r o' spinnen wheels,
As grey-rin'd ashes' swayen tops
Did creak in moonlight in the copse,
Above the quiv'ren grass, a-beaet
By wind a-blowen drough the geaet.

If weary souls did want their sleep,
They had a-zent vor sleep the night;
Vor vo'k that had a call to keep
Awake, lik' us, there still wer light.
An' He that shut the sleepers' eyes,
A-waiten vor the zun to rise,
Ha' too much love to let em know
The ling'ren night did goo so slow.

But if my wife did catch a zight
O' zome queer pollard, or a post,
Poor soul! she took en in her fright
To be a robber or a ghost.
A two-stump'd withy, wi' a head,
Mus' be a man wi' eaerms a-spread;
An' foam o' water, round a rock,
Wer then a drownen leaedy's frock.

Zome staddle stwones to bear a mow,
Wer dancen veaeries on the lag;
An' then a snow-white sheeted cow
Could only be, she thought, their flag,
An owl a-vleen drough the wood
Wer men on watch vor little good;
An' geaetes a slam'd by wind, did goo,
She thought, to let a robber drough.

But after all, she lik'd the zight
O' cows asleep in glitt'ren dew;
An' brooks that gleam'd below the light,
An' dim vield paths 'ithout a shoe.
An' gaily talk'd bezide my ears,
A-laughen off her needless fears:
Or had the childern uppermost
In mind, instead o' thief or ghost.

An' when our house, wi' open door,
Did rumble hollow round our heads,
She heaesten'd up to tother vloor,
To zee the childern in their beds;
An' vound woone little head awry,
Wi' woone a-turn'd toward the sky;
An' wrung her hands ageaen her breast,
A-smilen at their happy rest.

ZUN-ZET.

Where the western zun, unclouded,
Up above the grey hill-tops,
Did sheen drough ashes, lofty sh'ouded
On the turf bezide the copse,
In zummer weather,
We together,
Sorrow-slighten, work-vorgetten.
Gambol'd wi' the zun a-zetten.

There, by flow'ry bows o' bramble,
Under hedge, in ash-tree sheaedes,
The dun-heair'd ho'se did slowly ramble
On the grasses' dewy bleaedes,
Zet free o' lwoads,
An' stwony rwoads,
Vorgetvul o' the lashes fretten,
Grazen wi' the zun a-zetten.

There wer rooks a-beaeten by us
Drough the air, in a vlock,
An' there the lively blackbird, nigh us,
On the meaeple bough did rock,
Wi' ringen droat,
Where zunlight smote