An’ when the win’ do whissle sh’ill
We’ll screen it vrom your poll.”
Cried Grammer, “God is true.
I can’t but feel
He smote to heal
My wounded heart in you;
An’ zoo ’tis well, if ’tis His will,
That I be here ’ithin a wall.”
THE CASTLE RUINS.
A happy day at Whitsuntide,
As soon’s the zun begun to vall,
We all stroll’d up the steep hill-zide
To Meldon, girt an’ small;
Out where the castle wall stood high
A-mwoldrèn to the zunny sky.
An’ there wi’ Jenny took a stroll
Her youngest sister, Poll, so gaÿ,
Bezide John Hind, ah! merry soul,
An’ mid her wedlock faÿ;
An’ at our zides did plaÿ an’ run
My little maïd an’ smaller son.
Above the beäten mwold upsprung
The driven doust, a-spreadèn light,
An’ on the new-leav’d thorn, a-hung,
Wer wool a-quiv’rèn white;
An’ corn, a sheenèn bright, did bow,
On slopèn Meldon’s zunny brow.
There, down the rufless wall did glow
The zun upon the grassy vloor,
An’ weakly-wandrèn winds did blow,
