aede o' corn-ears ripe,
An' up ageaen her comely zide,
Upon her rounded eaerm, did ride
A perty basket, all a-twin'd
O' slender stems wi' leaves an' rind,
A-vill'd wi' fruit the trees did shed,
All ripe, in purple, goold, an' red;
An' busy Leaebor there did come
A-zingen zongs ov harvest hwome,
An' red-ear'd dogs did briskly run
Roun' cheervul Leisure wi' his gun,
Or stan' an' mark, wi' stedvast zight,
The speckled pa'tridge rise in flight.
An' next ageaen to mild-feaec'd Fall
Did come peaele Winter, last ov all,
A-benden down, in thoughtvul mood,
Her head 'ithin a snow-white hood
A-deck'd wi' icy-jewels, bright
An' cwold as twinklen stars o' night;
An' there wer weary Leaebor, slack
O' veet to keep her vrozen track,
A-looken off, wi' wistful eyes,
To reefs o' smoke, that there did rise
A-melten to the peaele-feaec'd zun,
Above the houses' lofty tun.
An' there the girt Year-clock did goo
By day an' night, vor ever true,
Wi' mighty wheels a-rollen round
'Ithout a beaet, 'ithout a sound.

NOT GOO HWOME TO-NIGHT.

No, no, why you've noo wife at hwome
Abiden up till you do come,
Zoo leaeve your hat upon the pin,
Vor I'm your waiter. Here's your inn,
Wi' chair to rest, an' bed to roost;
You have but little work to do
This vrosty time at hwome in mill,
Your vrozen wheel's a-stannen still,
The sleepen ice woont grind vor you.
No, no, you woont goo hwome to-night,
Good Robin White, o' Craglin mill.

As I come by, to-day, where stood
Wi' neaeked trees, the purple wood,
The scarlet hunter's ho'ses veet
Tore up the sheaeken ground, wind-fleet,
Wi' reachen heads, an' panken hides;
The while the flat-wing'd rooks in vlock.
Did zwim a-sheenen at their height;
But your good river, since last night,
Wer all a-vroze so still's a rock.
No, no, you woont goo hwome to-night,
Good Robin White, o' Craglin mill.

Zee how the hufflen win' do blow,
A-whirlen down the giddy snow:
Zee how the sky's a-weaeren dim,
Behind the elem's neaeked lim'.
That there do leaen above the leaene:
Zoo teaeke your pleaece bezide the dogs,
An' sip a drop o' hwome-brew'd eaele,
An' zing your zong or tell your teaele,
While I do bait the vier wi' logs.
No, no, you woont goo hwome to-night,
Good Robin White, o' Craglin mill.

Your meaere's in steaeble wi' her hocks
In straw above her vetterlocks,
A-re