THISSLEDOWN.
The thissledown by wind’s a-roll’d
In Fall along the zunny plaïn,
Did catch the grass, but lose its hold,
Or cling to bennets, but in vaïn.
But when it zwept along the grass,
An’ zunk below the hollow’s edge,
It lay at rest while winds did pass
Above the pit-bescreenèn ledge.
The plaïn ha’ brightness wi’ his strife,
The pit is only dark at best,
There’s pleasure in a worksome life,
An’ sloth is tiresome wi’ its rest.
Zoo, then, I’d sooner beär my peärt,
Ov all the trials vo’k do rue,
Than have a deadness o’ the heart,
Wi’ nothèn mwore to veel or do.
THE MAY-TREE.
I’ve a-come by the Maÿ-tree all times o’ the year,
When leaves wer a-springèn,
When vrost wer a-stingèn,
When cool-winded mornèn did show the hills clear,
When night wer bedimmèn the vields vur an’ near.
When, in zummer, his head wer as white as a sheet,
Wi’ white buds a-zwellèn,
An’ blossom, sweet-smellèn,
While leaves wi’ green leaves on his bough-zides did meet,
A-sheädèn the deäisies down under our veet.
