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Second Collection. Our Fathers’ Works Ah! I do think, as I do tread Theäse path, wi’ elems overhead, A-climèn slowly up vrom Bridge, By easy steps, to Broadwoak Ridge, That all theäse roads that we do bruise Wi’ hosses’ shoes, or heavy lwoads; An’ hedges’ bands, where trees in row Do rise an’ grow aroun’ the lands, Be works that we’ve a-vound a-wrought By our vorefathers’ ceäre an’ thought. They clear’d the groun’ vor grass to teäke The pleäce that bore the bremble breäke, An’ draïn’d the fen, where water spread, A-lyèn dead, a heäne to men; An’ built the mill, where still the wheel Do grind our meal, below the hill; An’ turn’d the bridge, wi’ arch a-spread, Below a road, vor us to tread. They vound a pleäce, where we mid seek The gifts o’ greäce vrom week to week; An’ built wi’ stwone, upon the hill, A tow’r we still do call our own; With bells to use, an’ meäke rejaïce, Wi’ giant vaïce at our good news: An’ lifted stwones an’ beams to keep The raïn an’ cwold vrom us asleep. Zoo now mid nwone ov us vorget The pattern our vorefathers zet; But each be fäin to underteäke Some work to meäke vor others’ gaïn, That we mid leäve mwore good to sheäre, Less ills to bear, less souls to grieve, An’ when our hands do vall to rest, It mid be vrom a work a-blest. William Barnes's other poems:
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