Уильям Барнс (William Barnes)

First Collection. Summer. The Shepherd o’ the Farm

Oh! I be shepherd o’ the farm,
 Wi’ tinklèn bells an’ sheep-dog’s bark,
An’ wi’ my crook a-thirt my eärm,
 Here I do rove below the lark.

An’ I do bide all day among
 The bleäten sheep, an’ pitch their vwold;
An’ when the evenèn sheädes be long.
 Do zee em all a-penn’d an’ twold.

An’ I do zee the friskèn lam’s,
 Wi’ swingèn taïls an’ woolly lags,
A-playèn roun’ their veedèn dams,
 An’ pullèn o’ their milky bags.

An’ I bezide a hawthorn tree,
 Do’ zit upon the zunny down.
While sheädes o’ zummer clouds do vlee
 Wi’ silent flight along the groun’.

An’ there, among the many cries
 O’ sheep an’ lambs, my dog do pass
A zultry hour, wi’ blinkèn eyes,
 An’ nose a-stratch’d upon the grass;

But, in a twinklèn, at my word,
 He’s all awake, an’ up, an’ gone
Out roun’ the sheep lik’ any bird,
 To do what he’s a-zent upon.

An’ I do goo to washèn pool,
 A-sousèn over head an’ ears,
The shaggy sheep, to cleän their wool
 An’ meäke em ready vor the sheärs.

An’ when the shearèn time do come,
 Then we do work vrom dawn till dark;
Where zome do shear the sheep, and zome
 Do mark their zides wi’ meästers mark.

An’ when the shearèn’s all a-done,
 Then we do eat, an’ drink, an’ zing,
In meäster’s kitchen till the tun
 Wi’ merry sounds do sheäke an’ ring.

Oh! I be shepherd o’ the farm,
 Wi’ tinklèn bells an’ sheep dog’s bark,
An’ wi’ my crook a-thirt my eärm,
 Here I do rove below the lark.

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