WILLIAM BARNES
Of my little lad, Gone to leave me sad, Ay, the child I had, But was not to keep.
As in heaven high
I my child did seek, There in tram came by
Children fair and meek, Each in lily white, With a lamp alight; Each was clear to sight,
But they did not speak.
Then, a little sad,
Came my child in turn,
But the lamp he had, O it did not burn'
He, to clear my doubt,
Said, half turn'd about,
'Your tears put it out; Mother, never mourn.'
668 The Wife a-lost
JINCE I noo mwore do zee your feace,
Up steurs or down below, I'll zit me in the Iwonesome plea'ce,
Where flat-bough 'd beech do grow; Below the beeches' bough, my love,
Where you did never come, An' I don't look to meet ye now, As I do look at hwome.
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