Уильям Барнс (William Barnes)

First Collection. Winter. The Carter

O, I be a carter, wi’ my whip
 A-smackèn loud, as by my zide,
Up over hill, an’ down the dip,
 The heavy lwoad do slowly ride.

An’ I do haul in all the crops,
 An’ I do bring in vuzz vrom down;
An’ I do goo vor wood to copse.
 An’ car the corn an’ straw to town.

An’ I do goo vor lime, an’ bring
 Hwome cider wi’ my sleek-heäir’d team,
An’ smack my limber whip an’ zing,
 While all their bells do gaïly cheeme.

An’ I do always know the pleäce
 To gi’e the hosses breath, or drug;
An’ ev’ry hoss do know my feäce,
 An’ mind my ’mether ho! an’ whug!

An’ merry haÿ-meäkers do ride
 Vrom vield in zummer wi’ their prongs,
In my blue waggon, zide by zide
 Upon the reäves, a-zingèn zongs.

An’ when the vrost do catch the stream,
 An’ oves wi’ icicles be hung,
My pantèn hosses’ breath do steam
 In white-grass’d vields, a-haulèn dung.

An’ mine’s the waggon fit vor lwoads,
 An’ mine be lwoads to cut a rout;
An’ mine’s a team, in routy rwoads,
 To pull a lwoaded waggon out.

A zull is nothèn when do come
 Behind their lags; an’ they do teäke
A roller as they would a drum,
 An’ harrow as they would a reäke.

O! I be a carter, wi’ my whip
 A-smackèn loud, as by my zide,
Up over hill, an’ down the dip,
 The heavy lwoad do slowly ride.

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