’Ithin the loose-bough’d ivy’s gloom,
Or lofty lilac, vull in bloom,
Or hazzle-wrides that gi’ed em room
Below the zingèn blackbird.
Above our heads the rooks did vlee
To reach their nested elem-tree,
An’ splashèn vish did rise to catch
The wheelèn gnots above the hatch;
An’ there the miller went along,
A-smilèn, up the sheädy drong,
But yeet too deaf to hear the zong
A-zung us by the blackbird.
An’ there the sh’illy-bubblèn brook
Did leäve behind his rocky nook,
To run drough meäds a-chill’d wi’ dew,
Vrom hour to hour the whole night drough;
But still his murmurs wer a-drown’d
By vaïces that mid never sound
Ageän together on that ground,
Wi’ whislèns o’ the blackbird.
THE SLANTÈN LIGHT O’ FALL.
Ah! Jeäne, my maïd, I stood to you,
When you wer christen’d, small an’ light,
Wi’ tiny eärms o’ red an’ blue,
A-hangèn in your robe o’ white.
We brought ye to the hallow’d stwone,
Vor Christ to teäke ye vor his own,
When harvest work wer all a-done,
An’ time brought round October zun—
The slantèn light o’ Fall.
An’ I can mind the wind wer rough,
An’ gather’d clouds, but brought noo storms,
R
