door.
The love that I do owe
Her ruf, I'll pay,
An' then zit down below
My own wi' jay.

OBEN VIELDS.

Well, you mid keep the town an' street,
Wi' grassless stwones to beaet your veet,
An' zunless windows where your brows
Be never cooled by swayen boughs;
An' let me end, as I begun,
My days in oben air an' zun,
Where zummer win's a-blowen sweet,
Wi' blooth o' trees as white's a sheet;
Or swayen boughs, a-benden low
Wi' rip'nen apples in a row,
An' we a-risen rathe do meet
The bright'nen dawn wi' dewy veet,
An' leaeve, at night, the vootless groves,
To rest 'ithin our thatchen oves.
An' here our childern still do bruise
The deaeisy buds wi' tiny shoes,
As we did meet avore em, free
Vrom ceaere, in play below the tree.
An' there in me'th their lively eyes
Do glissen to the zunny skies,
As air do blow, wi' leaezy peaece
To cool, in sheaede, their burnen feaece.
Where leaves o' spreaden docks do hide
The zawpit's timber-lwoaded zide,
An' trees do lie, wi' scraggy limbs,
Among the deaeisy's crimson rims.
An' they, so proud, wi' eaerms a-spread
To keep their balance good, do tread
Wi' ceaereful steps o' tiny zoles
The narrow zides o' trees an' poles.
An' zoo I'll leaeve vor your light veet
The peaevement o' the zunless street,
While I do end, as I begun,
My days in oben air an' zun.

WHAT JOHN WER A-TELLEN HIS MIS'ESS OUT IN THE CORN GROUND.

Ah! mam! you woonce come here the while
The zun, long years agoo, did shed
His het upon the wheat in hile,
Wi' yollow hau'm an' ears o' red,
Wi' little shoes too thin vor walks
Upon the scratchen stubble-stalks;
You hardly reach'd wi' glossy head,
The vore wheel's top o' dousty red.
How time's a-vled! How years do vlee!

An' there you went an' zot inzide
A hile, in air a-streamen cool,
As if 'ithin a room, vull wide
An' high, you zot to guide an' rule.
You leaez'd about the stubbly land,
An' soon vill'd up your small left hand
Wi' ruddy ears your right hand vound,
An' trail'd the stalks along the ground.
How time's a-gone! How years do goo!

Then in the waggon you did teaeke
A ride, an' as the wheels vell down
Vrom ridge to vurrow, they did sheaeke
On your small head your poppy crown,
An' now your little maid, a dear,
Your childhood's very daps, is here,
Zoo let her stay, that her young fe