POEMS IN THE DORSET DIALECT. 241 



Yet Jenny at dusk is fearful now, 

 Since once, in the mead alwone, 



She took vor a ghost a sheeted cow, 

 A-shown in white in the night 



O, Jenny ! the while the moon do gleam, 

 I wish you could come an' roam 



Wi' me, to behold the vallen stream 

 In foam, so white in the night. 



Vor feairer than all the hues o' day, 



Or grass, or the sky o' blue, 

 Or blossoms o' spring, a-sheenen gay 



Be you in white in the night. 



Diary, Nov. 1, 1867. Scrivendo versi, " White in the Night." 



21. THE FALL. 



The length p' days agean do shrink, 

 An' flowers be thin in mead, among 

 The eegrass, a-sheenen bright, along 



Brook upon brook, an' brink by brink. 



Noo starlens do rise in vlock on wing 



Noo goocoo in nest-green leaves do sound 

 Noo swallows be now a-wheelen round 



Dip after dip, an' swing by swing. 



The wheat that did leately rustle thick, 

 Is now up in mows that still be new ; 

 An, yollow bevore the sky o' blue, 

 Tip after tip, an' rick by rick. 



While shooters do rove beside the knoll 

 Where leaves be a-roll'd on quivren grass ; 

 Or down where the sky-blue stream do pass, 



Vail after vail, an' shoal by shoal. 



