An’ vrom the bedroom window’s height
Your little John, a-cloth’d in white,
An’ gwaïn to bed, did cry “good night”
Towards the linden on the lawn.
But now, as Dobbin, wi’ a nod
Vor ev’ry heavy step he trod,
Did bring me on, to-night, avore
The geäbled house’s pworchèd door,
Noo laughèn child a-cloth’d in white,
Look’d drough the stwonèn window’s light,
An’ noo vaïce zung, in dusky night,
Below the linden on the lawn.
An’ zoo, if you should ever vind
My kindness seem to grow less kind,
An’ if upon my clouded feäce
My smile should yield a frown its pleäce,
Then, Jenny, only laugh an’ call
My mind ’ithin the geärden wall,
Where we did plaÿ at even-fall,
Below the linden on the lawn.
OUR ABODE IN ARBY WOOD.
Though ice do hang upon the willows
Out bezide the vrozen brook,
An’ storms do roar above our pillows,
Drough the night, ’ithin our nook;
Our evenèn he’th’s a-glowèn warm,
Drough wringèn vrost, an’ roarèn storm.
Though winds mid meäke the wold beams sheäke
In our abode in Arby Wood.
