Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect

THE WOODLANDS.

O spread ageaen your leaves an' flow'rs, Lwonesome woodlands! zunny woodlands! Here underneath the dewy show'rs O' warm-air'd spring-time, zunny woodlands! As when, in drong or open ground, Wi' happy bwoyish heart I vound The twitt'ren birds a-builden round Your high-bough'd hedges, zunny woodlands.

You gie'd me life, you gie'd me jay, Lwonesome woodlands! zunny woodlands You gie'd me health, as in my play I rambled through ye, zunny woodlands! You gie'd me freedom, vor to rove In airy meaed or sheaedy grove; You gie'd me smilen Fanney's love, The best ov all o't, zunny woodlands!

My vu'st shrill skylark whiver'd high, Lwonesome woodlands! zunny woodlands! To zing below your deep-blue sky An' white spring-clouds, O zunny woodlands! An' boughs o' trees that woonce stood here, Wer glossy green the happy year That gie'd me woone I lov'd so dear, An' now ha' lost, O zunny woodlands!

O let me rove ageaen unspied, Lwonesome woodlands! zunny woodlands! Along your green-bough'd hedges' zide, As then I rambled, zunny woodlands! An' where the missen trees woonce stood, Or tongues woonce rung among the wood, My memory shall meaeke em good, Though you've a-lost em, zunny woodlands!

LEADY-DAY, AN' RIDDEN HOUSE.

Aye, back at Leaedy-Day, you know, I come vrom Gullybrook to Stowe; At Leaedy-Day I took my pack O' rottletraps, an' turn'd my back Upon the weather-beaeten door, That had a-screen'd, so long avore, The mwost that theaese zide o' the greaeve, I'd live to have, or die to seaeve! My childern, an' my vier-pleaece, Where Molly wi' her cheerful feaece, When I'd a-trod my wat'ry road Vrom night-bedarken'd vields abrode, Wi' nimble hands, at evenen, blest Wi' vire an' vood my hard-won rest; The while the little woones did clim', So sleek-skinn'd, up from lim' to lim', Till, strugglen hard an' clingen tight, They reach'd at last my feaece's height. All tryen which could soonest hold My mind wi' little teaeles they twold. An' ridden house is such a caddle, I shan't be over keen vor mwore [=o]'t, Not yet a while, you mid be sure [=o]'t,-- I'd rather keep to woone wold staddle.

Well, zoo, avore the east begun To redden wi' the comen zun, We left the beds our mossy thatch Wer never mwore to overstratch, An' borrow'd uncle's wold hoss Dragon, To bring the slowly lumbren waggon, An' when he come, we vell a-packen The bedsteads, wi' their rwopes an' zacken; An' then put up the wold eaerm-chair, An' cwoffer vull ov e'then-ware, An' vier-dogs, an' copper kittle, Wi' crocks an' saucepans, big an' little; An' fryen-pan, vor aggs to slide In butter round his hissen zide, An' gridire's even bars, to bear The drippen steaeke above the gleaere O' brightly-glowen coals. An' then, All up o' top o' them ageaen The woaken bwoard, where we did eat Our croust o' bread or bit o' meat,-- An' when the bwoard wer up, we tied Upon the reaeves, along the zide, The woaeken stools, his glossy meaetes, Bwoth when he's beaere, or when the pleaetes Do clatter loud wi' knives, below Our merry feaeces in a row. An' put between his lags, turn'd up'ard, The zalt-box an' the corner cupb'ard. An' then we laid the wold clock-ceaese, All dumb, athirt upon his feaece, Vor we'd a-left, I needen tell ye, Noo works 'ithin his head or belly. An' then we put upon the pack The settle, flat upon his back; An' after that, a-tied in pairs In woone another, all the chairs, An' bits o' lumber wo'th a ride, An' at the very top a-tied, The childern's little stools did lie, Wi' lags a-turn'd toward the sky: Zoo there we lwoaded up our scroff, An' tied it vast, an' started off. An',--as the waggon cooden car all We had to teaeke,--the butter-barrel An' cheese-wring, wi' his twinen screw, An' all the pails an' veaets, an' blue Wold milk leads, and a vew things mwore, Wer all a-carr'd the day avore, And when the mwost ov our wold stuff Wer brought outside o' thik brown ruf, I rambled roun' wi' narrow looks, In fusty holes an' darksome nooks, To gather all I still mid vind, O' rags or sticks a-left behind. An' there the unlatch'd doors did creak, A-swung by winds, a-streamen weak Drough empty rooms, an' meaeken sad My heart, where me'th woonce meaede me glad. Vor when a man do leaeve the he'th An' ruf where vu'st he drew his breath, Or where he had his bwoyhood's fun, An' things wer woonce a-zaid an' done That took his mind, do touch his heart A little bit, I'll answer vor't. Zoo ridden house is such a caddle, That I would rather keep my staddle.

EASTER ZUNDAY.

Last Easter Jim put on his blue Frock cwoat, the vu'st time--vier new; Wi' yollow buttons all o' brass, That glitter'd in the zun lik' glass; An' pok'd 'ithin the button-hole A tutty he'd a-begg'd or stole. A span-new wes'co't, too, he wore, Wi' yollow stripes all down avore; An' tied his breeches' lags below The knee, wi' ribbon in a bow; An' drow'd his kitty-boots azide, An' put his laggens on, an' tied His shoes wi' strings two vingers wide, Because 'twer Easter Zunday.

An' after mornen church wer out He come back hwome, an' stroll'd about All down the vields, an' drough the leaene, Wi' sister Kit an' cousin Jeaene, A-turnen proudly to their view His yollow breast an' back o' blue. The lambs did play, the grounds wer green, The trees did bud, the zun did sheen; The lark did zing below the sky, An' roads wer all a-blown so dry, As if the zummer wer begun; An' he had sich a bit o' fun! He meaede the maidens squeael an' run, Because 'twer Easter Zunday.

EASTER MONDAY.

An' zoo o' Monday we got drough Our work betimes, an ax'd a vew Young vo'k vrom Stowe an' Coom, an' zome Vrom uncle's down at Grange, to come. An' they so spry, wi' merry smiles, Did beaet the path an' leaep the stiles, Wi' two or dree young chaps bezide, To meet an' keep up Easter tide: Vor we'd a-zaid avore, we'd git Zome friends to come, an' have a bit O' fun wi' me, an' Jeaene, an' Kit, Because 'twer Easter Monday.

An' there we play'd away at quaits, An' weigh'd ourzelves wi' sceaeles an' waights; An' jump'd to zee who jump'd the spryest, An' sprung the vurdest an' the highest; An' rung the bells vor vull an hour. An' play'd at vives ageaen the tower. An' then we went an' had a tait, An' cousin Sammy, wi' his waight, Broke off the bar, he wer so fat! An' toppled off, an' vell down flat Upon his head, an' squot his hat, Because 'twer Easter Monday.

DOCK-LEAVES.

The dock-leaves that do spread so wide Up yonder zunny bank's green zide, Do bring to mind what we did do At play wi' dock-leaves years agoo: How we,--when nettles had a-stung Our little hands, when we wer young,-- Did rub em wi' a dock, an' zing "_Out nettl', in dock. In dock, out sting._" An' when your feaece, in zummer's het, Did sheen wi' tricklen draps o' zweat, How you, a-zot bezide the bank, Didst toss your little head, an' pank, An' teaeke a dock-leaf in your han', An' whisk en lik' a leaedy's fan; While I did hunt, 'ithin your zight, Vor streaky cockle-shells to fight.

In all our play-geaemes we did bruise The dock-leaves wi' our nimble shoes; Bwoth where we merry chaps did fling You maidens in the orcha'd swing, An' by the zaw-pit's dousty bank, Where we did tait upon a plank. --(D'ye mind how woonce, you cou'den zit The bwoard, an' vell off into pit?) An' when we hunted you about The grassy barken, in an' out Among the ricks, your vlee-en frocks An' nimble veet did strik' the docks. An' zoo they docks, a-spread so wide Up yonder zunny bank's green zide, Do bring to mind what we did do, Among the dock-leaves years agoo.

THE BLACKBIRD.

Ov all the birds upon the wing Between the zunny show'rs o' spring,-- Vor all the lark, a-swingen high, Mid zing below a cloudless sky. An' sparrows, clust'ren roun' the bough, Mid chatter to the men at plough,-- The blackbird, whisslen in among The boughs, do zing the gayest zong.

Vor we do hear the blackbird zing His sweetest ditties in the spring, When nippen win's noo mwore do blow Vrom northern skies, wi' sleet or snow, But dr[=e]ve light doust along between The leaene-zide hedges, thick an' green; An' zoo the blackbird in among The boughs do zing the gayest zong.

'Tis blithe, wi' newly-open'd eyes, To zee the mornen's ruddy skies; Or, out a-haulen frith or lops Vrom new-pl[=e]sh'd hedge or new-vell'd copse, To rest at noon in primrwose beds Below the white-bark'd woak-trees' heads; But there's noo time, the whole daey long, Lik' evenen wi' the blackbird's zong.

Vor when my work is all a-done Avore the zetten o' the zun, Then blushen Jeaene do walk along The hedge to meet me in the drong, An' stay till all is dim an' dark Bezides the ashen tree's white bark; An' all bezides the blackbird's shrill An' runnen evenen-whissle's still.

An' there in bwoyhood I did rove Wi' pryen eyes along the drove To vind the nest the blackbird meaede O' grass-stalks in the high bough's sheaede: Or clim' aloft, wi' clingen knees, Vor crows' aggs up in swayen trees, While frighten'd blackbirds down below Did chatter o' their little foe. An' zoo there's noo pleaece lik' the drong, Where I do hear the blackbird's zong.

WOODCOM' FEAST.

Come, Fanny, come! put on thy white, 'Tis Woodcom' feaest, good now! to-night. Come! think noo mwore, you silly maid, O' chicken drown'd, or ducks a-stray'd; Nor mwope to vind thy new frock's tail A-tore by hitchen in a nail; Nor grieve an' hang thy head azide, A-thinken o' thy lam' that died. The flag's a-vleen wide an' high, An' ringen bells do sheaeke the sky; The fifes do play, the horns do roar, An' boughs be up at ev'ry door: They 'll be a-dancen soon,--the drum 'S a-rumblen now. Come, Fanny, come! Why father's gone, an' mother too. They went up leaene an hour agoo; An' at the green the young and wold Do stan' so thick as sheep in vwold: The men do laugh, the bwoys do shout,-- Come out you mwopen wench, come out, An' go wi' me, an' show at leaest Bright eyes an' smiles at Woodcom' feaest.

Come, let's goo out, an' fling our heels About in jigs an' vow'r-han' reels; While aell the stiff-lagg'd wolder vo'k, A-zitten roun', do talk an' joke An' smile to zee their own wold rigs. A-show'd by our wild geaemes an' jigs. Vor ever since the vwold church speer Vu'st prick'd the clouds, vrom year to year, When grass in meaed did reach woone's knees, An' blooth did kern in apple-trees, Zome merry day 'v' a-broke to sheen Above the dance at Woodcom' green, An' all o' they that now do lie So low all roun' the speer so high, Woonce, vrom the biggest to the leaest, Had merry hearts at Woodcom' feaest.

Zoo keep it up, an' gi'e it on To other vo'k when we be gone. Come otit; vor when the zetten zun Do leaeve in sheaede our harmless fun, The moon a-risen in the east Do gi'e us light at Woodcom' feaest. Come, Fanny, come! put on thy white, 'Tis merry Woodcom' feaest to night: There's nothen vor to mwope about,-- Come out, you leaezy jeaede, come out! An' thou wult be, to woone at leaest, The prettiest maid at Woodcom' feaest.

THE MILK-MAID O' THE FARM.

O Poll's the milk-maid o' the farm! An' Poll's so happy out in groun', Wi' her white pail below her eaerm As if she wore a goolden crown.