An’ zome birds do keep under ruffèn
Their young vrom the storm,
An’ zome wi’ nest-hoodèns o’ moss
And o’ wool, do lie warm.
An’ we wull look well to the houseruf
That o’er thee mid leäk,
An’ the blast that mid beät on thy winder
Shall not smite thy cheäk.
Lullaby, Lilibrow. Lie asleep;
Blest be thy rest.
MEARY-ANN’S CHILD.
Meary-Ann wer alwone wi’ her beäby in earms,
In her house wi’ the trees over head,
Vor her husban’ wer out in the night an’ the storms,
In his business a-tweilèn vor bread;
An’ she, as the wind in the elems did roar,
Did grievy vor Robert all night out o’ door.
An’ her kinsvo’k an’ naï’bours did zay ov her chile,
(Under the high elem tree),
That a prettier never did babble or smile
Up o’ top ov a proud mother’s knee;
An’ his mother did toss en, an’ kiss en, an’ call
En her darlèn, an’ life, an’ her hope, an’ her all.
But she vound in the evenèn the chile werden well,
(Under the dark elem tree),
An’ she thought she could gi’e all the worold to tell,
Vor a truth what his aïlèn mid be;
An’ she thought o’en last in her praÿers at night,
An’ she look’d at en last as she put out the light.
An’ she vound en grow wo’se in the dead o’ the night,
