Below the elder is a bed
O’ robinhoods o’ blushèn red;
An’ there, wi’ nunches all a-spread,
The haÿ-meäkers, wi’ each a cup
O’ drink, do smile to zee hold up
The raïn, an’ sky a-cleärèn.
’Mid blushèn maïdens, wi’ their zong,
Still draw their white-stemm’d reäkes among
The long-back’d weäles an’ new-meäde pooks,
By brown-stemm’d trees an’ cloty brooks;
But have noo call to spweil their looks
By work, that God could never meäke
Their weaker han’s to underteäke,
Though skies mid be a-cleärèn.
’Tis wrong vor women’s han’s to clips
The zull an’ reap-hook, speädes an’ whips;
An’ men abroad, should leäve, by right,
Woone faïthful heart at hwome to light
Their bit o’ vier up at night,
An’ hang upon the hedge to dry
Their snow-white linen, when the sky
In winter is a-cleärèn.
THE EVENÈN STAR O’ ZUMMER.
When vu’st along theäse road vrom mill,
I zeed ye hwome all up the hill,
The poplar tree, so straïght an’ tall,
Did rustle by the watervall;
An’ in the leäze the cows war all
A-lyèn down to teäke their rest.
An’ slowly zunk towárd the west
The evenèn star o’ zummer.
