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

I've worn my bits o' shoon away,
Wi' roving up an' deawn,
To see yon moorlan' valleys, an'
Yon little country teawn:
The dule tak shoon, and stockin's too!
My heart feels hutchin'-fain;
An', if I trudge it bar-fuut, lads,
I'll see yon teawn again!

280

II

It's what care I for cities grand,—
We never shall agree;
I'd rayther live where th' layrock sings,—
A country teawn for me!
A country teawn, where one can meet
Wi' friends, an' neighbours known;
Where one can lounge i'th market-place,
An' see the meadows mown.

III

Yon moorland hills are bloomin' wild
At th' endin' o' July;
Yon woodlan' cloofs, an' valleys green,—
The sweetest under th' sky;

281

Yon dainty rindles, dancin' deawn
Fro' th' meawntains into th' plain;—
As soon as th' new moon rises, lads,
I'm off to th' moors again!

IV

There's hearty lads among yon hills,
An' in yon country teawn;
They'n far moor sense nor preawder folk,—
I'll peawnd it for a creawn;
They re wick an' warm at wark an' fun,
Wherever they may go,—
The primest breed o' lads i'th world,—
Good luck attend 'em o'!

282

V

Last neet I laft the city thrung,
An' climbed yon hillock green;
An' turned my face to th' moorlan' hills,
Wi' th' wayter i' my e'en;
Wi' th' wayter wellin' i' my e'en;—
I'll bundle up, an' go,
An' I'll live an' dee i' my own countrie,
Where moorlan' breezes blow!

Shoon, shoes.

Bar-fuut, bare-foot.

Th' layrock, the sky-lark.

Dainty rindles, pretty rills of singing water.

Moor sense than preawder folk, more sense than prouder people.

I'll peawnd it for a creawn, I will uphold it for a crown.

Wick an' warm at wark an' fun, lively and earnest at work and fun.

Last neet I laft the city thrung, last night I left the city throng.

Wi'th wayter i' my e'en, with the water in mine eyes.