First Collection. Spring. Vellèn o’ the Tree
Aye, the girt elem tree out in little hwome groun’ War a-stannèn this mornèn, an’ now’s a-cut down. Aye, the girt elem tree, so big roun’ an’ so high, Where the mowers did goo to their drink, an’ did lie In the sheäde ov his head, when the zun at his heighth Had a-drove em vrom mowèn, wi’ het an’ wi’ drîth, Where the haÿ-meäkers put all their picks an’ their reäkes, An’ did squot down to snabble their cheese an’ their ceäkes, An’ did vill vrom their flaggons their cups wi’ their eäle, An’ did meäke theirzelves merry wi’ joke an’ wi’ teäle. Ees, we took up a rwope an’ we tied en all round At the top o’n, wi’ woone end a-hangèn to ground, An’ we cut, near the ground, his girt stem a’most drough, An’ we bent the wold head o’n wi’ woone tug or two; An’ he swaÿ’d all his limbs, an’ he nodded his head, Till he vell away down like a pillar o’ lead: An’ as we did run vrom en, there, clwose at our backs, Oh! his boughs come to groun’ wi’ sich whizzes an’ cracks; An’ his top wer so lofty that, now he is down, The stem o’n do reach a-most over the groun’. Zoo the girt elem tree out in little hwome groun’ Wer a-stannèn this mornèn, an’ now’s a-cut down.
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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