Do gi'e a bound, O,
To get off free to the welshnut tree.

Poll went woone night, that we midden vind her,
Inzide a woak wi' a hollow moot,
An' drough a hole near the groun' behind her,
I pok'd a stick in, an' catch'd her voot;
An' out she scream'd, O,
An' jump'd, an' seem'd, O,
A-most to vlee to the welshnut tree.

An' when, at last, at the drashel, mother
Do call us, smilen, in-door to rest,
Then we do cluster by woone another,
To zee hwome them we do love the best:
An' then do sound, O,
"Good night," all round, O,
To end our glee by the welshnut tree.

JENNY OUT VROM HWOME.

O wild-reaeven west winds; as you do roar on,
The elems do rock an' the poplars do ply,
An' weaeve do dreve weaeve in the dark-water'd pon',--
Oh! where do ye rise vrom, an' where do ye die?

O wild-reaeven winds I do wish I could vlee
Wi' you, lik' a bird o' the clouds, up above
The ridge o' the hill an' the top o' the tree,
To where I do long vor, an' vo'k I do love.

Or else that in under theaese rock I could hear,
In the soft-zwellen sounds you do leaeve in your road,
Zome words you mid bring me, vrom tongues that be dear,
Vrom friends that do love me, all scatter'd abrode.

O wild-reaeven winds! if you ever do roar
By the house an' the elems vrom where I'm a-come,
Breathe up at the window, or call at the door,
An' tell you've a-voun' me a-thinken o' hwome.

GRENLEY WATER.

The sheaedeless darkness o' the night
Can never blind my mem'ry's zight;
An' in the storm, my fancy's eyes
Can look upon their own blue skies.
The laggen moon mid fail to rise,
But when the daylight's blue an' green
Be gone, my fancy's zun do sheen
At hwome at Grenley Water.

As when the work-vo'k us'd to ride
In waggon, by the hedge's zide,
Drough evenen sheaedes that trees cast down
Vrom lofty stems athirt the groun';
An' in at house the mug went roun',
While ev'ry merry man prais'd up
The pretty maid that vill'd his cup,
The maid o' Grenley Water.

There I do seem ageaen to ride
The hosses to the water-zide,
An' zee the visher fling his hook
Below the withies by the brook;
Or Fanny, wi' her blushen look,
Car on her pail, or come to dip
Wi' ceaereful step, her pitcher's lip
Down into Grenley Water.

If I'd a farm wi' vower p