Transcriber's Note: Some of the Headings are in 'Old English Text' font, available [HERE].
The [Pronunciation Guide] and Word List are at the end of the book.

POEMS OF RURAL LIFE

IN THE DORSET DIALECT.

BY

WILLIAM BARNES.

LONDON:

KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRÜBNER & Co., LTD.

1903

TO THE READER.

Kind Reader

,

Two of the three Collections of these Dorset Poems have been, for some time, out of print, and the whole of the three sets are now brought out in one volume.

I have little more to say for them, than that the writing of them as glimpses of life and landscape in Dorset, which often open to my memory and mindsight, has given me very much pleasure; and my happiness would be enhanced if I could believe that you would feel my sketches to be so truthful and pleasing as to give you even a small share of pleasure, such as that of the memories from which I have written them.

This edition has a list of such Dorset words as are found in the Poems, with some hints on Dorset word shapes, and I hope that they will be found a fully good key to the meanings of the verse.

Yours kindly,

W. BARNES

June 1879.

CONTENTS.

FIRST COLLECTION.

SPRING.

SUMMER.

FALL.

WINTER.

SUNDRY PIECES.

SECOND COLLECTION.

THIRD COLLECTION.

INDEX.

POEMS OF RURAL LIFE.

FIRST COLLECTION.

[page 3]

SPRING.

THE SPRING.

When wintry weather's all a-done,

An' brooks do sparkle in the zun,

An' nâisy-buildèn rooks do vlee

Wi' sticks toward their elem tree;

When birds do zing, an' we can zee

Upon the boughs the buds o' spring,—

Then I'm as happy as a king,

A-vield wi' health an' zunsheen.

Vor then the cowslip's hangèn flow'r

A-wetted in the zunny show'r,

Do grow wi' vi'lets, sweet o' smell,

Bezide the wood-screen'd grægle's bell;

Where drushes' aggs, wi' sky-blue shell,

Do lie in mossy nest among

The thorns, while they do zing their zong

At evenèn in the zunsheen.

An' God do meäke his win' to blow

An' raïn to vall vor high an' low,

An' bid his mornèn zun to rise

Vor all alike, an' groun' an' skies

Ha' colors vor the poor man's eyes:

An' in our trials He is near,

To hear our mwoan an' zee our tear,

An' turn our clouds to zunsheen.

An' many times when I do vind

Things all goo wrong, an' vo'k unkind,

To zee the happy veedèn herds,

An' hear the zingèn o' the birds,

Do soothe my sorrow mwore than words;

Vor I do zee that 'tis our sin

Do meäke woone's soul so dark 'ithin,

When God would gi'e woone zunsheen.

THE WOODLANDS.

O spread ageän your leaves an' flow'rs,

Lwonesome woodlands! zunny woodlands!

Here underneath the dewy show'rs

O' warm-aïr'd spring-time, zunny woodlands!

As when, in drong or open ground,

Wi' happy bwoyish heart I vound

The twitt'rèn birds a-buildèn round

Your high-bough'd hedges, zunny woodlands.

You gie'd me life, you gie'd me jaÿ,

Lwonesome woodlands! zunny woodlands

You gie'd me health, as in my plaÿ

I rambled through ye, zunny woodlands!

You gie'd me freedom, vor to rove

In aïry meäd or sheädy grove;

You gie'd me smilèn Fannèy's love,

The best ov all o't, zunny woodlands!

My vu'st shrill skylark whiver'd high,

Lwonesome woodlands! zunny woodlands!

To zing below your deep-blue sky

An' white spring-clouds, O zunny woodlands!

An' boughs o' trees that woonce stood here,

Wer glossy green the happy year

That gie'd me woone I lov'd so dear,

An' now ha' lost, O zunny woodlands!

O let me rove ageän unspied,

Lwonesome woodlands! zunny woodlands!

Along your green-bough'd hedges' zide,

As then I rambled, zunny woodlands!

An' where the missèn trees woonce stood,

Or tongues woonce rung among the wood,

My memory shall meäke em good,

Though you've a-lost em, zunny woodlands!

LEADY-DAY, AN' RIDDEN HOUSE.

Aye, back at Leädy-Day, you know,

I come vrom Gullybrook to Stowe;

At Leädy-Day I took my pack

O' rottletraps, an' turn'd my back

Upon the weather-beäten door,

That had a-screen'd, so long avore,

The mwost that theäse zide o' the greäve,

I'd live to have, or die to seäve!

My childern, an' my vier-pleäce,

Where Molly wi' her cheerful feäce,

When I'd a-trod my wat'ry road

Vrom night-bedarken'd vields abrode,

Wi' nimble hands, at evenèn, blest

Wi' vire an' vood my hard-won rest;

The while the little woones did clim',

So sleek-skinn'd, up from lim' to lim',

Till, strugglèn hard an' clingèn tight,

They reach'd at last my feäce's height.

All tryèn which could soonest hold

My mind wi' little teäles they twold.

An' riddèn house is such a caddle,

I shan't be over keen vor mwore ō't,

Not yet a while, you mid be sure ō't,—

I'd rather keep to woone wold staddle.

Well, zoo, avore the east begun

To redden wi' the comèn zun,

We left the beds our mossy thatch

Wer never mwore to overstratch,

An' borrow'd uncle's wold hoss Dragon,

To bring the slowly lumbrèn waggon,

An' when he come, we vell a-packèn

The bedsteads, wi' their rwopes an' zackèn;

An' then put up the wold eärm-chair,

An' cwoffer vull ov e'then-ware,

An' vier-dogs, an' copper kittle,

Wi' crocks an' saucepans, big an' little;

An' fryèn-pan, vor aggs to slide

In butter round his hissèn zide,

An' gridire's even bars, to bear

The drippèn steäke above the gleäre

O' brightly-glowèn coals. An' then,

All up o' top o' them ageän

The woaken bwoard, where we did eat

Our croust o' bread or bit o' meat,—

An' when the bwoard wer up, we tied

Upon the reäves, along the zide,

The woäken stools, his glossy meätes,

Bwoth when he's beäre, or when the pleätes

Do clatter loud wi' knives, below

Our merry feäces in a row.

