Second Collection. Wold Friends a-met
Aye, vull my heart’s blood now do roll, An’ gaÿ do rise my happy soul, An’ well they mid, vor here our veet Avore woone vier ageän do meet; Vor you’ve avoun’ my feäce, to greet Wi’ welcome words my startlèn ear. An’ who be you, but John o’ Weer, An’ I, but William Wellburn. Here, light a candle up, to shed Mwore light upon a wold friend’s head, An’ show the smile, his feäce woonce mwore Ha’ brought us vrom another shore. An’ I’ll heave on a brand avore The vier back, to meäke good cheer, O’ roarèn fleämes, vor John o’ Weer To chat wi’ William Wellburn. Aye, aye, it mid be true that zome, When they do wander out vrom hwome, Do leäve their nearest friends behind, Bwoth out o’ zight, an’ out o’ mind; But John an’ I ha’ ties to bind Our souls together, vur or near, For, who is he but John o’ Weer, An’ I, but William Wellburn. Look, there he is, with twinklèn eyes, An’ elbows down upon his thighs, A-chucklèn low, wi’ merry grin. Though time ha’ roughen’d up his chin, ’Tis still the seäme true soul ’ithin, As woonce I know’d, when year by year, Thik very chap, thik John o’ Weer, Did plaÿ wi’ William Wellburn. Come, John, come; don’t be dead-alive Here, reach us out your clust’r o’ vive. Oh! you be happy. Ees, but that Woon’t do till you can laugh an’ chat. Don’t blinky, lik’ a purrèn cat, But leäp an’ laugh, an’ let vo’k hear What’s happen’d, min, that John o’ Weer Ha’ met wi’ William Wellburn. Vor zome, wi’ selfishness too strong Vor love, do do each other wrong; An’ zome do wrangle an’ divide In hets ov anger, bred o’ pride; But who do think that time or tide Can breed ill-will in friends so dear, As William wer to John o’ Weer, An’ John to William Wellburn? If other vo’ks do gleen to zee How lovèn an’ how glad we be, What, then, poor souls, they had but vew Sich happy days, so long agoo, As they that I’ve a-spent wi’ you; But they’d hold woone another dear, If woone o’ them wer John o’ Weer, An’ tother William Wellburn.
William Barnes’s other poems:
