Or where the waggon, vrom the team
A-freed, is well a-housed vrom wet,
An’ on the dousty cart-house beam
Do hang the cobweb’s white-lin’d net.
While storms do roar,
An’ win’ do zweep,
By hangèn steep,
Or hollow deep,
At Lindenore.
An’ when a good day’s work ’s a-done
An’ I do rest, the while a squall
Do rumble in the hollow tun,
An’ ivy-stems do whip the wall.
Then in the house do sound about
My ears, dear vaïces vull or thin,
A praÿèn vor the souls vur out
At sea, an’ cry wi’ bibb’rèn chin—
Oh! shut the door.
What soul can sleep,
Upon the deep,
When storms do zweep
At Lindenore.
GRIEF AN’ GLADNESS.
“Can all be still, when win’s do blow?
Look down the grove an’ zee
The boughs a-swingèn on the tree,
An’ beäten weäves below.
Zee how the tweilèn vo’k do bend
Upon their windward track,
Wi’ ev’ry string, an’ garment’s end,
2 D
