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1801-1886
I’D a dream to-night
As I fell asleep,
O! the touching sight
Makes me still to weep:
Of my little lad,
Gone to leave me sad,
Ay, the child I had,
But was not to keep.
As in heaven high
I my child did seek,
There in train came by
Children fair and meek,
Each in lily white,
With a lamp alight;
Each was clear to sight,
But they did not speak.
Then, a little sad,
Came my child in turn,
But the lamp he had,
O it did not burn!
He, to clear my doubt,
Said, half turn’d about,
‘Your tears put it out;
Mother, never mourn.
SINCE I noo mwore do zee your feëace,
Up steëars or down below,
I’ll zit me in the lwonesome pleëace,
Where flat-bough’d beech do grow;
Below the beeches’ bough, my love,
Where you did never come,
An’ I don’t look to meet ye now,
As I do look at hwome.
Since you noo mwore be at my zide,
In walks in zummer het,
I’ll goo alwone where mist do ride,
Droo trees a-drippàn wet;
Below the raëin-wet bough, my love,
Where you did never come,
An’ I don’t grieve to miss ye now,
As I do grieve at hwome.
Since now bezide my dinner-bwoard
Your vaëice do never sound,
I’ll eat the bit I can avword
A-vield upon the ground;
Below the darksome bough, my love,
Where you did never dine,
An’ I don’t grieve to miss ye now,
As I at hwome do pine.
Since I do miss your vaëice an’ feëace
In praëyer at eventide,
I’ll praëy wi’ woone sad vaëice vor greëace
To goo where you do bide;
Above the tree an’ bough, my love,
Where you be gone avore,
An’ be a-waëitàn vor me now,
To come vor evermwore.
NOW the shiades o’ the elems da stratch muore an muore,
Vrom the low-zinkàn zun in the west o’ the sky;
An’ the mâidens da stan out in clusters avore
The doors, var to chatty an’ zee vo’ke goo by.
An’ ther cuombs be a-zet in ther bunches o’ hiair,
An’ ther curdles1 da hang roun’ ther necks lily-white,
An’ ther cheëaks tha be ruosy, ther shoulders be biare,
Ther looks tha be merry, ther lims tha be light.
An’ the times have a-been—but tha cëant be noo muore—
When I, too, had my jây under evemen’s dim sky,
When my Fanny did stan’ out wi’ others avore
Her door, var to chatty an’ zee vo’ke goo by.
An’ up there, in the green, is her own honey-zuck,
That her brother trâin’d up roun’ her winder; an’ there
Is the ruose an’ the jessamy, where she did pluck
A flow’r var her buzom ar bud var her hiair.
An’ zoo smile, happy mâidens! var every fiace,
As the zummers da come an’ the years da roll by,
Wull soon sadden, ar goo vur awoy vrom the pliace,
Ar else, lik’ my Fanny, wull wither an’ die.
But when you be a-lost vrom the parish, some muore
Wull come on in y’ur pliazen to bloom an’ to die;
An’ zoo zummer wull always have mâidens avore
Ther doors, var to chatty an’ zee vo’ke goo by.
Var dëa’ters ha’ marnen when mothers ha’ night,
An’ there’s beauty alive when the fiairest is dead;
As when oon sparklàn wiave da zink down vrom the light,
Another da come up an’ catch it instead.
Zoo smile on, happy mâidens! but I shall noo muore
Zee the mâid I da miss under evemen’s dim sky;
An’ my heart is a-touch’d to zee you out avore
The doors, var to chatty and zee vo’ke goo by.
1curdles: curls.
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