 | Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect |  |
WOAK HILL.
When sycamore leaves wer a-spreadèn
Green-ruddy in hedges,
Bezide the red dowst o' the ridges,
A-dried at Woak Hill;
Green-ruddy in hedges,
Bezide the red dowst o' the ridges,
A-dried at Woak Hill;
I pack'd up my traps, all a-sheenèn
Wi' long years o' handlèn,
On dowsty red wheels ov a waggon,
To ride at Woak Hill.
Wi' long years o' handlèn,
On dowsty red wheels ov a waggon,
To ride at Woak Hill.
The brown thatchen rwof o' the dwellèn,
I then wer a-leävèn,
Vu'st shelter'd the sleek head o' Meäry,
My bride at Woak Hill.
I then wer a-leävèn,
Vu'st shelter'd the sleek head o' Meäry,
My bride at Woak Hill.
But now o' leäte years, her light voot-vall
'S a-lost vrom the vloorèn.
To soon vor my jaÿ an' my childern,
She died at Woak Hill.
'S a-lost vrom the vloorèn.
To soon vor my jaÿ an' my childern,
She died at Woak Hill.
11
But still I do think that, in soul,
She do hover about us;
To ho vor her motherless childern,
Her pride at Woak Hill.
She do hover about us;
To ho vor her motherless childern,
Her pride at Woak Hill.
Zoo—lest she should tell me herea'ter
I stole off 'ithout her,
An' left her, uncall'd at house-riddèn,
To bide at Woak Hill—
I stole off 'ithout her,
An' left her, uncall'd at house-riddèn,
To bide at Woak Hill—
I call'd her so fondly, wi' lippèns
All soundless to others,
An' took her wi' aïr-reachèn hand,
To my zide at Woak hill.
All soundless to others,
An' took her wi' aïr-reachèn hand,
To my zide at Woak hill.
On the road I did look round, a-talkèn
To light at my shoulder,
An' then led her in at the door,
Open wide at Creech Mill.
To light at my shoulder,
An' then led her in at the door,
Open wide at Creech Mill.
An' that's why vo'k thought, vor a season,
My mind wer a-wandrèn,
Wi' sorrow when I wer so sorely
A-tried at Woak Hill.
My mind wer a-wandrèn,
Wi' sorrow when I wer so sorely
A-tried at Woak Hill.
But no; that my Meäry mid never
Behold herzelf slighted,
I wanted to think that I guided
My guide vrom Woak Hill.
Behold herzelf slighted,
I wanted to think that I guided
My guide vrom Woak Hill.
| Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect | |