Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect by William Barnes. First Collection. Fourth Edition |
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THE WEEPEN LEADY. |
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 | Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect |  |
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THE WEEPEN LEADY.
When, leäte o' nights, above the green
By thik wold house, the moon do sheen,
A leädy there, a-hangèn low
Her head, 's a-walkèn to an' fro
In robes so white's the driven snow,
Wi' woone eärm down, while woone do rest
All lily-white athirt the breast
O' thik poor weepèn leädy.
By thik wold house, the moon do sheen,
A leädy there, a-hangèn low
Her head, 's a-walkèn to an' fro
In robes so white's the driven snow,
Wi' woone eärm down, while woone do rest
All lily-white athirt the breast
O' thik poor weepèn leädy.
The whirlèn wind an' whis'lèn squall
Do sheäke the ivy by the wall,
An' meäke the plyèn tree-tops rock,
But never ruffle her white frock;
An' slammèn door an' rattlèn lock,
That in thik empty house do sound,
Do never seem to meäke look round
Thik ever downcast leädy.
Do sheäke the ivy by the wall,
An' meäke the plyèn tree-tops rock,
But never ruffle her white frock;
An' slammèn door an' rattlèn lock,
That in thik empty house do sound,
Do never seem to meäke look round
Thik ever downcast leädy.
A leädy, as the teäle do goo,
That woonce liv'd there, an'lov'd too true,
Wer by a young man cast azide,
A mother sad, but not a bride;
An' then her father, in his pride
An' anger, offer'd woone o' two
Vull bitter things to undergoo
To thik poor weepèn leädy:
That woonce liv'd there, an'lov'd too true,
Wer by a young man cast azide,
A mother sad, but not a bride;
An' then her father, in his pride
An' anger, offer'd woone o' two
Vull bitter things to undergoo
To thik poor weepèn leädy:
That she herzelf should leäve his door,
To darken it ageän noo mwore;
Or that her little plaÿsome chile,
A-zent away a thousand mile,
Should never meet her eyes to smile
An' plaÿ ageän; till she, in sheäme,
Should die an' leäve a tarnish'd neäme,
A sad vorseäken leädy.
To darken it ageän noo mwore;
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A-zent away a thousand mile,
Should never meet her eyes to smile
An' plaÿ ageän; till she, in sheäme,
Should die an' leäve a tarnish'd neäme,
A sad vorseäken leädy.
“Let me be lost,” she cried, “the while
I do but know vor my poor chile;”
An' left the hwome ov all her pride,
To wander drough the worold wide,
Wi' grief that vew but she ha' tried:
An' lik' a flow'r a blow ha' broke,
She wither'd wi' the deadly stroke,
An' died a weepèn leädy.
I do but know vor my poor chile;”
An' left the hwome ov all her pride,
To wander drough the worold wide,
Wi' grief that vew but she ha' tried:
An' lik' a flow'r a blow ha' broke,
She wither'd wi' the deadly stroke,
An' died a weepèn leädy.
An' she do keep a-comèn on
To zee her father dead an' gone,
As if her soul could have noo rest
Avore her teary cheäk's a-prest
By his vorgivèn kiss. Zoo blest
Be they that can but live in love,
An' vind a pleäce o' rest above
Unlik' the weepèn leädy.
To zee her father dead an' gone,
As if her soul could have noo rest
Avore her teary cheäk's a-prest
By his vorgivèn kiss. Zoo blest
Be they that can but live in love,
An' vind a pleäce o' rest above
Unlik' the weepèn leädy.
| Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect | |