Poems and Lancashire Songs :: :: University of Virginia Library

What ails thee, my son Robin?
My heart is sore for thee;
Thi cheeks are grooin' thinner,
An' th' leet has laft thi e'e;
Theaw trails abeawt so lonesome,
An' looks so pale at morn;
God bless tho, lad, aw'm soory
To see tho so forlorn.

158

II

Thi fuutstep's sadly awter't. —
Aw used to know it weel,—
Neaw, arto fairy-stricken, lad;
Or, arto gradely ill?
Or, hasto bin wi' th' witches
I'th cloof, at deep o'th neet?
Come, tell mo, Robin, tell mo,—
For summat is not reet!

III

“Eh, mother, dunnut fret yo;
Aw am not like mysel';
But, 'tisn't lung o'th feeorin'
That han to do wi' th' deil;
There's nought 'at thus could daunt mo,
I'th cloof, by neet nor day;—

159

It's yon blue een o' Mary's;—
They taen my life away.”

IV

“Aw deawt aw've done wi comfort
To th' day that aw mun dee,
For th' place hoo sets her fuut on,
It's fairy greawnd to me;
But, oh, it's no use speykin',
Aw connut ston her pride;
An' when a true heart's breykin'
It's very hard to bide!”

V

Neaw, God be wi' tho, Robin;
Just let her have her way;

160

Hoo'll never meet thy marrow,
For mony a summer day;
Aw're just same wi' thi feyther,
When first he spoke to me:
So, go thi ways, an' whistle;
An' th' lass'll come to thee!

Th' leet has laft thi e'e, the light has left thine eye.

Soory, sorry.

Awter't, altered.

Gradely, properly, thoroughly.

Cloof, clough, glen.

Feeorin', frightening, things that frighten.

Aw deawt, I doubt, I think, I surmise.

Fairy-greawnd, enchanted ground.

Marrow, match.

Feyther, father.