Page:Barnes (1879) Poems of rural life in the Dorset dialect (combined).djvu/378

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362
POEMS OF RURAL LIFE.

Up on the plough’d hill brow,
 Still wer the zull’s wheel’d beam,
Still wer the red-wheel’d plough,
 Free o’ the strong limb’d team.
Still wer the shop that the smith meäde ring,
Dark where the sparks did spring;
Low shot the zun’s last beams.
Lim’-weary souls “Good dreams,”

Where I vrom dark bank-sheädes
 Turn’d up the west hill road,
Where all the green grass bleädes
 Under the zunlight glow’d.
Startled I met, as the zunbeams plaÿ’d
Light, wi’ a zunsmote maïd,
Come vor my day’s last zight.
Zun-brighten’d maïd “Good night.”

WENT HWOME.

Upon the slope, the hedge did bound
The vield wi’ blossom-whited zide,
An’ charlock patches, yollow-dyed,
Did reach along the white-soil’d ground;
An’ vo’k, a-comèn up vrom meäd,
 Brought gil’cup meal upon the shoe;
Or went on where the road did leäd,
 Wi’ smeechy doust from heel to tooe.
As noon did smite, wi’ burnèn light,
The road so white, to Meldonley.

An’ I did tramp the zun-dried ground,
By hedge-climb’d hills, a-spread wi’ flow’rs,
An’ watershootèn dells, an’ tow’rs,

By elem-trees a-hemm’d all round,