But thy wold house an’ elmy nook,
An’ wall-screen’d geärden’s mossy zides,
Thy grassy meäds an’ zedgy brook,
An’ high-bank’d leänes, wi’ sheädy rides,
Wer all a-known to me by light
Ov eärly days, a-quench’d by night,
Avore they met the younger zight
Ov Emily ov Yarrow Mill.
An’ now my heart do leäp to think
O’ times that I’ve a-spent in plaÿ,
Bezide thy river’s rushy brink,
Upon a deäizybed o’ May;
I lov’d the friends thy land ha’ bore.
An’ I do love the paths they wore,
An’ I do love thee all the mwore,
Vor Emily ov Yarrow Mill.
When bright above the e’th below
The moon do spread abroad his light,
An’ aïr o’ zummer nights do blow
Athirt the vields in plaÿsome flight,
’Tis then delightsome under all
The sheädes o’ boughs by path or wall,
But mwostly thine when they do vall
On Emily ov Yarrow Mill.
THE SCUD.
Aye, aye, the leäne wi’ flow’ry zides
A-kept so lew, by hazzle-wrides,
Wi’ beds o’ grægles out in bloom,
Below the timber’s windless gloon
An’ geäte that I’ve a-swung,
An’ rod as he’s a-hung,
When I wer young, in Woakley Coomb.
