POEMS IN THE DORSET DIALECT. 243 



H. Out there be the hawthorns, but just out o' blooth, 



Zome here, an' zome there, wi' mwore shadow than lewth. 

 The wold ones, like fathers, now ready to vail ; 

 Zome younger, like children, vrom bigger to small, 

 An' zome be so prim as a man in his prime ; 



An' zome wi' their shroud 



To eastward a-bow'd, 



By west winds a-zetten 



So wet, wi' their cloud. 



W. Well now, here we be, on the uppermost ground, 



Where the thyme-bedded knaps be a-zwellen so round. 

 But what pleace is this, where the banks do lie low, 

 An' the big mossy vlints be a-laid in a row ? 

 H. Why 'twer here, by the teale that poor father did tell, 

 That a beacon did stand, 

 Vor to light wi' a brand, 

 To call men to blows, 

 If their foes were to land. 



There's a cloud over Blackmwore, about of our height, 

 Wi' his sheadow a-weepen the ground in his flight, 

 An' a-climen the tow'r, an' a-sheaden the boughs, 

 An' a-leapen the stream, an' a-dark'nen the cows. 

 'Tis now on the rook'ry, an' now on the ricks, 



An' there it do catch 



Up our own little hatch, 



An' sheade vrom the zun 



The red tun on our thatch. 



W. There's a man on a hoss, an' a-spurren o'n on. 

 Is zomebody ill then ? or where's he a-gone ? 

 There's a maid by the gil'cups out there, an' t'is, who ? 

 Jeane Hine, I do know, by her skirt o' peale blue ; 

 An' now she's a-slippen along by the slope, 



An' now do look round, 



In a fright, at the sound 



O' the bull that's a-blearen 



An' tearn the ground. 



