Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/The Year-clock
THE YEAR-CLOCK.
We zot bezide the leäfy wall,
Upon the bench at evenfall,
While aunt led off our minds vrom ceäre
Wi’ veäiry teäles, I can’t tell where:
An’ vound us woone among her stock
O’ feäbles, o’ the girt Year-clock.
His feäce wer blue’s the zumraer skies,
An’ wide’s the zight o’ lookèn eyes,
For hands, a zun wi’ glowèn feäce,
An’ peäler moon wi’ swifter peäce,
Did wheel by stars o’ twinklèn light,
By bright-wall’d day, an’ dark-treed night;
An’ down upon the high-sky’d land,
A-reachèn wide, on either hand,
Wer hill an’ dell wi’ win’-swaÿ’d trees,
An’ lights a-zweepèn over seas,
An’ gleamèn cliffs, an’ bright-wall’d tow’rs,
Wi’ sheädes a-markèn on the hours;
An’ as the feäce, a-rollèn round,
Brought comely sheäpes along the ground,
The Spring did come in winsome steäte
Below a glowèn raïnbow geäte;
An’ fan wi’ aïr a-blowèn weak,
Her glossy heäir, an’ rwosy cheäk,
As she did shed vrom oben hand,
The leäpèn zeed on vurrow’d land;
The while the rook, wi’ heästy flight,
A-floatèn in the glowèn light,
Did bear avore her glossy breast
A stick to build her lofty nest,
An’ strong-limb’d Tweil, wi’ steady hands,
Did guide along the vallow lands
The heavy zull, wi’ bright-sheär’d beam,
Avore the weäry oxen team.
Wi’ Spring a-gone there come behind
Sweet Zummer, jaÿ ov ev’ry mind,
Wi’ feäce a-beamèn to beguile
Our weäry souls ov ev’ry tweil.
While birds did warble in the dell
In softest aïr o’ sweetest smell;
An’ she, so winsome-feäir did vwold
Her comely limbs in green an’ goold,
An’ wear a rwosy wreath, wi’ studs
O’ berries green, an’ new-born buds,
A-fring’d in colours vier-bright,
Wi’ sheäpes o’ buttervlees in flight.
When Zummer went, the next ov all
Did come the sheäpe o’ brown-feäc’d Fall,
A-smilèn in a comely gown
O’ green, a-shot wi’ yellow-brown,
A-border’d wi’ a goolden stripe
O’ fringe, a-meäde o’ corn-ears ripe,
An’ up ageän her comely zide,
Upon her rounded eärm, did ride
A perty basket, all a-twin’d
O’ slender stems wi’ leaves an’ rind,
A-vill’d wi’ fruit the trees did shed,
All ripe, in purple, goold, an’ red;
An’ busy Leäbor there did come
A-zingèn zongs ov harvest hwome,
An’ red-ear’d dogs did briskly run
Roun’ cheervul Leisure wi’ his gun,
Or stan’ an’ mark, wi’ stedvast zight,
The speckled pa’tridge rise in flight.
An’ next ageän to mild-feäc’d Fall
Did come peäle Winter, last ov all,
A-bendèn down, in thoughtvul mood,
Her head ’ithin a snow-white hood
A-deck’d wi’ icy-jewels, bright
An’ cwold as twinklèn stars o’ night;
An’ there wer weary Leäbor, slack
O’ veet to keep her vrozen track,
A-lookèn off, wi’ wistful eyes,
To reefs o’ smoke, that there did rise
A-meltèn to the peäle-feac’d zun,
Above the houses’ lofty tun.
An’ there the girt Year-clock did goo
By day an’ night, vor ever true,
Wi’ mighty wheels a-rollèn round
’Ithout a beat, ’ithout a sound.