An' put between his lags, turn'd up'ard,

The zalt-box an' the corner cupb'ard.

An' then we laid the wold clock-ceäse,

All dumb, athirt upon his feäce,

Vor we'd a-left, I needen tell ye,

Noo works 'ithin his head or belly.

An' then we put upon the pack

The settle, flat upon his back;

An' after that, a-tied in pairs

In woone another, all the chairs,

An' bits o' lumber wo'th a ride,

An' at the very top a-tied,

The childern's little stools did lie,

Wi' lags a-turn'd towárd the sky:

Zoo there we lwoaded up our scroff,

An' tied it vast, an' started off.

An',—as the waggon cooden car all

We had to teäke,—the butter-barrel

An' cheese-wring, wi' his twinèn screw,

An' all the païls an' veäts, an' blue

Wold milk leads, and a vew things mwore,

Wer all a-carr'd the day avore,

And when the mwost ov our wold stuff

Wer brought outside o' thik brown ruf,

I rambled roun' wi' narrow looks,

In fusty holes an' darksome nooks,

To gather all I still mid vind,

O' rags or sticks a-left behind.

An' there the unlatch'd doors did creak,

A-swung by winds, a-streamèn weak

Drough empty rooms, an' meäkèn sad

My heart, where me'th woonce meäde me glad.

Vor when a man do leäve the he'th

An' ruf where vu'st he drew his breath,

Or where he had his bwoyhood's fun,

An' things wer woonce a-zaid an' done

That took his mind, do touch his heart

A little bit, I'll answer vor't.

Zoo riddèn house is such a caddle,

That I would rather keep my staddle.

[page 8]

EASTER ZUNDAY.

Last Easter Jim put on his blue

Frock cwoat, the vu'st time—vier new;

Wi' yollow buttons all o' brass,

That glitter'd in the zun lik' glass;

An' pok'd 'ithin the button-hole

A tutty he'd a-begg'd or stole.

A span-new wes'co't, too, he wore,

Wi' yollow stripes all down avore;

An' tied his breeches' lags below

The knee, wi' ribbon in a bow;

An' drow'd his kitty-boots azide,

An' put his laggèns on, an' tied

His shoes wi' strings two vingers wide,

Because 'twer Easter Zunday.

An' after mornèn church wer out

He come back hwome, an' stroll'd about

All down the vields, an' drough the leäne,

Wi' sister Kit an' cousin Jeäne,

A-turnèn proudly to their view

His yollow breast an' back o' blue.

The lambs did plaÿ, the grounds wer green,

The trees did bud, the zun did sheen;

The lark did zing below the sky,

An' roads wer all a-blown so dry,

As if the zummer wer begun;

An' he had sich a bit o' fun!

He meäde the maïdens squeäl an' run,

Because 'twer Easter Zunday.

[page 9]

EASTER MONDAY.

An' zoo o' Monday we got drough

Our work betimes, an ax'd a vew

Young vo'k vrom Stowe an' Coom, an' zome

Vrom uncle's down at Grange, to come.

An' they so spry, wi' merry smiles,

Did beät the path an' leäp the stiles,

Wi' two or dree young chaps bezide,

To meet an' keep up Easter tide:

Vor we'd a-zaid avore, we'd git

Zome friends to come, an' have a bit

O' fun wi' me, an' Jeäne, an' Kit,

Because 'twer Easter Monday.

An' there we plaÿ'd away at quaïts,

An' weigh'd ourzelves wi' sceäles an' waïghts;

An' jump'd to zee who jump'd the spryest,

An' sprung the vurdest an' the highest;

An' rung the bells vor vull an hour.

An' plaÿ'd at vives ageän the tower.

An' then we went an' had a taït,

An' cousin Sammy, wi' his waïght,

Broke off the bar, he wer so fat!

An' toppled off, an' vell down flat

Upon his head, an' squot his hat,

Because 'twer Easter Monday.

DOCK-LEAVES.

The dock-leaves that do spread so wide

Up yonder zunny bank's green zide,

Do bring to mind what we did do

At plaÿ wi' dock-leaves years agoo:

How we,—when nettles had a-stung

Our little hands, when we wer young,—

Did rub em wi' a dock, an' zing

"Out nettl', in dock. In dock, out sting."

An' when your feäce, in zummer's het,

Did sheen wi' tricklèn draps o' zweat,

How you, a-zot bezide the bank,

Didst toss your little head, an' pank,

An' teäke a dock-leaf in your han',

An' whisk en lik' a leädy's fan;

While I did hunt, 'ithin your zight,

Vor streaky cockle-shells to fight.

In all our plaÿ-geämes we did bruise

The dock-leaves wi' our nimble shoes;

Bwoth where we merry chaps did fling

You maïdens in the orcha'd swing,

An' by the zaw-pit's dousty bank,

Where we did taït upon a plank.

—(D'ye mind how woonce, you cou'den zit

The bwoard, an' vell off into pit?)

An' when we hunted you about

The grassy barken, in an' out

Among the ricks, your vlèe-èn frocks

An' nimble veet did strik' the docks.

An' zoo they docks, a-spread so wide

Up yonder zunny bank's green zide,

Do bring to mind what we did do,