But yours so feäir, an’ sweet’s the pleäce
Your vaïce an’ feäce ha’ meäde me there.
An’ oh! when other years do come,
An’ zettèn zuns, wi’ yollow gleäre,
Drough western window-peänes, at hwome,
Do light upon my evenèn chair:
While day do weäne, an’ dew do vall,
Be wi’ me then, or else in call,
As time do vlee, vor sweet’s the pleäce
Your vaïce an’ feäce do meäke vor me.
Ah! you do smile, a-thinkèn light
O’ my true words, but never mind;
Smile on, smile on, but still your flight
Would leäve me little jaÿ behind:
But let me not be zoo a-tried
Wi’ you a-lost where I do bide,
O Jessie Lee, in any pleäce
Your vaïce an’ feäce ha’ blest vor me.
I’m sure that when a soul’s a-brought
To this our life ov aïr an’ land,
Woone mwore’s a-mark’d in God’s good thought,
To help, wi’ love, his heart an’ hand.
An’ oh! if there should be in store
An angel here vor my poor door,
’Tis Jessie Lee, vor sweet’s the pleäce
Her vaïce an’ feäce can meäke vor me.
THE BEAN VIELD.
’Twer where the zun did warm the lewth,
An’ win’ did whiver in the sheäde,
The sweet-aïr’d beans were out in blooth,
Down there ’ithin the elem gleäde;
