Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect. Barnes William
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Название: Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect

Автор: Barnes William

Издательство: Bookwire

Жанр: Языкознание

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isbn: 4057664584052

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      The dock-leaves wi' our nimble shoes;

      Bwoth where we merry chaps did fling

      You maïdens in the orcha'd swing,

      An' by the zaw-pit's dousty bank,

      Where we did taït 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 vlèe-èn 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-swingèn high,

      Mid zing below a cloudless sky.

      [page 11]

      An' sparrows, clust'rèn roun' the bough,

      Mid chatter to the men at plough—

      The blackbird, whisslèn in among

      The boughs, do zing the gaÿest zong.

      Vor we do hear the blackbird zing

      His sweetest ditties in the spring,

      When nippèn win's noo mwore do blow

      Vrom northern skies, wi' sleet or snow,

      But drēve light doust along between

      The leäne-zide hedges, thick an' green;

      An' zoo the blackbird in among

      The boughs do zing the gaÿest zong.

      'Tis blithe, wi' newly-open'd eyes,

      To zee the mornèn's ruddy skies;

      Or, out a-haulèn frith or lops

      Vrom new-plēsh'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 däy long,

      Lik' evenèn wi' the blackbird's zong.

      Vor when my work is all a-done

      Avore the zettèn o' the zun,

      Then blushèn Jeäne do walk along

      The hedge to meet me in the drong,

      An' staÿ till all is dim an' dark

      Bezides the ashen tree's white bark;

      An' all bezides the blackbird's shrill

      An' runnèn evenèn-whissle's still.

      An' there in bwoyhood I did rove

      Wi' pryèn eyes along the drove

      To vind the nest the blackbird meäde

      O' grass-stalks in the high bough's sheäde:

      Or clim' aloft, wi' clingèn knees,

      Vor crows' aggs up in swaÿèn trees,

      While frighten'd blackbirds down below

      Did chatter o' their little foe.

      An' zoo there's noo pleäce lik' the drong,

      Where I do hear the blackbird's zong.

      WOODCOM' FEAST.

      Come, Fanny, come! put on thy white,

      'Tis Woodcom' feäst, good now! to-night.

      Come! think noo mwore, you silly maïd,

      O' chickèn drown'd, or ducks a-straÿ'd;

      Nor mwope to vind thy new frock's taïl

      A-tore by hitchèn in a naïl;

      Nor grieve an' hang thy head azide,

      A-thinkèn o' thy lam' that died.

      The flag's a-vleèn wide an' high,

      An' ringèn bells do sheäke the sky;

      The fifes do play, the horns do roar,

      An' boughs be up at ev'ry door:

      They 'll be a-dancèn soon—the drum

      'S a-rumblèn now. Come, Fanny, come!

      Why father's gone, an' mother too.

      They went up leäne 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 mwopèn wench, come out,

      An' go wi' me, an' show at leäst

      Bright eyes an' smiles at Woodcom' feäst.

      Come, let's goo out, an' fling our heels

      About in jigs an' vow'r-han' reels;

      While äll the stiff-lagg'd wolder vo'k,

      A-zittèn roun', do talk an' joke

      An' smile to zee their own wold rigs.

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