Did chirp an’ hop vrom tree to tree,
As if it war vrom pride, to zee
Goo by the maïd o’ Newton.
By fancy led, at evenèn’s glow,
I woonce did goo, a-rovèn slow,
Down where the elèms, stem by stem,
Do stan’ to hem the grove below;
But after that, my veet vorzook
The grove, to seek the little brook
At Coomb, where I mid zometimes look,
To meet the maïd o’ Newton.
CHILDHOOD.
Aye, at that time our days wer but vew,
An’ our lim’s wer but small, an’ a-growèn;
An’ then the feäir worold wer new,
An’ life wer all hopevul an’ gaÿ;
An’ the times o’ the sproutèn o’ leaves,
An’ the cheäk-burnèn seasons o’ mowèn,
An’ bindèn o’ red-headed sheaves,
Wer all welcome seasons o’ jaÿ.
Then the housen seem’d high, that be low,
An’ the brook did seem wide that is narrow,
An’ time, that do vlee, did goo slow,
An’ veelèns now feeble wer strong,
An’ our worold did end wi’ the neämes
Ov the Sha’sbury Hill or Bulbarrow;
An’ life did seem only the geämes
That we plaÿ’d as the days rolled along.
Then the rivers, an’ high-timber’d lands,
