I cried, wi’ sotow sore a-tried,
An’ hung, wi’ Jenny at my zide,
My head upon my breast.
Wi’ strokes o’ grief so hard to bear,
’Tis hard vor souls to rest.
Can all be dull, when zuns do glow?
Oh! no; look down the grove,
Where zides o’ trees be bright above;
An’ weäves do sheen below;
An’ neäked stems o’ wood in hedge
Do gleäm in streäks o’ light,
An’ rocks do gleäre upon the ledge
O’ yonder zunny height,
“No, Jeäne, wi’ trials now withdrawn,
Lik’ darkness at a happy dawn.”
I cried, “Noo mwore despair;
Wi’ our lost peace ageän a-vound,
’Tis wrong to harbour ceäre.”
SLIDÈN.
When wind wer keen,
Where ivy-green
Did clwosely wind
Roun’ woak-tree rind,
An’ ice shone bright,
An’ meäds wer white, wi’ thin-spread snow
Then on the pond, a-spreadèn wide,
We bwoys did zweep along the slide,
A-strikèn on in merry row.
There ruddy-feäced,
