Poem by William Barnes

First Collection. Fall. Shrodon Feäir:— The vu’st Peärt

An’ zoo’s the day wer warm an’ bright,
An’ nar a cloud wer up in zight,
We wheedled father vor the meäre
An’ cart, to goo to Shrodon feäir.
An’ Poll an’ Nan run off up stairs,
To shift their things, as wild as heäres;
An’ pull’d out, each o’m vrom her box,
Their snow-white leäce an’ newest frocks,
An’ put their bonnets on, a-lined
Wi’ blue, an’ sashes tied behind;
An’ turn’d avore the glass their feäce
An’ back, to zee their things in pleäce;
While Dick an’ I did brush our hats
An’ cwoats, an’ cleän ourzelves lik’ cats.
At woone or two o’clock, we vound
Ourzelves at Shrodon seäfe an’ sound,
A-struttèn in among the rows
O’ tilted stannèns an’ o’ shows,
An’ girt long booths wi’ little bars
Chock-vull o’ barrels, mugs, an’ jars,
An’ meat a-cookèn out avore
The vier at the upper door;
Where zellers bwold to buyers shy
Did hollow round us, “What d’ye buy?”
An’ scores o’ merry tongues did speak
At woonce, an’ childern’s pipes did squeak,
An’ horns did blow, an’ drums did rumble,
An’ bawlèn merrymen did tumble;
An’ woone did all but want an edge
To peärt the crowd wi’, lik’ a wedge.

We zaw the dancers in a show
Dance up an’ down, an’ to an’ fro,
Upon a rwope, wi’ chalky zoles,
So light as magpies up on poles;
An’ tumblers, wi’ their streaks an’ spots,
That all but tied theirzelves in knots.
An’ then a conjurer burn’d off
Poll’s han’kerchief so black’s a snoff,
An’ het en, wi’ a single blow,
Right back ageän so white as snow.
An’ after that, he fried a fat
Girt ceäke inzide o’ my new hat;
An’ yet, vor all he did en brown,
He didden even zweal the crown.

1. First Collection. Summer. Week’s End in Zummer, in the Wold Vo’k’s Time
2. Second Collection. The Linden on the Lawn
3. Second Collection. When Birds be Still
4. Third Collection. Went vrom Hwome
5. Third Collection. Shaftesbury Feäir

Print

1252 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version