Third Collection. The Beäten Path
The beäten path where vo’k do meet A-comèn on vrom vur an’ near; How many errands had the veet That wore en out along so clear! Where eegrass bleädes be green in meäd, Where bennets up the leäze be brown, An’ where the timber bridge do leäd Athirt the cloty brook to town, Along the path by mile an’ mile, Athirt the vield, an’ brook, an’ stile. There runnèn childern’s hearty laugh Do come an’ vlee along—win’ swift: The wold man’s glossy-knobbèd staff Do help his veet so hard to lift; The maïd do bear her basket by, A-hangèn at her breäthèn zide; An’ ceäreless young men, straïght an’ spry, Do whissle hwome at eventide, Along the path, a-reachèn by Below tall trees an’ oben sky. There woone do goo to jaÿ a-head; Another’s jaÿ’s behind his back. There woone his vu’st long mile do tread, An’ woone the last ov all his track. An’ woone mid end a hopevul road, Wi’ hopeless grief a-teäkèn on, As he that leätely vrom abroad Come hwome to seek his love a-gone, Noo mwore to tread, wi’ comely eäse, The beäten path athirt the leäze. In tweilsome hardships, year by year, He drough the worold wander’d wide, Still bent, in mind, both vur an’ near To come an’ meäke his love his bride. An’ passèn here drough evenèn dew He heästen’d, happy, to her door, But vound the wold vo’k only two, Wi’ noo mwore vootsteps on the vloor, To walk ageän below the skies, Where beäten paths do vall an’ rise; Vor she wer gone vrom e’thly eyes To be a-kept in darksome sleep, Until the good ageän do rise A-jaÿ to souls they left to weep. The rwose wer doust that bound her brow; The moth did eat her Zunday ceäpe; Her frock wer out o’ fashion now; Her shoes wer dried up out o’ sheäpe— The shoes that woonce did glitter black Along the leäzes beäten track.
William Barnes’s other poems:
