Poems, partly of rural life, (in national English.) By William Barnes |
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| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
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| XIII. |
| XIV. |
| XV. |
| XVI. |
| XVII. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XX. |
| XXI. |
| XXII. |
| XXIII. |
| XXIV. |
| XXV. |
| XXVI. |
| XXVII. |
| XXVIII. |
| XXIX. |
| XXX. |
| XXXI. |
THE HINES OF BURNLEY. |
 | Poems, partly of rural life, (in national English.) |  |
134
THE HINES OF BURNLEY.
Well. Pleas'd or not it is all the same;
I hope the Hines are not yet so tame
That worthless men could e'er make them stain
Their spotless name for the love of gain.
So let him go, with his threats or gold,
Where hearts are frighten'd, and minds are sold;
He owns no chain that can ever hold
The souls of the Hines of Burnley.
I hope the Hines are not yet so tame
That worthless men could e'er make them stain
Their spotless name for the love of gain.
So let him go, with his threats or gold,
Where hearts are frighten'd, and minds are sold;
He owns no chain that can ever hold
The souls of the Hines of Burnley.
Our fathers' names, though all overgrown
With moss, are yet on the churchyard stone;
And there we now may go out and track
The Hines for five generations back;
And ev'ry father that lies asleep
In God down under his grassy heap,
Has left his son his good name to keep,
The name of the Hines of Burnley.
With moss, are yet on the churchyard stone;
And there we now may go out and track
The Hines for five generations back;
And ev'ry father that lies asleep
In God down under his grassy heap,
Has left his son his good name to keep,
The name of the Hines of Burnley.
135
And folks own kin by the father's side
To us, all round us, so far and wide;
For we've had always a maid or two
To spare a chap that was good and true;
Besides a manly young son to take
A girl for love's and not money's sake,
And all our neighbours are proud to make
A match with the Hines of Burnley.
To us, all round us, so far and wide;
For we've had always a maid or two
To spare a chap that was good and true;
Besides a manly young son to take
A girl for love's and not money's sake,
And all our neighbours are proud to make
A match with the Hines of Burnley.
For they are strong in the limbs, though light,
And work untired from the dawn till night;
And in their merriest moods will fly
In springs o'er gates that are five bars high;
And after them, in their cleanest jumps,
Most others seem but as leaden lumps,
While nearly kill'd with their falls and thumps,
They follow the Hines of Burnley.
And work untired from the dawn till night;
And in their merriest moods will fly
In springs o'er gates that are five bars high;
And after them, in their cleanest jumps,
Most others seem but as leaden lumps,
While nearly kill'd with their falls and thumps,
They follow the Hines of Burnley.
On holydays when the bright sun's glow
Was o'er the oaks with cool shades below,
And o'er the green the bright quoits would rise
From whirling arms above watchful eyes,
Then theirs would gleam through a lofty bow,
And gash the daisy-white ground below,
And beat the others at every throw
They made with the Hines of Burnley.
Was o'er the oaks with cool shades below,
And o'er the green the bright quoits would rise
From whirling arms above watchful eyes,
Then theirs would gleam through a lofty bow,
And gash the daisy-white ground below,
And beat the others at every throw
They made with the Hines of Burnley.
136
And if a Hine ever went along
A road beset by an idle throng,
That stand, with cowardly tongue, to speak
Some cutting words to annoy the weak;
They all stood off, and ne'er stirr'd a limb,
And watch'd him by them with looks so slim;
All whispering “hst!” never speak to him,
That's one of the Hines of Burnley.
A road beset by an idle throng,
That stand, with cowardly tongue, to speak
Some cutting words to annoy the weak;
They all stood off, and ne'er stirr'd a limb,
And watch'd him by them with looks so slim;
All whispering “hst!” never speak to him,
That's one of the Hines of Burnley.
And so may God ever give us grace
To do what's right and hold up our face,
And keep before Him our mother's prayer
When leaving us to His faithful care,
That we, in faith, might for ever hold
His word, the trust of the saints of old;
And ne'er be lost from His own blest fold,
Stray sheep of the Hines of Burnley.
To do what's right and hold up our face,
And keep before Him our mother's prayer
When leaving us to His faithful care,
That we, in faith, might for ever hold
His word, the trust of the saints of old;
And ne'er be lost from His own blest fold,
Stray sheep of the Hines of Burnley.
| Poems, partly of rural life, (in national English.) | |