Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect by William Barnes. First Collection. Fourth Edition |
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THATCHEN O' THE RICK. |
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 | Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect |  |
THATCHEN O' THE RICK.
As I wer out in meäd last week,
A-thatchèn o' my little rick,
There green young ee-grass, ankle-high,
Did sheen below the cloudless sky;
An' over hedge in tother groun',
Among the bennets dry an' brown,
My dun wold meäre, wi' neck a-freed
Vrom Zummer work, did snort an' veed;
An' in the sheäde o' leafy boughs,
My vew wold ragged-cwoated cows
Did rub their zides upon the raïls,
Or switch em wi' their heäiry taïls.
A-thatchèn o' my little rick,
There green young ee-grass, ankle-high,
Did sheen below the cloudless sky;
An' over hedge in tother groun',
Among the bennets dry an' brown,
My dun wold meäre, wi' neck a-freed
Vrom Zummer work, did snort an' veed;
77
My vew wold ragged-cwoated cows
Did rub their zides upon the raïls,
Or switch em wi' their heäiry taïls.
An' as the mornèn zun rose high
Above my mossy roof clwose by,
The blue smoke curreled up between
The lofty trees o' feädèn green:
A zight that's touchèn when do show
A busy wife is down below,
A-workèn hard to cheer woone's tweil
Wi' her best feäre, an' better smile.
Mid women still in wedlock's yoke
Zend up, wi' love, there own blue smoke,
An' husbands vind their bwoards a-spread
By faïthvul hands when I be dead,
An' noo good men in ouer land
Think lightly o' the weddèn band.
True happiness do bide alwone
Wi' them that ha' their own he'th-stwone
To gather wi' their children roun',
A-smilèn at the worold's frown.
Above my mossy roof clwose by,
The blue smoke curreled up between
The lofty trees o' feädèn green:
A zight that's touchèn when do show
A busy wife is down below,
A-workèn hard to cheer woone's tweil
Wi' her best feäre, an' better smile.
Mid women still in wedlock's yoke
Zend up, wi' love, there own blue smoke,
An' husbands vind their bwoards a-spread
By faïthvul hands when I be dead,
An' noo good men in ouer land
Think lightly o' the weddèn band.
True happiness do bide alwone
Wi' them that ha' their own he'th-stwone
To gather wi' their children roun',
A-smilèn at the worold's frown.
My bwoys, that brought me thatch an' spars,
Wer down a-taïtèn on the bars,
Or zot a-cuttèn wi' a knife,
Dry eltrot-roots to meäke a fife;
Or drivèn woone another round
The rick upon the grassy ground.
An', as the aïer vrom the west
Did fan my burnèn feäce an' breast,
An' hoppèn birds, wi' twitt'rèn beaks,
Did show their sheenèn spots an' streaks,
Then, wi' my heart a-vill'd wi' love
An' thankvulness to God above,
I didden think ov anything
That I begrudg'd o' lord or king;
Vor I ha' round me vur or near,
The mwost to love an' nwone to fear,
An' zoo can walk in any pleäce,
An' look the best man in the feäce.
What good do come to eächèn heads,
O' lièn down in silken beds?
Or what's a coach, if woone do pine
To zee woone's naïghbour's twice so fine?
Contentment is a constant feäst,
He's richest that do want the leäst.
Wer down a-taïtèn on the bars,
Or zot a-cuttèn wi' a knife,
Dry eltrot-roots to meäke a fife;
Or drivèn woone another round
The rick upon the grassy ground.
An', as the aïer vrom the west
Did fan my burnèn feäce an' breast,
78
Did show their sheenèn spots an' streaks,
Then, wi' my heart a-vill'd wi' love
An' thankvulness to God above,
I didden think ov anything
That I begrudg'd o' lord or king;
Vor I ha' round me vur or near,
The mwost to love an' nwone to fear,
An' zoo can walk in any pleäce,
An' look the best man in the feäce.
What good do come to eächèn heads,
O' lièn down in silken beds?
Or what's a coach, if woone do pine
To zee woone's naïghbour's twice so fine?
Contentment is a constant feäst,
He's richest that do want the leäst.
| Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect | |