ff o' smoke did rise,
An' vrom the bedroom window's height
Your little John, a-cloth'd in white,
An' gwain to bed, did cry "good night"
Towards the linden on the lawn.

But now, as Dobbin, wi' a nod
Vor ev'ry heavy step he trod,
Did bring me on, to-night, avore
The geaebled house's pworched door,
Noo laughen child a-cloth'd in white,
Look'd drough the stwonen window's light,
An' noo vaice zung, in dusky night,
Below the linden on the lawn.

An' zoo, if you should ever vind
My kindness seem to grow less kind,
An' if upon my clouded feaece
My smile should yield a frown its pleaece,
Then, Jenny, only laugh an' call
My mind 'ithin the geaerden wall,
Where we did play at even-fall,
Below the linden on the lawn.

OUR ABODE IN ARBY WOOD.

Though ice do hang upon the willows
Out bezide the vrozen brook,
An' storms do roar above our pillows,
Drough the night, 'ithin our nook;
Our evenen he'th's a-glowen warm,
Drough wringen vrost, an' roaren storm,
Though winds mid meaeke the wold beams sheaeke,
In our abode in Arby Wood.

An' there, though we mid hear the timber
Creake avore the windy rain;
An' climen ivy quiver, limber,
Up ageaen the window peaene;
Our merry vaices then do sound,
In rollen glee, or dree-vaice round;
Though wind mid roar, 'ithout the door,
Ov our abode in Arby Wood.

SLOW TO COME, QUICK AGONE.

Ah! there's a house that I do know
Besouth o' yonder trees,
Where northern winds can hardly blow
But in a softest breeze.
An' there woonce sounded zongs an' teaeles
Vrom vaice o' maid or youth,
An' sweeter than the nightengeaele's
Above the copses lewth.

How swiftly there did run the brooks,
How swift wer winds in flight,
How swiftly to their roost the rooks
Did vlee o'er head at night.
Though slow did seem to us the peaece
O' comen days a-head,
That now do seem as in a reaece
Wi' air-birds to ha' vled.

THE VIER-ZIDE.

'Tis zome vo'ks jay to teaeke the road,
An' goo abro'd, a-wand'ren wide,
Vrom shere to shere, vrom pleaece to pleaece,
The swiftest peaece that vo'k can ride.
But I've a jay 'ithin the door,
Wi' friends avore the vier-zide.

An' zoo, when winter skies do lour,
An' when the Stour's a-rollen wide,
Drough bridge-voot rails, a-painted white,
To be at night the traveller's guide,
Gi'