An' over hedge the win's a-heaerd,
A ruslen drough my barley's beard;
An' swayen wheat do overspread
Zix ridges in a sheet o' red;
An' then there's woone thing I do call
The girtest handiness ov all:
My ground is here at hand, avore
My eyes, as I do stand at door;
An' zoo I've never any need
To goo a mile to pull a weed.

THOMAS.

No, sure, a miel shoulden stratch
Between woone's geaerden an' woone's hatch.
A man would like his house to stand
Bezide his little bit o' land.

JOHN.

Ees. When woone's groun' vor geaerden stuff
Is roun' below the house's ruf,
Then woone can spend upon woone's land
Odd minutes that mid lie on hand,
The while, wi' night a-comen on,
The red west sky's a-wearen wan;
Or while woone's wife, wi' busy hands,
Avore her vier o' burnen brands,
Do put, as best she can avword,
Her bit o' dinner on the bwoard.
An' here, when I do teaeke my road,
At breakfast-time, agwain abrode,
Why, I can zee if any plot
O' groun' do want a hand or not;
An' bid my childern, when there's need,
To draw a reaeke or pull a weed,
Or heal young beaens or peas in line,
Or tie em up wi' rods an' twine,
Or peel a kindly withy white
To hold a droopen flow'r upright.

THOMAS.

No. Bits o' time can zeldom come
To much on groun' a mile vrom hwome.
A man at hwome should have in view
The jobs his childern's hands can do,
An' groun' abrode mid teaeke em all
Beyond their mother's zight an' call,
To get a zoaken in a storm,
Or vall, i' may be, into harm.

JOHN.

Ees. Geaerden groun', as I've a-zed,
Is better near woone's bwoard an' bed.

PENTRIDGE BY THE RIVER.

Pentridge!--oh! my heart's a-zwellen
Vull o' jay wi' vo'k a-tellen
Any news o' thik wold pleaece,
An' the boughy hedges round it,
An' the river that do bound it
Wi' his dark but glis'nen feaece.
Vor there's noo land, on either hand,
To me lik' Pentridge by the river.

Be there any leaves to quiver
On the aspen by the river?
Doo he sheaede the water still,
Where the rushes be a-growen,
Where the sullen Stour's a-flowen
Drough the meaeds vrom mill to mill?
Vor if a tree wer dear to me,
Oh! 'twer thik aspen by the river.

There, in eegrass new a-shooten,
I did run on even vooten,
Happy, over new-mow'd land;
Or did zing wi' zingen drushes
While I plaited, out o' rushes,
Little bask