First Collection. Spring. Leädy-Day, an’ Riddèn House
Aye, back at Leädy-Day, you know, I come vrom Gullybrook to Stowe; At Leädy-Day I took my pack O’ rottletraps, an’ turn’d my back Upon the weather-beäten door, That had a-screen’d, so long avore. The mwost that theäse zide o’ the greäve, I’d live to have, or die to seäve! My childern, an’ my vier-pleäce. Where Molly wi’ her cheerful feäce. When I’d a-trod my wat’ry road Vrom night-bedarken’d vields abrode, Wi’ nimble hands, at evenèn, blest Wi’ vire an’ vood my hard-won rest; The while the little woones did clim’. So sleek-skinn’d, up from lim’ to lim’, Till, strugglèn hard an’ clingèn tight. They reach’d at last my feäce’s height. All tryèn which could soonest hold My mind wi’ little teäles they twold. An’ riddèn house is such a caddle, I shan’t be over keen vor mwore ō’t, Not yet a while, you mid be sure ō’t,— I’d rather keep to woone wold staddle. Well, zoo, avore the east begun To redden wi’ the comèn zun, We left the beds our mossy thatch Wer never mwore to overstratch, An’ borrow’d uncle’s wold hoss Dragon, To bring the slowly lumbrèn waggon, An’ when he come, we veil a-packèn The bedsteads, wi’ their rwopes an’ zackèn; An’ then put up the wold eärm-chair, An’ cwoffer vull ov e’then-ware, An’ vier-dogs, an’ copper kittle, Wi’ crocks an’ saucepans, big an’ little; An’ fryèn-pan, vor aggs to slide In butter round his hissèn zide, An’ gridire’s even bars, to bear The drippèn steäke above the gleäre O’ brightly-glowèn coals. An’ then, All up o’ top o’ them ageän The weaken bwoard, where we did eat Our croust o’ bread or bit o’ meat,— An’ when the bwoard wer up, we tied Upon the reäves, along the zide, The woäken stools, his glossy meätes, Bwoth when he’s beäre, or when the pleätes Do clatter loud wi’ knives, below Our merry feäces in a row. An’ put between his lags, turn’d up’ard, The zalt-box an’ the corner cupb’ard. An’ then we laid the wold clock-ceäse, All dumb, athirt upon his feäce, Vor we’d a-left, I needen tell ye, Noo works ’ithin his head or belly. An’ then we put upon the pack The settle, flat upon his back; An’ after that, a-tied in pairs In woone another, all the chairs, An’ bits o’ lumber wo’th a ride. An’ at the very top a-tied, The childern’s little stools did lie, Wi’ lags a-turn’d towárd the sky: Zoo there we lwoaded up our scroff, An’ tied it vast, an’ started off. An’,—as the waggon cooden car all We had to teäke,—the butter-barrel An’ cheese-wring, wi’ his twinèn screw. An’ all the païls an’ veäts, an’ blue Wold milk leads, and a vew things mwore, Wer all a-carr’d the day avore, And when the mwost ov our wold stuff Wer brought outside o’ thik brown ruf, I rambled roun’ wi’ narrow looks. In fusty holes an’ darksome nooks, To gather all I still mid vind, O’ rags or sticks a-left behind. An’ there the unlatch’d doors did creak, A-swung by winds, a-streamèn weak Drough empty rooms, an’ meäkèn sad My heart, where me’th woonce meäde me glad. Vor when a man do leäve the he’th An’ ruf where vu’st he drew his breath, Or where he had his bwoyhood’s fun, An’ things wer woonce a-zaid an’ done That took his mind, do touch his heart A little bit, I’ll answer vor’t. Zoo riddèn house is such a caddle, That I would rather keep my staddle.
William Barnes’s other poems:
- First Collection. Winter. Keepèn up o’ Chris’mas
- Third Collection. Comen Hwome
- Second Collection. Slow to come, quick agone
- Second Collection. John Bleäke at Hwome
- Third Collection. Things do Come Round
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