Уильям Барнс (William Barnes)

Second Collection. A Father out an’ Mother Hwome

The snow-white clouds did float on high
In shoals avore the sheenèn sky,
An’ runnèn weäves in pon’ did cheäse
Each other on the water’s feäce,
As hufflèn win’ did blow between
The new-leav’d boughs o’ sheenèn green.
An’ there, the while I walked along
The path, drough leäze, above the drong,
A little maïd, wi’ bloomèn feäce,
Went on up hill wi’ nimble peäce,
A-leänèn to the right-han’ zide,
To car a basket that did ride,
A-hangèn down, wi’ all his heft,
Upon her elbow at her left.
An’ yet she hardly seem’d to bruise
The grass-bleädes wi’ her tiny shoes,
That pass’d each other, left an’ right,
In steps a’most too quick vor zight.
But she’d a-left her mother’s door
A-bearèn vrom her little store
Her father’s welcome bit o’ food,
Vhere he wer out at work in wood;
An’ she wer bless’d wi’ mwore than zwome—
A father out, an’ mother hwome.

An’ there, a-vell’d ’ithin the copse,
Below the timber’s new-leav’d tops,
Wer ashèn poles, a-castèn straïght,
On primrwose beds, their langthy waïght;
Below the yollow light, a-shed
Drough boughs upon the vi’let’s head,
By climèn ivy, that did reach,
A sheenèn roun’ the dead-leav’d beech.
An’ there her father zot, an’ meäde
His hwomely meal bezide a gleäde;
While she, a-croopèn down to ground,
Did pull the flowers, where she vound
The droopèn vi’let out in blooth,
Or yollow primrwose in the lewth,
That she mid car em proudly back,
An’ zet em on her mother’s tack;
Vor she wer bless’d wi’ mwore than zwome—
A father out, an’ mother hwome.
A father out, an’ mother hwome,
Be blessèns soon a-lost by zome;
A-lost by me, an’ zoo I pray’d
They mid be speär’d the little maïd.

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