Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect by William Barnes. Second Collection. Second Edition |
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WAYFEAREN. |
 | Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect |  |
WAYFEAREN.
The sky wer clear, the zunsheen glow'd
On droopèn flowers drough the day,
As I did beät the dowsty road
Vrom hinder hills, a-feädèn gray;
Drough hollows up the hills,
Vrom knaps along by mills,
Vrom mills by churches tow'rs, wi' bells
That twold the hours to woody dells.
On droopèn flowers drough the day,
As I did beät the dowsty road
Vrom hinder hills, a-feädèn gray;
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Vrom knaps along by mills,
Vrom mills by churches tow'rs, wi' bells
That twold the hours to woody dells.
An' when the windèn road do guide
The thirsty vootman where mid flow
The water vrom a rock bezide
His vootsteps, in a sheenèn bow;
The hand a-hollow'd up
Do beät a-goolden cup,
To catch an' drink it, bright an' cool,
A-vallèn light 'ithin the pool.
The thirsty vootman where mid flow
The water vrom a rock bezide
His vootsteps, in a sheenèn bow;
The hand a-hollow'd up
Do beät a-goolden cup,
To catch an' drink it, bright an' cool,
A-vallèn light 'ithin the pool.
Zoo when, at last, I hung my head
Wi' thirsty lips a-burnèn dry,
I come bezide a river-bed
Where water flow'd so blue's the sky;
An' there I meäde me up
O' coltsvoot leaf a cup,
Where water from his lip o' gray,
Wer sweet to sip thik burnèn day.
Wi' thirsty lips a-burnèn dry,
I come bezide a river-bed
Where water flow'd so blue's the sky;
An' there I meäde me up
O' coltsvoot leaf a cup,
Where water from his lip o' gray,
Wer sweet to sip thik burnèn day.
But when our work is right, a jaÿ
Do come to bless us in its traïn,
An' hardships ha' zome good to paÿ
The thoughtvul soul vor all their päin:
The het do sweetèn sheäde,
An' weäry lim's ha' meäde
A bed o' slumber, still an' sound,
By woody hill or grassy mound.
Do come to bless us in its traïn,
An' hardships ha' zome good to paÿ
The thoughtvul soul vor all their päin:
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An' weäry lim's ha' meäde
A bed o' slumber, still an' sound,
By woody hill or grassy mound.
An' while I zot in sweet delaÿ
Below an elem on a hill,
Where boughs a-halfwaÿ up did swaÿ
In sheädes o' lim's above em still,
An' blue sky show'd between
The flutt'rèn leäves o' green;
I woulden gi'e that gloom an' sheäde
Vor any room that weälth ha' meäde.
Below an elem on a hill,
Where boughs a-halfwaÿ up did swaÿ
In sheädes o' lim's above em still,
An' blue sky show'd between
The flutt'rèn leäves o' green;
I woulden gi'e that gloom an' sheäde
Vor any room that weälth ha' meäde.
But oh! that vo'k that have the roads
Where weary-vooted souls do pass,
Would leäve bezide the stwone vor lwoads,
A little strip vor zummer grass;
That when the stwones do bruise
An' burn' an' gall our tooes,
We then mid cool our veet on beds
O' wild-thyme sweet, or deäisy-heads.
Where weary-vooted souls do pass,
Would leäve bezide the stwone vor lwoads,
A little strip vor zummer grass;
That when the stwones do bruise
An' burn' an' gall our tooes,
We then mid cool our veet on beds
O' wild-thyme sweet, or deäisy-heads.
| Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect | |