’Twer there at feäst we all did pass
The evenèn on the leänezide grass,
Out where the geäte do let us drough,
Below the woak-trees in the lew,
In merry geämes an’ fun
That meäde us skip an’ run,
Wi’ burnèn zun, an’ sky o’ blue.
But still there come a scud that drove
The titt’rèn maïdens vrom the grove;
An’ there a-left wer flow’ry mound,
’Ithout a vaïce, ’ithout a sound,
Unless the aïr did blow,
Drough ruslèn leaves, an’ drow,
The raïn drops low, upon the ground.
I linger’d there an’ miss’d the naïse;
I linger’d there an’ miss’d our jaÿs;
I miss’d woone soul beyond the rest;
The maïd that I do like the best.
Vor where her vaïce is gaÿ
An’ where her smiles do plaÿ,
There’s always jaÿ vor ev’ry breast.
Vor zome vo’k out abroad ha’ me’th.
But nwone at hwome bezide the he’th;
An’ zome ha’ smiles vor strangers’ view:
An’ frowns vor kith an’ kin to rue;
But her sweet vaïce do vall,
Wi’ kindly words to all,
Both big an’ small, the whole day drough.
An’ when the evenèn sky wer peäle,
We heärd the warblèn nightèngeäle,
A-drawèn out his lwonesome zong,
In windèn music down the drong;
