248 POEMS IN THE DORSET DIALECT. 



An' there were my orcha'd a-tined 

 Wi' a hedge on the steep-zided bank, 

 Where the ivy did twine roun' the rind 

 O' the wood-stems, an' trees in high rank ; 

 Vor to keep out the wide-lipped cow ; 

 An' the stiff-snowted pigs, that would plough 

 Up the nesh-bleaded grass, 

 By the young apple-trees : 

 The grass a-grown up to good height, 

 By the trees, that wi' blooth wer all white. 



O when is a father's good time, 

 That do pay vor his tweil wi' mwost jay ? 

 Is it when he's a-spenden his prime 

 Vor his children, still young in their play, 

 Or when they've a-grown to their height, 

 An' a-gone vrom his hea'ren an' zight, 

 Wi' their mother's woone voice 



A-left hwome at the door : 

 A voice that noo longer do zing, 

 At the door that mwore seldom do swing ? 



26. THE MOTHER'S DREAM. 



I'd a dream to-night 



As I veil asleep 

 Oh ! the touchen zight 



Still do meake me weep, 

 Ov my little bwoy 

 That's a-took away ; 

 Aye, about my joy 



I wer not to keep. 



