Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/The Beän-vield
THE BEAN VIELD.
’Twer where the zun did warm the lewth,
An’ win’ did whiver in the sheäde,
The sweet-aïr’d beans were out in blooth,
Down there ’ithin the elem gleäde;
A yollow-banded bee did come,
An’ softly-pitch, wi’ hushèn hum,
Upon a beän, an’ there did sip,
Upon a swaÿèn blossom’s lip:
An’ there cried he, “Aye, I can zee,
This blossom’s all a-zent vor me.”
A-jilted up an’ down, astride
Upon a lofty ho’se a-trot,
The meäster then come by wi’ pride,
To zee the beäns that he’d a-got;
An’ as he zot upon his ho’se,
The ho’se ageän did snort an’ toss
His high-ear’d head, an’ at the zight
Ov all the blossom, black an’ white:
“Ah! ah!” thought he, the seäme’s the bee,
“Theäse beäns be all a-zent vor me.”
Zoo let the worold’s riches breed
A strife o’ claïms, wi’ weak and strong,
Vor now what cause have I to heed
Who’s in the right, or in the wrong;
Since there do come drough yonder hatch,
An’ bloom below the house’s thatch,
The best o’ maïdens, an’ do own
That she is mine, an’ mine alwone:
Zoo I can zee that love do gi’e
The best ov all good gifts to me.
Vor whose be all the crops an’ land
A-won an’ lost, an’ bought, an zwold
Or whose, a-roll’d vrom hand to hand,
The highest money that’s a-twold?
Vrom man to man a passèn on,
’Tis here to-day, to-morrow gone.
But there’s a blessèn high above
It all—a soul o’ stedvast love:
Zoo let it vlee, if God do gi’e
Sweet Jessie vor a gift to me.