Bog-land Studies By J. Barlow: 3rd ed |
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Bog-land Studies | ||
XII
Just a still misty day wid no shadow or shine was that same Holy Eve;Not a breath on the smooth o' the say, on'y now an' agin a soft heave
Swellin' up here an' there, as ye'll see in a sheet spread to blaich by the hedge,
That keeps risin' an' fallin' as oft as a breeze creeps in under the edge.
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On its way; an' we all were a-wishin' the boat 'ud make haste an' come in;
But we watched an' we wished till nigh sunset, an' never the sound of a pull,
Till at last, dhrifted in from the west, came the fog like a fleece o' sheep's wool
Sthreeled down low on the wather, an' hidin' away whatsoever it passed
In its sthreelin'; and all of a minute, out some- where behind it, a blast
Lep' up howlin' an' rushin' an' flustherin' thro' it, an' dhrivin' it on,
Till afore we knew rightly 'twas comin', it's every- thin' else seemed clane gone.
For your eyes was 'most blinded wid spray, an' the win' deaved your ears wid its roar,
Not a step could ye look past the foam that seethed white to your fut on the shore;
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Just set down be itself in the midst of a mist and a great dhreary moan.
Bog-land Studies | ||