Third Collection. The Pillar’d Geäte
As I come by, zome years agoo, A-burnt below a sky o’ blue, ’Ithin the pillar’ d geäte there zung A vaïce a-soundèn sweet an’ young, That meäde me veel awhile to zwim In weäves o’ jaÿ to hear its hymn; Vor all the zinger, angel-bright, Wer then a-hidden vrom my zight, An’ I wer then too low To seek a meäte to match my steäte ’Ithin the lofty-pillar’d geäte, Wi’ stwonèn balls upon the walls: Oh, no! my heart, no, no. Another time as I come by The house, below a dark-blue sky. The pillar’d geäte wer oben wide, An’ who should be a-show’d inside, But she, the comely maïd whose hymn Woonce meäde my giddy braïn to zwim, A-zittèn in the sheäde to zew, A-clad in robes as white as snow. What then? could I so low Look out a meäte ov higher steäte So gaÿ ’ithin a pillar’d geäte, Wi’ high walls round the smooth-mow’d ground? Oh, no! my heart, no, no. Long years stole by, a-glidèn slow, Wi’ winter cwold an’ zummer glow, An’ she wer then a widow, clad In grey; but comely, though so sad; Her husband, heartless to his bride, Spent all her store an’ wealth, an’ died, Though she noo mwore could now rejaïce, Yet sweet did sound her zongless vaïce. But had she, in her woe, The higher steäte she had o’ leäte ’Ithin the lofty pillar’d geäte, Wi’ stwonèn balls upon the walls? Oh, no! my heart, no, no. But while she vell, my Meäker’s greäce Led me to teäke a higher pleäce, An’ lighten’d up my mind wi’ lore, An’ bless’d me wi’ a worldly store; But still noo winsome feäce or vaïce, Had ever been my wedded chaïce; An’ then I thought, why do I mwope Alwone without a jaÿ or hope? Would she still think me low? Or scorn a meäte, in my feäir steäte, In here ’ithin a pillar’d geäte, A happy pleace wi’ her kind feäce? Oh, no! my hope, no, no. I don’t stand out ’tis only feäte Do gi’e to each his wedded meäte; But eet there’s woone above the rest, That every soul can like the best. An’ my wold love’s a-kindled new, An’ my wold dream’s a-come out true; But while I had noo soul to sheäre My good an’ ill, an’ jaÿ an ceäre, Should I have bliss below, In gleämèn pleäte an’ lofty steäte ’Ithin the lofty pillar’d geäte, Wi’ feäirest flow’rs, an’ ponds an’ tow’rs? Oh, no! my heart, no, no.
William Barnes’s other poems:
