Second Collection. Ellen Brine ov Allenburn
Noo soul did hear her lips complaïn, An’ she’s a-gone vrom all her païn, An’ others’ loss to her is gaïn For she do live in heaven’s love; Vull many a longsome day an’ week She bore her aïlèn, still, an’ meek; A-workèn while her strangth held on, An’ guidèn housework, when ’twer gone. Vor Ellen Brine ov Allenburn, Oh! there be souls to murn. The last time I’d a-cast my zight Upon her feäce, a-feäded white, Wer in a zummer’s mornèn light In hall avore the smwold’rèn vier, The while the childern beät the vloor, In plaÿ, wi’ tiny shoes they wore, An’ call’d their mother’s eyes to view The feät’s their little limbs could do. Oh! Ellen Brine ov Allenburn, They childern now mus’ murn. Then woone, a-stoppèn vrom his reäce, Went up, an’ on her knee did pleäce His hand, a-lookèn in her feäce, An’ wi’ a smilèn mouth so small, He zaid, “You promised us to goo To Shroton feäir, an’ teäke us two!” She heärd it wi’ her two white ears, An’ in her eyes there sprung two tears, Vor Ellen Brine ov Allenburn Did veel that they mus’ murn. September come, wi’ Shroton feäir, But Ellen Brine wer never there! A heavy heart wer on the meäre Their father rod his hwomeward road. ’Tis true he brought zome feärèns back, Vor them two childern all in black; But they had now, wi’ plaÿthings new, Noo mother vor to shew em to, Vor Ellen Brine ov Allenburn Would never mwore return.
William Barnes’s other poems:
