Уильям Барнс (William Barnes)

First Collection. Sundry Pieces. The Pleäce a Teäle’s a-twold o’

Why tidden vields an’ runnèn brooks,
 Nor trees in Spring or fall;
An’ tidden woody slopes an’ nooks,
 Do touch us mwost ov all;
An’ tidden ivy that do cling
 By housen big an’ wold, O,
But this is, after all, the thing,—
 The pleäce a teäle’s a-twold o’.

At Burn, where mother’s young friends know’d
 The vu’st her maïden neäme,
The zunny knaps, the narrow road
 An’ green, be still the seäme;
The squier’s house, an’ ev’ry ground
 That now his son ha’ zwold, O,
An’ ev’ry wood he hunted round
 ’S a pleäce a teäle’s a-twold o’.

The maïd a-lov’d to our heart’s core,
 The dearest of our kin,
Do meäke us like the very door
 Where they went out an’ in.
’Tis zome’hat touchèn that bevel
 Poor flesh an’ blood o’ wold, O,
Do meäke us like to zee so well
 The pleäce a teäle’s a-twold o’.

When blushèn Jenny vu’st did come
 To zee our Poll o’ nights,
An’ had to goo back leätish hwome,
 Where vo’k did zee the zights,
A-chattèn loud below the sky
 So dark, an’ winds so cwold, O,
How proud war I to zee her by
 The pleäce the teäle’s a-twold o’.

Zoo whether ’tis the humpy ground
 That wer a battle viel’,
Or mossy house, all ivy-bound,
 An’ vallèn down piece-meal;
Or if ’tis but a scraggy tree,
 Where beauty smil’d o’ wold, O,
How dearly I do like to zee
 The pleäce a teäle’s a-twold o’.

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