In tweilsome hardships, year by year,
He drough the worold wander’d wide,
Still bent, in mind, both vur an’ near
To come an’ meäke his love his bride.
An’ passèn here drough evenèn dew
He heästen’d, happy, to her door,
But vound the wold vo’k only two,
Wi’ noo mwore vootsteps on the vloor,
To walk ageän below the skies,
Where beäten paths do vall an’ rise;
Vor she wer gone vrom e’thly eyes
To be a-kept in darksome sleep,
Until the good ageän do rise
A-jaÿ to souls they left to weep.
The rwose wer doust that bound her brow;
The moth did eat her Zunday ceäpe;
Her frock wer out o’ fashion now;
Her shoes wer dried up out o’ sheäpe—
The shoes that woonce did glitter black
Along the leäzes beäten track.
RUTH A-RIDÈN.
Ov all the roads that ever bridge
Did bear athirt a river’s feäce,
Or ho’ses up an’ down the ridge
Did wear to doust at ev’ry peäce,
I’ll teäke the Stalton leäne to tread,
By banks wi’ primrwose-beds bespread,
An’ steätely elems over head,
Where Ruth do come a-ridèn.
An’ I would rise when vields be grey
Wi’ mornèn dew, avore ’tis dry,
An’ beat the doust droughout the day
To bluest hills ov all the sky;
