But while she vell, my Meäker’s greäce
Led me to teäke a higher pleäce,
An’ lighten’d up my mind wi’ lore,
An’ bless’d me wi’ a worldly store;
But still noo winsome feäce or vaïce,
Had ever been my wedded chaïce;
An’ then I thought, why do I mwope
Alwone without a jaÿ or hope?
Would she still think me low?
Or scorn a meäte, in my feäir steäte,
In here ’ithin a pillar’d geäte,
A happy pleace wi’ her kind feäce?
Oh, no! my hope, no, no.
I don’t stand out ’tis only feäte
Do gi’e to each his wedded meäte;
But eet there’s woone above the rest,
That every soul can like the best.
An’ my wold love’s a-kindled new,
An’ my wold dream’s a-come out true;
But while I had noo soul to sheäre
My good an’ ill, an’ jaÿ an ceäre,
Should I have bliss below,
In gleämèn pleäte an’ lofty steäte
’Ithin the lofty pillar’d geäte,
Wi’ feäirest flow’rs, an’ ponds an’ tow’rs?
Oh, no! my heart, no, no.
ZUMMER STREAM.
Ah! then the grassy-meäded Maÿ
Did warm the passèn year, an’ gleam
Upon the yellow-grounded stream,
