eep
The beauty ov their eaerly sleep;
Where comely looks shall never weaer
Uncomely, under tweil an' ceaere.
The feaeir at death be always feaeir,
Still feaeir to livers' thought an' love,
An' feaeirer still to God above,
Than when they died in beauty.

FAIR EMILY OV YARROW MILL.

Dear Yarrowham, 'twer many miles
Vrom thy green meaeds that, in my walk,
I met a maid wi' winnen smiles,
That talk'd as vo'k at hwome do talk;
An' who at last should she be vound,
Ov all the souls the sky do bound,
But woone that trod at vu'st thy groun'
Fair Emily ov Yarrow Mill.

But thy wold house an' elmy nook,
An' wall-screen'd geaerden's mossy zides,
Thy grassy meaeds an' zedgy brook,
An' high-bank'd leaenes, wi' sheaedy rides,
Wer all a-known to me by light
Ov eaerly days, a-quench'd by night,
Avore they met the younger zight
Ov Emily ov Yarrow Mill.

An' now my heart do leaep to think
O' times that I've a-spent in play,
Bezide thy river's rushy brink,
Upon a deaeizybed o' May;
I lov'd the friends thy land ha' bore,
An' I do love the paths they wore,
An' I do love thee all the mwore,
Vor Emily ov Yarrow Mill.

When bright above the e'th below
The moon do spread abroad his light,
An' air o' zummer nights do blow
Athirt the vields in playsome flight,
'Tis then delightsome under all
The sheaedes o' boughs by path or wall,
But mwostly thine when they do vall
On Emily ov Yarrow Mill.

THE SCUD.

Aye, aye, the leaene wi' flow'ry zides
A-kept so lew, by hazzle-wrides,
Wi' beds o' graegles out in bloom,
Below the timber's windless gloon
An' geaete that I've a-swung,
An' rod as he's a-hung,
When I wer young, in Woakley Coomb.

'Twer there at feaest we all did pass
The evenen on the leaenezide grass,
Out where the geaete do let us drough,
Below the woak-trees in the lew,
In merry geaemes an' fun
That meaede us skip an' run,
Wi' burnen zun, an' sky o' blue.

But still there come a scud that drove
The titt'ren maidens vrom the grove;
An' there a-left wer flow'ry mound,
'Ithout a vaice, 'ithout a sound,
Unless the air did blow,
Drough ruslen leaves, an' drow,
The rain drops low, upon the ground.

I linger'd there an' miss'd the naise;
I linger'd there an' miss'd our jays;
I miss'd woone soul beyond the