An' oh! mid never ax nor hook Be brought to spweil his steaetely look; Nor ever roun' his ribby zides Mid cattle rub ther heaeiry hides; Nor pigs rout up his turf, but keep His lwonesome sheaede vor harmless sheep; An' let en grow, an' let en spread, An' let en live when I be dead. But oh! if men should come an' vell The girt woak tree that's in the dell, An' build his planks 'ithin the zide O' zome girt ship to plough the tide, Then, life or death! I'd goo to sea, A sailen wi' the girt woak tree: An' I upon his planks would stand, An' die a-fighten vor the land,-- The land so dear,--the land so free,-- The land that bore the girt woak tree; Vor I do love noo tree so well 'S the girt woak tree that's in the dell.

VELLEN O' THE TREE.

Aye, the girt elem tree out in little hwome groun' Wer a-stannen this mornen, an' now's a-cut down. Aye, the girt elem tree, so big roun' an' so high, Where the mowers did goo to their drink, an' did lie In the sheaede ov his head, when the zun at his heighth Had a-drove em vrom mowen, wi' het an' wi' drith, Where the hay-meaekers put all their picks an' their reaekes, An' did squot down to snabble their cheese an' their ceaekes, An' did vill vrom their flaggons their cups wi' their eaele, An' did meaeke theirzelves merry wi' joke an' wi' teaele.

Ees, we took up a rwope an' we tied en all round At the top o'n, wi' woone end a-hangen to ground, An' we cut, near the ground, his girt stem a'most drough, An' we bent the wold head o'n wi' woone tug or two; An' he sway'd all his limbs, an' he nodded his head, Till he vell away down like a pillar o' lead: An' as we did run vrom en, there; clwose at our backs, Oh! his boughs come to groun' wi' sich whizzes an' cracks; An' his top wer so lofty that, now he is down, The stem o'n do reach a-most over the groun'. Zoo the girt elem tree out in little hwome groun' Wer a-stannen this mornen, an' now's a-cut down.

BRINGEN WOONE GWAIN[A] O' ZUNDAYS.

Ah! John! how I do love to look At theaese green hollor, an' the brook Among the withies that do hide The stream, a-growen at the zide; An' at the road athirt the wide An' shallow vword, where we young bwoys Did peaert, when we did goo half-woys, To bring ye gwain o' Zundays.

Vor after church, when we got hwome, In evenen you did always come To spend a happy hour or two Wi' us, or we did goo to you; An' never let the comers goo Back hwome alwone, but always took A stroll down wi' em to the brook To bring em gwain o' Zundays.

How we did scote all down the groun', A-pushen woone another down! Or challengen o' zides in jumps Down over bars, an' vuzz, an' humps; An' peaert at last wi' slaps an' thumps, An' run back up the hill to zee Who'd get hwome soonest, you or we. That brought ye gwain o' Zundays.

O' leaeter years, John, you've a-stood My friend, an' I've a-done you good; But tidden, John, vor all that you Be now, that I do like ye zoo, But what you wer vor years agoo: Zoo if you'd stir my heart-blood now. Tell how we used to play, an' how You brought us gwain o' Zundays.

[Footnote A: "To bring woone gwain,"--to bring one going; to bring one on his way.]

EVENEN TWILIGHT.

Ah! they vew zummers brought us round The happiest days that we've a-vound, When in the orcha'd, that did stratch To westward out avore the patch Ov high-bough'd wood, an' shelve to catch The western zun-light, we did meet Wi' merry tongues an' skippen veet At evenen in the twilight.

The evenen air did fan, in turn, The cheaeks the midday zun did burn. An' zet the russlen leaves at play, An' meaeke the red-stemm'd brembles sway In bows below the snow-white may; An' whirlen roun' the trees, did sheaeke Jeaene's raven curls about her neck, They evenens in the twilight.

An' there the yollow light did rest Upon the bank toward the west, An' twitt'ren birds did hop in drough The hedge, an' many a skippen shoe Did beaet the flowers, wet wi' dew, As underneaeth the tree's wide limb Our merry sheaepes did jumpy, dim, They evenens in the twilight.

How sweet's the evenen dusk to rove Along wi' woone that we do love! When light enough is in the sky To sheaede the smile an' light the eye 'Tis all but heaven to be by; An' bid, in whispers soft an' light 'S the ruslen ov a leaf, "Good night," At evenen in the twilight.

An' happy be the young an' strong, That can but work the whole day long So merry as the birds in spring; An' have noo ho vor any thing Another day mid teaeke or bring; But meet, when all their work's a-done, In orcha'd vor their bit o' fun At evenen in the twilight.

EVENEN IN THE VILLAGE.

Now the light o' the west is a-turn'd to gloom, An' the men be at hwome vrom ground; An' the bells be a-zenden all down the Coombe From tower, their mwoansome sound. An' the wind is still, An' the house-dogs do bark, An' the rooks be a-vled to the elems high an' dark, An' the water do roar at mill.

An' the flickeren light drough the window-peaene Vrom the candle's dull fleaeme do shoot, An' young Jemmy the smith is a-gone down leaene, A-playen his shrill-vaiced flute. An' the miller's man Do zit down at his ease On the seat that is under the cluster o' trees. Wi' his pipe an' his cider can.

MAY.

Come out o' door, 'tis Spring! 'tis May The trees be green, the vields be gay; The weather's warm, the winter blast, Wi' all his train o' clouds, is past; The zun do rise while vo'k do sleep, To teaeke a higher daily zweep, Wi' cloudless feaece a-flingen down His sparklen light upon the groun'.

The air's a-streamen soft,--come drow The windor open; let it blow In drough the house, where vire, an' door A-shut, kept out the cwold avore. Come, let the vew dull embers die, An' come below the open sky; An' wear your best, vor fear the groun' In colours gay mid sheaeme your gown: An' goo an' rig wi' me a mile Or two up over geaete an' stile, Drough zunny parrocks that do leaed, Wi' crooked hedges, to the meaed, Where elems high, in steaetely ranks, Do rise vrom yollow cowslip-banks, An' birds do twitter vrom the spray O' bushes deck'd wi' snow-white may; An' gil'cups, wi' the deaeisy bed, Be under ev'ry step you tread.

We'll wind up roun' the hill, an' look All down the thickly-timber'd nook, Out where the squier's house do show His grey-wall'd peaks up drough the row O' sheaedy elems, where the rook Do build her nest; an' where the brook Do creep along the meaeds, an' lie To catch the brightness o' the sky; An' cows, in water to their knees, Do stan' a-whisken off the vlees.

Mother o' blossoms, and ov all That's feaeir a-yield vrom Spring till Fall, The gookoo over white-weaev'd seas Do come to zing in thy green trees, An' buttervlees, in giddy flight, Do gleaem the mwost by thy gay light Oh! when, at last, my fleshly eyes Shall shut upon the vields an' skies, Mid zummer's zunny days be gone, An' winter's clouds be comen on: Nor mid I draw upon the e'th, O' thy sweet air my leaetest breath; Alassen I mid want to stay Behine' for thee, O flow'ry May!

BOB THE FIDDLER.

Oh! Bob the fiddler is the pride O' chaps an' maidens vur an' wide; They can't keep up a merry tide, But Bob is in the middle. If merry Bob do come avore ye, He'll zing a zong, or tell a story; But if you'd zee en in his glory, Jist let en have a fiddle.

Aye, let en tuck a crowd below His chin, an' gi'e his vist a bow, He'll dreve his elbow to an' fro', An' play what you do please. At Maypolen, or feaest, or feaeir, His eaerm wull zet off twenty peaeir, An' meaeke em dance the groun' dirt-beaere, An' hop about lik' vlees.

Long life to Bob! the very soul O' me'th at merry feaest an' pole; Vor when the crowd do leaeve his jowl, They'll all be in the dumps. Zoo at the dance another year, At Shillinston or Hazelbur', Mid Bob be there to meaeke em stir, In merry jigs, their stumps!

HOPE IN SPRING.

In happy times a while agoo, My lively hope, that's now a-gone Did stir my heart the whole year drough, But mwost when green-bough'd spring come on; When I did rove, wi' litty veet, Drough deaeisy-beds so white's a sheet, But still avore I us'd to meet The blushen cheaeks that bloom'd vor me!

An' afterward, in lightsome youth, When zummer wer a-comen on, An' all the trees wer white wi' blooth, An' dippen zwallows skimm'd the pon'; Sweet hope did vill my heart wi' jay, An' tell me, though thik spring wer gay, There still would come a brighter May, Wi' blushen cheaeks to bloom vor me!

An' when, at last, the time come roun', An' brought a lofty zun to sheen Upon my smilen Fanny, down Drough n[=e]sh young leaves o' yollow green; How charmen wer the het that glow'd, How charmen wer the sheaede a-drow'd, How charmen wer the win' that blow'd Upon her cheaeks that bloom'd vor me!

But hardly did they times begin, Avore I vound em short to stay: An' year by year do now come in, To peaert me wider vrom my jay, Vor what's to meet, or what's to peaert, Wi' maidens kind, or maidens smart, When hope's noo longer in the heart, An' cheaeks noo mwore do bloom vor me!

But there's a worold still to bless The good, where zickness never rose; An' there's a year that's winterless, Where glassy waters never vroze; An' there, if true but e'thly love Do seem noo sin to God above, 'S a smilen still my harmless dove, So feaeir as when she bloom'd vor me!