Third Collection. The Broken Heart
News o’ grief had overteäken Dark-ey’d Fanny, now vorseäken; There she zot, wi’ breast a-heavèn, While vrom zide to zide, wi’ grievèn, Vell her head, wi’ tears a-creepèn Down her cheäks, in bitter weepèn. There wer still the ribbon-bow She tied avore her hour ov woe, An’ there wer still the han’s that tied it Hangèn white, Or wringèn tight, In ceäre that drown’d all ceäre bezide it. When a man, wi’ heartless slightèn, Mid become a maïden’s blightèn, He mid ceärlessly vorseäke her, But must answer to her Meäker; He mid slight, wi’ selfish blindness, All her deeds o’ lovèn-kindness, God wull waïgh em wi’ the slightèn That mid be her love’s requitèn; He do look on each deceiver, He do know What weight o’ woe Do breäk the heart ov ev’ry griever.
William Barnes’s other poems:
