He'd hear some news would dea him good,
He labour'd hard, beath neet an' day,
Tryin' to draave those thowts away;
Yet daily grew mair discontent
Till he at last to Lunnon went.
Being quite a stranger to that toon,
Lang taame he wander'd up an' doon,
Till, led by some mysterious hand,
On Lunnon Brig he teak his stand.
An' there he waited day by day,
An' just were boun(4) to coom away,
Sea mich he thowt he were to bleame
To gang sea far aboot a dream,
When thus a man, as he drew near,
Did say, "Good friend, what seek you here,
Where I have seen you soon and late?"
His dream tiv him he did relate.
"Dreams," says the man, " are empty things,
Mere thoughts that flit on silver'd wings;
Unheeded we should let them pass.
I've had a dream, and thus it was,
That somewhere round this peopled ball,
There's such a place as Lealholm Hall(5);
Yet whether such a place there be,
Or not, is all unknown to me.
There in a cellar, dark and deep,
Where slimy creatures nightly creep,
And human footsteps never tread,
There is a store of treasure hid.
If it be so, I have no doubt,
Some lucky wight will find it out.
Yet so or not is nought to me,
For I shall ne'er go there to see."
The man did slyly twice or thrice
The Cockney thenk for his advice;
Then heame agean withoot delay
He cherfully did tak his way.
An' set aboot the wark, an' sped,
Fun' ivvery thing as t' man had said;
Were iver efter seen to flourish
T' fanest gentleman iv all t' parish.
Folks wonder'd sair, an' ,weel they might,
Whoor he gat all his guineas bright.
If it were true, i' spite o' fame,
Tiv him it were a lucky dream."

1. Drive. 2. Long ago. 3. That. 4. Ready.
5. In the neighbourhood of Whitby.

The Milkin'-Time

J. H. Dixon (1803-1876)

Meet me at the fowd at the milkin'-time,
Whan the dusky sky is gowd at the milkin'-time;
Whan the fog(1) is slant(2) wi' dew,
An' the clocks(3) go hummin' thro'
The wick-sets(4) an' the branches of the owmerin'(5) yew.

Weel ye knaw the hour of the milkin'-time,
The girt bell sounds frev t' tower at the milkin'-time;
Bud as gowd sooin turns to gray,
An' I cannot have delay,
Dunnot linger by the way at the mil