Уильям Барнс (William Barnes)

Third Collection. Bad News

I do mind when there broke bitter tidèns,
  Woone day, on their ears,
An’ their souls wer a-smote wi’ a stroke
As the lightnèn do vall on the woak,
An’ the things that wer bright all around em
  Seem’d dim drough their tears.

Then unheeded wer things in their vingers,
  Their grief wer their all.
All unheeded wer zongs o’ the birds,
All unheeded the child’s perty words,
All unheeded the kitten a-rollèn
  The white-threaded ball.

Oh! vor their minds the daylight around em
  Had nothèn to show.
Though it brighten’d their tears as they vell,
An’ did sheen on their lips that did tell,
In their vaïces all thrillèn an’ mwoansome,
  O’ nothèn but woe.

But they vound that, by Heavenly mercy,
  The news werden true;
An’ they shook, wi’ low laughter, as quick
As a drum when his blows do vall thick,
An’ wer eärnest in words o’ thanksgivèn,
  Vor mercies anew.

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