Blow on, O winds, athirt the hill;
Zwim on, O clouds; O waters vall,
Down mæshy rocks, vrom mill to mill;
I now can overlook ye all.
But roll, O zun, an’ bring to me
My day, if such a day there be,
When zome dear path to my abode
Shall be the road o’ Jessie Lee.
TRUE LOVE.
As evenèn aïr, in green-treed Spring,
Do sheäke the new-sprung pa’sley bed,
An’ wither’d ash-tree keys do swing
An’ vall a-flutt’rèn roun’ our head:
There, while the birds do zing their zong
In bushes down the ash-tree drong,
Come Jessie Lee, vor sweet’s the pleäce
Your vaïce an’ feäce can meäke vor me.
Below the buddèn ashes’ height
We there can linger in the lew,
While boughs, a-gilded by the light,
Do sheen avore the sky o’ blue:
But there by zettèn zun, or moon
A-risèn, time wull vlee too soon
Wi’ Jessie Lee, vor sweet’s the pleäce
Her vaïce an’ feäce can meäke vor me.
Down where the darksome brook do flow,
Below the bridge’s archèd wall,
Wi’ alders dark, a-leanèn low,
Above the gloomy watervall;
There I’ve a-led ye hwome at night,
Wi’ noo feäce else ’ithin my zight
