William Barnes

First Collection. Fall. Martin’s Tide

Come, bring a log o’ cleft wood, Jack,
An’ fling en on ageän the back,
An’ zee the outside door is vast,—
The win’ do blow a cwoldish blast.
Come, so’s! come, pull your chairs in roun’
Avore the vire; an’ let’s zit down,
An’ keep up Martin’s-tide, vor I
Shall keep it up till I do die.
’Twer Martinmas, and ouer feäir,
When Jeäne an’ I, a happy peäir,
Vu’st walk’d, a-keepèn up the tide,
Among the stan’ens, zide by zide;
An’ thik day twel’month, never faïlèn,
She gi’ed me at the chancel raïlèn
A heart—though I do sound her praise—
As true as ever beät in staÿs.
How vast the time do goo! Do seem
But yesterday,—’tis lik’ a dream!

Ah, sō’s! ’tis now zome years agoo
You vu’st knew me, an’ I knew you;
An’ we’ve a-had zome bits o’ fun,
By winter vire an’ zummer zun.
Aye; we’ve a-prowl’d an’ rigg’d about
Lik’ cats, in harm’s way mwore than out,
An’ busy wi’ the tricks we plaÿ’d
In fun, to outwit chap or maïd.
An’ out avore the bleäzèn he’th,
Our naïsy tongues, in winter me’th,
’V a-shook the warmèn-pan, a-hung
Bezide us, till his cover rung.
There, ’twer but tother day thik chap,
Our Robert, wer a child in lap;
An’ Poll’s two little lags hung down
Vrom thik wold chair a span vrom groun’.
An’ now the saucy wench do stride
About wi’ steps o’ dree veet wide.
How time do goo! A life do seem
As ’twer a year; ’tis lik’ a dream!