Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/Fifehead
FIFEHEAD.
’Twer where my fondest thoughts do light,
At Fifehead, while we spent the night;
The millwheel’s restèn rim wer dry,
An’ houn’s held up their evenèn cry;
An’ lofty, drough the midnight sky,
Above the vo’k, wi’ heavy heads,
Asleep upon their darksome beds,
The stars wer all awake, John.
Noo birds o’ day wer out to spread
Their wings above the gully’s bed,
An’ darkness roun’ the elem-tree
’D a-still’d the charmy childern’s glee.
All he’ths wer cwold but woone, where we
Wer gaÿ, ’tis true, but gaÿ an’ wise,
An’ laugh’d in light o’ maïden’s eyes.
That glissen’d wide awake, John.
An’ when we all, lik’ loosen’d hounds,
Broke out o’ doors, wi’ merry sounds,
Our friends among the plaÿsome team,
All brought us gwäin so vur’s the stream.
But Jeäne, that there, below a gleam
O’ light, watch’d woone o’s out o’ zight;
Vor willènly, vor his “Good night,”
She’d longer bide awake, John.
An’ while up Leighs we stepp’d along
Our grassy path, wi’ joke an’ zong,
There Plumber, wi’ its woody ground,
O’ slopèn knaps a-screen’d around,
Rose dim ’ithout a breath o’ sound,
The wold abode o’ squiers a-gone,
Though while they lay a-sleepèn on,
Their stars wer still awake, John.