EASTER ZUNDAY.

Last Easter Jim put on his blue Frock cwoat, the vu'st time--vier new; Wi' yollow buttons all o' brass, That glitter'd in the zun lik' glass; An' pok'd 'ithin the button-hole A tutty he'd a-begg'd or stole. A span-new wes'co't, too, he wore, Wi' yollow stripes all down avore; An' tied his breeches' lags below The knee, wi' ribbon in a bow; An' drow'd his kitty-boots azide, An' put his laggens on, an' tied His shoes wi' strings two vingers wide, Because 'twer Easter Zunday.

An' after mornen church wer out He come back hwome, an' stroll'd about All down the vields, an' drough the leaene, Wi' sister Kit an' cousin Jeaene, A-turnen proudly to their view His yollow breast an' back o' blue. The lambs did play, the grounds wer green, The trees did bud, the zun did sheen; The lark did zing below the sky, An' roads wer all a-blown so dry, As if the zummer wer begun; An' he had sich a bit o' fun! He meaede the maidens squeael an' run, Because 'twer Easter Zunday.

EASTER MONDAY.

An' zoo o' Monday we got drough Our work betimes, an ax'd a vew Young vo'k vrom Stowe an' Coom, an' zome Vrom uncle's down at Grange, to come. An' they so spry, wi' merry smiles, Did beaet the path an' leaep the stiles, Wi' two or dree young chaps bezide, To meet an' keep up Easter tide: Vor we'd a-zaid avore, we'd git Zome friends to come, an' have a bit O' fun wi' me, an' Jeaene, an' Kit, Because 'twer Easter Monday.

An' there we play'd away at quaits, An' weigh'd ourzelves wi' sceaeles an' waights; An' jump'd to zee who jump'd the spryest, An' sprung the vurdest an' the highest; An' rung the bells vor vull an hour. An' play'd at vives ageaen the tower. An' then we went an' had a tait, An' cousin Sammy, wi' his waight, Broke off the bar, he wer so fat! An' toppled off, an' vell down flat Upon his head, an' squot his hat, Because 'twer Easter Monday.

DOCK-LEAVES.

The dock-leaves that do spread so wide Up yonder zunny bank's green zide, Do bring to mind what we did do At play wi' dock-leaves years agoo: How we,--when nettles had a-stung Our little hands, when we wer young,-- Did rub em wi' a dock, an' zing "Out nettl', in dock. In dock, out sting." An' when your feaece, in zummer's het, Did sheen wi' tricklen draps o' zweat, How you, a-zot bezide the bank, Didst toss your little head, an' pank, An' teaeke a dock-leaf in your han', An' whisk en lik' a leaedy's fan; While I did hunt, 'ithin your zight, Vor streaky cockle-shells to fight.

In all our play-geaemes we did bruise The dock-leaves wi' our nimble shoes; Bwoth where we merry chaps did fling You maidens in the orcha'd swing, An' by the zaw-pit's dousty bank, Where we did tait upon a plank. --(D'ye mind how woonce, you cou'den zit The bwoard, an' vell off into pit?) An' when we hunted you about The grassy barken, in an' out Among the ricks, your vlee-en frocks An' nimble veet did strik' the docks. An' zoo they docks, a-spread so wide Up yonder zunny bank's green zide, Do bring to mind what we did do, Among the dock-leaves years agoo.

THE BLACKBIRD.

Ov all the birds upon the wing Between the zunny show'rs o' spring,-- Vor all the lark, a-swingen high, Mid zing below a cloudless sky. An' sparrows, clust'ren roun' the bough, Mid chatter to the men at plough,-- The blackbird, whisslen in among The boughs, do zing the gayest zong.

Vor we do hear the blackbird zing His sweetest ditties in the spring, When nippen win's noo mwore do blow Vrom northern skies, wi' sleet or snow, But dr[=e]ve light doust along between The leaene-zide hedges, thick an' green; An' zoo the blackbird in among The boughs do zing the gayest zong.

'Tis blithe, wi' newly-open'd eyes, To zee the mornen's ruddy skies; Or, out a-haulen frith or lops Vrom new-pl[=e]sh'd hedge or new-vell'd copse, To rest at noon in primrwose beds Below the white-bark'd woak-trees' heads; But there's noo time, the whole daey long, Lik' evenen wi' the blackbird's zong.

Vor when my work is all a-done Avore the zetten o' the zun, Then blushen Jeaene do walk along The hedge to meet me in the drong, An' stay till all is dim an' dark Bezides the ashen tree's white bark; An' all bezides the blackbird's shrill An' runnen evenen-whissle's still.

An' there in bwoyhood I did rove Wi' pryen eyes along the drove To vind the nest the blackbird meaede O' grass-stalks in the high bough's sheaede: Or clim' aloft, wi' clingen knees, Vor crows' aggs up in swayen trees, While frighten'd blackbirds down below Did chatter o' their little foe. An' zoo there's noo pleaece lik' the drong, Where I do hear the blackbird's zong.

WOODCOM' FEAST.

Come, Fanny, come! put on thy white, 'Tis Woodcom' feaest, good now! to-night. Come! think noo mwore, you silly maid, O' chicken drown'd, or ducks a-stray'd; Nor mwope to vind thy new frock's tail A-tore by hitchen in a nail; Nor grieve an' hang thy head azide, A-thinken o' thy lam' that died. The flag's a-vleen wide an' high, An' ringen bells do sheaeke the sky; The fifes do play, the horns do roar, An' boughs be up at ev'ry door: They 'll be a-dancen soon,--the drum 'S a-rumblen now. Come, Fanny, come! Why father's gone, an' mother too. They went up leaene an hour agoo; An' at the green the young and wold Do stan' so thick as sheep in vwold: The men do laugh, the bwoys do shout,-- Come out you mwopen wench, come out, An' go wi' me, an' show at leaest Bright eyes an' smiles at Woodcom' feaest.

Come, let's goo out, an' fling our heels About in jigs an' vow'r-han' reels; While aell the stiff-lagg'd wolder vo'k, A-zitten roun', do talk an' joke An' smile to zee their own wold rigs. A-show'd by our wild geaemes an' jigs. Vor ever since the vwold church speer Vu'st prick'd the clouds, vrom year to year, When grass in meaed did reach woone's knees, An' blooth did kern in apple-trees, Zome merry day 'v' a-broke to sheen Above the dance at Woodcom' green, An' all o' they that now do lie So low all roun' the speer so high, Woonce, vrom the biggest to the leaest, Had merry hearts at Woodcom' feaest.

Zoo keep it up, an' gi'e it on To other vo'k when we be gone. Come otit; vor when the zetten zun Do leaeve in sheaede our harmless fun, The moon a-risen in the east Do gi'e us light at Woodcom' feaest. Come, Fanny, come! put on thy white, 'Tis merry Woodcom' feaest to night: There's nothen vor to mwope about,-- Come out, you leaezy jeaede, come out! An' thou wult be, to woone at leaest, The prettiest maid at Woodcom' feaest.

THE MILK-MAID O' THE FARM.

O Poll's the milk-maid o' the farm! An' Poll's so happy out in groun', Wi' her white pail below her eaerm As if she wore a goolden crown.

An' Poll don't zit up half the night, Nor lie vor half the day a-bed; An' zoo her eyes be sparklen bright, An' zoo her cheaeks be bloomen red.

In zummer mornens, when the lark Do rouse the litty lad an' lass To work, then she's the vu'st to mark Her steps along the dewy grass.

An' in the evenen, when the zun Do sheen ageaen the western brows O' hills, where bubblen brooks do run, There she do zing bezide her cows.

An' ev'ry cow of hers do stand, An' never overzet her pail; Nor try to kick her nimble hand, Nor switch her wi' her heavy tail.

Noo leaedy, wi' her muff an' vail, Do walk wi' sich a steaetely tread As she do, wi' her milken pail A-balanc'd on her comely head.

An' she, at mornen an' at night, Do skim the yollow cream, an' mwold An' wring her cheeses red an' white, An' zee the butter vetch'd an' roll'd.

An' in the barken or the ground, The chaps do always do their best To milk the vu'st their own cows round, An' then help her to milk the rest.

Zoo Poll's the milk-maid o' the farm! An' Poll's so happy out in groun', Wi' her white pail below her eaerm, As if she wore a goolden crown.

THE GIRT WOAK TREE THAT'S IN THE DELL.

The girt woak tree that's in the dell! There's noo tree I do love so well; Vor times an' times when I wer young, I there've a-climb'd, an' there've a-zwung, An' pick'd the eaecorns green, a-shed In wrestlen storms vrom his broad head. An' down below's the cloty brook Where I did vish with line an' hook, An' beaet, in playsome dips and zwims, The foamy stream, wi' white-skinn'd lim's. An' there my mother nimbly shot Her knitten-needles, as she zot At evenen down below the wide Woak's head, wi' father at her zide. An' I've a-played wi' many a bwoy, That's now a man an' gone awoy; Zoo I do like noo tree so well 'S the girt woak tree that's in the dell.

An' there, in leaeter years, I roved Wi' thik poor maid I fondly lov'd,-- The maid too feaeir to die so soon,-- When evenen twilight, or the moon, Cast light enough 'ithin the pleaece To show the smiles upon her feaece, Wi' eyes so clear's the glassy pool, An' lips an' cheaeks so soft as wool. There han' in han', wi' bosoms warm, Wi' love that burn'd but thought noo harm, Below the wide-bough'd tree we past The happy hours that went too vast; An' though she'll never be my wife, She's still my leaeden star o' life. She's gone: an' she've a-left to me Her mem'ry in the girt woak tree; Zoo I do love noo tree so well 'S the girt woak tree that's in the dell