Poems Of Rural Life In The Dorset Dialect Part 1

Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect.

by William Barnes.

_TO THE READER._

KIND READER,

Two of the three Collections of these Dorset Poems have been, for some time, out of print, and the whole of the three sets are now brought out in one volume.

I have little more to say for them, than that the writing of them as glimpses of life and landscape in Dorset, which often open to my memory and mindsight, has given me very much pleasure; and my happiness would be enhanced if I could believe that you would feel my sketches to be so truthful and pleasing as to give you even a small share of pleasure, such as that of the memories from which I have written them.

This edition has a list of such Dorset words as are found in the Poems, with some hints on Dorset word shapes, and I hope that they will be found a fully good key to the meanings of the verse.

Yours kindly,

W. BARNES

_June 1879._

POEMS OF RURAL LIFE.

FIRST COLLECTION.

SPRING.

THE SPRING.

When wintry weather's all a-done, An' brooks do sparkle in the zun, An' naisy-builden rooks do vlee Wi' sticks toward their elem tree; When birds do zing, an' we can zee Upon the boughs the buds o' spring,-- Then I'm as happy as a king, A-vield wi' health an' zunsheen.

Vor then the cowslip's hangen flow'r A-wetted in the zunny show'r, Do grow wi' vi'lets, sweet o' smell, Bezide the wood-screen'd graegle's bell; Where drushes' aggs, wi' sky-blue sh.e.l.l, Do lie in mossy nest among The thorns, while they do zing their zong At evenen in the zunsheen.

An' G.o.d do meake his win' to blow An' ran to vall vor high an' low, An' bid his mornen zun to rise Vor all alike, an' groun' an' skies Ha' colors vor the poor man's eyes: An' in our trials He is near, To hear our mwoan an' zee our tear, An' turn our clouds to zunsheen.

An' many times when I do vind Things all goo wrong, an' vo'k unkind, To zee the happy veeden herds, An' hear the zingen o' the birds, Do soothe my sorrow mwore than words; Vor I do zee that 'tis our sin Do meake woone's soul so dark 'ithin, When G.o.d would gi'e woone zunsheen.

THE WOODLANDS.

O spread agean your leaves an' flow'rs, Lwonesome woodlands! zunny woodlands!

Here underneath the dewy show'rs O' warm-ar'd spring-time, zunny woodlands!

As when, in drong or open ground, Wi' happy bwoyish heart I vound The twitt'ren birds a-builden round Your high-bough'd hedges, zunny woodlands.

You gie'd me life, you gie'd me ja, Lwonesome woodlands! zunny woodlands You gie'd me health, as in my pla I rambled through ye, zunny woodlands!

You gie'd me freedom, vor to rove In ary mead or sheady grove; You gie'd me smilen Fanney's love, The best ov all o't, zunny woodlands!

My vu'st shrill skylark whiver'd high, Lwonesome woodlands! zunny woodlands!

To zing below your deep-blue sky An' white spring-clouds, O zunny woodlands!

An' boughs o' trees that woonce stood here, Wer glossy green the happy year That gie'd me woone I lov'd so dear, An' now ha' lost, O zunny woodlands!

O let me rove agean unspied, Lwonesome woodlands! zunny woodlands!

Along your green-bough'd hedges' zide, As then I rambled, zunny woodlands!

An' where the missen trees woonce stood, Or tongues woonce rung among the wood, My memory shall meake em good, Though you've a-lost em, zunny woodlands!

LEADY-DAY, AN' RIDDEN HOUSE.

Aye, back at Leady-Day, you know, I come vrom Gullybrook to Stowe; At Leady-Day I took my pack O' rottletraps, an' turn'd my back Upon the weather-beaten door, That had a-screen'd, so long avore, The mwost that thease zide o' the greave, I'd live to have, or die to seave!

My childern, an' my vier-pleace, Where Molly wi' her cheerful feace, When I'd a-trod my wat'ry road Vrom night-bedarken'd vields abrode, Wi' nimble hands, at evenen, blest Wi' vire an' vood my hard-won rest; The while the little woones did clim', So sleek-skinn'd, up from lim' to lim', Till, strugglen hard an' clingen tight, They reach'd at last my feace's height.

All tryen which could soonest hold My mind wi' little teales they twold.

An' ridden house is such a caddle, I shan't be over keen vor mwore [=o]'t, Not yet a while, you mid be sure [=o]'t,-- I'd rather keep to woone wold staddle.

Well, zoo, avore the east begun To redden wi' the comen zun, We left the beds our mossy thatch Wer never mwore to overstratch, An' borrow'd uncle's wold hoss _Dragon_, To bring the slowly lumbren waggon, An' when he come, we vell a-packen The bedsteads, wi' their rwopes an' zacken; An' then put up the wold earm-chair, An' cwoffer vull ov e'then-ware, An' vier-dogs, an' copper kittle, Wi' crocks an' saucepans, big an' little; An' fryen-pan, vor aggs to slide In b.u.t.ter round his hissen zide, An' gridire's even bars, to bear The drippen steake above the gleare O' brightly-glowen coals. An' then, All up o' top o' them agean The woaken bwoard, where we did eat Our croust o' bread or bit o' meat,-- An' when the bwoard wer up, we tied Upon the reaves, along the zide, The woaken stools, his glossy meates, Bwoth when he's beare, or when the pleates Do clatter loud wi' knives, below Our merry feaces in a row.

An' put between his lags, turn'd up'ard, The zalt-box an' the corner cupb'ard.

An' then we laid the wold clock-cease, All dumb, athirt upon his feace, Vor we'd a-left, I needen tell ye, Noo works 'ithin his head or belly.

An' then we put upon the pack The settle, flat upon his back; An' after that, a-tied in pairs In woone another, all the chairs, An' bits o' lumber wo'th a ride, An' at the very top a-tied, The childern's little stools did lie, Wi' lags a-turn'd toward the sky: Zoo there we lwoaded up our scroff, An' tied it vast, an' started off.

An',--as the waggon cooden car all We had to teake,--the b.u.t.ter-barrel An' cheese-wring, wi' his twinen screw, An' all the pals an' veats, an' blue Wold milk leads, and a vew things mwore, Wer all a-carr'd the day avore, And when the mwost ov our wold stuff Wer brought outside o' thik brown ruf, I rambled roun' wi' narrow looks, In fusty holes an' darksome nooks, To gather all I still mid vind, O' rags or sticks a-left behind.

An' there the unlatch'd doors did creak, A-swung by winds, a-streamen weak Drough empty rooms, an' meaken sad My heart, where me'th woonce meade me glad.

Vor when a man do leave the he'th An' ruf where vu'st he drew his breath, Or where he had his bwoyhood's fun, An' things wer woonce a-zaid an' done That took his mind, do touch his heart A little bit, I'll answer vor't.

Zoo ridden house is such a caddle, That I would rather keep my staddle.

EASTER ZUNDAY.

Last Easter Jim put on his blue Frock cwoat, the vu'st time--vier new; Wi' yollow b.u.t.tons all o' bra.s.s, That glitter'd in the zun lik' gla.s.s; An' pok'd 'ithin the b.u.t.ton-hole A tutty he'd a-begg'd or stole.

A span-new wes'co't, too, he wore, Wi' yollow stripes all down avore; An' tied his breeches' lags below The knee, wi' ribbon in a bow; An' drow'd his kitty-boots azide, An' put his laggens on, an' tied His shoes wi' strings two vingers wide, Because 'twer Easter Zunday.

An' after mornen church wer out He come back hwome, an' stroll'd about All down the vields, an' drough the leane, Wi' sister Kit an' cousin Jeane, A-turnen proudly to their view His yollow breast an' back o' blue.

The lambs did pla, the grounds wer green, The trees did bud, the zun did sheen; The lark did zing below the sky, An' roads wer all a-blown so dry, As if the zummer wer begun; An' he had sich a bit o' fun!

He meade the madens squeal an' run, Because 'twer Easter Zunday.

EASTER MONDAY.