Then all your mossy paths below
The trees, wi’ leaves a-vallèn slow,
Like zinkèn fleäkes o’ yollow snow,
O leänèn lawns ov Allen.
Would be mwore teäkèn where they straÿ’d
The lovely maïd ov Elwell Meäd.
OUR FATHERS’ WORKS.
Ah! I do think, as I do tread
Theäse path, wi’ elems overhead,
A-climèn slowly up vrom Bridge,
By easy steps, to Broadwoak Ridge,
That all theäse roads that we do bruise
Wi’ hosses’ shoes, or heavy lwoads;
An’ hedges’ bands, where trees in row
Do rise an’ grow aroun’ the lands,
Be works that we’ve a-vound a-wrought
By our vorefathers’ ceäre an’ thought.
They clear’d the groun’ vor grass to teäke
The pleäce that bore the bremble breäke,
An’ draïn’d the fen, where water spread,
A-lyèn dead, a heäne to men;
An’ built the mill, where still the wheel
Do grind our meal, below the hill;
An’ turn’d the bridge, wi’ arch a-spread,
Below a road, vor us to tread.
They vound a pleäce, where we mid seek
The gifts o’ greäce vrom week to week;
An’ built wi’ stwone, upon the hill,
A tow’r we still do call our own;
With bells to use, an’ meäke rejaïce,
Wi’ giant vaïce at our good news:
