An’ there, though we mid hear the timber
Creake avore the windy raïn;
An’ climèn ivy quiver, limber,
Up ageän the window peäne;
Our merry vaïces then do sound,
In rollèn glee, or dree-vaïce round;
Though wind mid roar, ’ithout the door,
Ov our abode in Arby Wood.
SLOW TO COME, QUICK AGONE.
Ah! there’s a house that I do know
Besouth o’ yonder trees,
Where northern winds can hardly blow
But in a softest breeze.
An’ there woonce sounded zongs an’ teäles
Vrom vaïce o’ maïd or youth,
An’ sweeter than the nightèngeäle’s
Above the copses lewth.
How swiftly there did run the brooks,
How swift war winds in flight,
How swiftly to their roost the rooks
Did vlee o’er head at night.
Though slow did seem to us the peäce
O’ comèn days a-head,
That now do seem as in a reäce
Wi’ aïr-birds to ha’ vled.
THE VIER-ZIDE.
’Tis zome vo’ks jaÿ to teäke the road,
An’ goo abro’d, a-wand’rèn wide,
Vrom shere to shere, vrom pleäce to pleäce,
The swiftest peäce that vo’k can ride.
But I’ve a jaÿ ’ithin the door,
Wi’ friends avore the vier-zide.
