evenen-lighted slope
An' up the beech-tree drong;
Where wheels a-bound so strong, cut out
On either zide a deep-zunk rout.

An' when at Fall the trees wer brown,
Above the bennet-bearen land,
When beech-leaves slowly whiver'd down.
By evenen winds a-fann'd;
The routs wer each a band o' red,
A-vill'd by drifted beech-leaves dead.

An' when, in Winter's leafless light,
The keener eastern wind did blow.
An' scatter down, avore my zight,
A chilly cwoat o' snow;
The routs ageaen did show vull bright,
In two long streaks o' glitt'ren white.

But when, upon our wedden night,
The cart's light wheels, a-rollen round,
Brought Jenny hwome, they run too light
To mark the yielden ground;
Or welcome would be vound a peaeir
O' green-vill'd routs a-runnen there.

Zoo let me never bring 'ithin
My dwellen what's a-won by wrong,
An' can't come in 'ithout a sin;
Vor only zee how long
The waggon marks in drong, did show
Wi' leaves, wi' grass, wi' groun' wi' snow.

NANNY'S NEW ABODE.

Now day by day, at lofty height,
O zummer noons, the burnen zun
'Ve a-show'd avore our eastward zight,
The sky-blue zide ov Hameldon,
An' shone ageaen, on new-mow'd ground,
Wi' hay a-piled up grey in pook,
An' down on leaezes, bennet-brown'd,
An' wheat a-vell avore the hook;
Till, under elems tall,
The leaves do lie on leaenen lands,
In leaeter light o' Fall.

An' last year, we did zee the red
O' dawn vrom Ash-knap's thatchen oves,
An' walk on crumpled leaves a-laid
In grassy rook-trees' timber'd groves,
Now, here, the cooler days do shrink
To vewer hours o' zunny sky,
While zedge, a-weaeven by the brink
O' shallow brooks, do slowly die.
An' on the timber tall,
The boughs, half beaere, do bend above
The bulgen banks in Fall.

There, we'd a spring o' water near,
Here, water's deep in wink-drain'd wells,
The church 'tis true, is nigh out here,
Too nigh wi' vive loud-boomen bells.
There, naighbours wer vull wide a-spread,
But vo'k be here too clwose a-stow'd.
Vor childern now do stun woone's head,
Wi' naisy play bezide the road,
Where big so well as small,
The little lad, an' lump'ren lout,
Do leaep an' laugh theaese Fall.

LEAVES A-VALLEN.

There the ash-tree leaves do vall
In the wind a-blowen cwolder,
An' my childern, tall or small,