollow boughs o' zunny hedges Over western hills' blue edges.

Waters, drough the meäds a-purlèn, Glissen'd in the evenèn's light, An' smoke, above the town a-curlèn, Melted slowly out o' zight; An' there, in glooms Ov unzunn'd rooms, To zome, wi' idle sorrows frettèn, Zuns did set avore their zettèn.

We were out in geämes and reäces, Loud a-laughèn, wild in me'th, Wi' windblown heäir, an' zunbrown'd feäces, Leäpen on the high-sky'd e'th, Avore the lights Wer tin'd o' nights, An' while the gossamer's light nettèn Sparkled to the zun a-zettèn.

SPRING.

Now the zunny aïr's a-blowèn Softly over flowers a-growèn; An' the sparklèn light do quiver On the ivy-bough an' river; Bleätèn lambs, wi' woolly feäces, Now do plaÿ, a-runnèn reäces; An' the springèn Lark's a-zingèn, Lik' a dot avore the cloud, High above the ashes sh'oud.

Housèn, in the open brightness, Now do sheen in spots o' whiteness; Here an' there, on upland ledges, In among the trees an' hedges, Where, along by vlocks o' sparrows, Chatt'rèn at the ploughman's harrows. Dousty rwoaded, Errand-lwoaded; Jenny, though her cloak is thin, Do wish en hwome upon the pin.