Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/Ellen Brine ov Allenburn
ELLEN BRINE OV ALLENBURN.
Noo soul did hear her lips complaïn,
An’ she’s a-gone vrom all her païn,
An’ others’ loss to her is gaïn
For she do live in heaven’s love;
Vull many a longsome day an’ week
She bore her aïlèn, still, an’ meek;
A-workèn while her strangth held on,
An’ guidèn housework, when ’twer gone.
Vor Ellen Brine ov Allenburn,
Oh! there be souls to murn.
The last time I’d a-cast my zight
Upon her feäce, a-feäded white,
Wer in a zummer’s mornèn light
In hall avore the smwold’rèn vier,
The while the childern beät the vloor,
In plaÿ, wi’ tiny shoes they wore,
An’ call’d their mother’s eyes to view
The feät’s their little limbs could do.
Oh! Ellen Brine ov Allenburn,
They childern now mus’ murn.
Then woone, a-stoppèn vrom his reäce,
Went up, an’ on her knee did pleäce
His hand, a-lookèn in her feäce,
An’ wi’ a smilèn mouth so small,
He zaid, “You promised us to goo
To Shroton feäir, an’ teäke us two!”
She heärd it wi’ her two white ears,
An’ in her eyes there sprung two tears,
Vor Ellen Brine ov Allenburn
Did veel that they mus’ murn.
September come, wi’ Shroton feäir,
But Ellen Brine wer never there!
A heavy heart wer on the meäre
Their father rod his hwomeward road.
’Tis true he brought zome feärèns back,
Vor them two childern all in black;
But they had now, wi’ plaÿthings new,
Noo mother vor to shew em to,
Vor Ellen Brine ov Allenburn
Would never mwore return.