nd,
An' thatch-brow'd windows, flower-bound,
Where I could wish wer my abode.
I pass'd the maid avore the spring,
An' shepherd by the thornen tree;
An' heaerd the merry drever zing,
But met noo kith or kin to me,
Till I come down, vrom Meldon's crown
To rufs o' brown, at Meldonley.

THE HOLLOW WOAK.

The woaken tree, so hollow now,
To souls ov other times wer sound,
An' reach'd on ev'ry zide a bough
Above their heads, a-gather'd round,
But zome light veet
That here did meet
In friendship sweet, vor rest or jay,
Shall be a-miss'd another May.

My childern here, in playvul pride
Did zit 'ithin his wooden walls,
A-menten steaetely vo'k inside
O' castle towers an' lofty halls.
But now the vloor
An' mossy door
That woonce they wore would be too small
To teaeke em in, so big an' tall.

Theaese year do show, wi' snow-white cloud,
An' deaesies in a sprinkled bed,
An' green-bough birds a-whislen loud,
The looks o' zummer days a-vled;
An' grass do grow,
An' men do mow,
An' all do show the wold times' feaece
Wi' new things in the wold things' pleaece.

CHILDERN'S CHILDERN.

Oh! if my ling'ren life should run,
Drough years a-reckoned ten by ten,
Below the never-tiren zun,
Till beaebes ageaen be wives an' men;
An' stillest deafness should ha' bound
My ears, at last, vrom ev'ry sound;
Though still my eyes in that sweet light,
Should have the zight o' sky an' ground:
Would then my steaete
In time so leaete,
Be jay or pain, be pain or jay?

When Zunday then, a-weaenen dim,
As theaese that now's a-clwosen still,
Mid lose the zun's down-zinken rim,
In light behind the vier-bound hill;
An' when the bells' last peal's a-rung,
An' I mid zee the wold an' young
A-vlocken by, but shoulden hear,
However near, a voot or tongue:
Mid zuch a zight,
In that soft light
Be jay or pain, be pain or jay.

If I should zee among em all,
In merry youth, a-gliden by,
My son's bwold son, a-grown man-tall,
Or daughter's daughter, woman-high;
An' she mid smile wi' your good feaece,
Or she mid walk your comely peaece,
But seem, although a-chatten loud,
So dumb's a cloud, in that bright pleaece:
Would youth so feaeir,
A-passen there,
Be jay or pain, be pain or jay.

'Tis seldom strang