First Collection. Winter. The Carter
O, I be a carter, wi’ my whip A-smackèn loud, as by my zide, Up over hill, an’ down the dip, The heavy lwoad do slowly ride. An’ I do haul in all the crops, An’ I do bring in vuzz vrom down; An’ I do goo vor wood to copse. An’ car the corn an’ straw to town. An’ I do goo vor lime, an’ bring Hwome cider wi’ my sleek-heäir’d team, An’ smack my limber whip an’ zing, While all their bells do gaïly cheeme. An’ I do always know the pleäce To gi’e the hosses breath, or drug; An’ ev’ry hoss do know my feäce, An’ mind my ’mether ho! an’ whug! An’ merry haÿ-meäkers do ride Vrom vield in zummer wi’ their prongs, In my blue waggon, zide by zide Upon the reäves, a-zingèn zongs. An’ when the vrost do catch the stream, An’ oves wi’ icicles be hung, My pantèn hosses’ breath do steam In white-grass’d vields, a-haulèn dung. An’ mine’s the waggon fit vor lwoads, An’ mine be lwoads to cut a rout; An’ mine’s a team, in routy rwoads, To pull a lwoaded waggon out. A zull is nothèn when do come Behind their lags; an’ they do teäke A roller as they would a drum, An’ harrow as they would a reäke. O! I be a carter, wi’ my whip A-smackèn loud, as by my zide, Up over hill, an’ down the dip, The heavy lwoad do slowly ride.
William Barnes’s other poems:
- Third Collection. Comen Hwome
- Second Collection. Slow to come, quick agone
- Second Collection. John Bleäke at Hwome
- Third Collection. Things do Come Round
- Third Collection. I’m out o’ Door
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