Summer: Haÿ-Carrèn
’Tis merry ov a zummer’s day,
When vo’k be out a-haulen hay,
Where boughs, a-spread upon the ground,
Do meaeke the staddle big an’ round;
An’ grass do stand in pook, or lie
In long-back’d weaeles or parsels, dry.
There I do vind it stir my heart
To hear the frothen hosses snort,
A-haulen on, wi’ sleek heaeir’d hides,
The red-wheel’d waggon’s deep-blue zides.
Aye; let me have woone cup o’ drink,
An’ hear the linky harness clink,
An’ then my blood do run so warm,
An’ put sich strangth 'ithin my eaerm,
That I do long to toss a pick,
A-pitchen or a-meaeken rick.
The bwoy is at the hosse’s head,
An’ up upon the waggon bed
The lwoaders, strong o’ eaerm do stan’,
At head, an’ back at tail, a man,
Wi’ skill to build the lwoad upright
An’ bind the vwolded corners tight;
An’ at each zide [=o]'m, sprack an’ strong,
A pitcher wi’ his long-stem’d prong,
Avore the best two women now
A-call’d to reaeky after plough.
When I do pitchy, ’tis my pride
Vor Jenny Hine to reaeke my zide,
An’ zee her fling her reaeke, an’ reach
So vur, an’ teaeke in sich a streech;
An’ I don’t shatter hay, an’ meaeke
Mwore work than needs vor Jenny’s reaeke.
I’d sooner zee the weaeles’ high rows
Lik’ hedges up above my nose,
Than have light work myzelf, an’ vind
Poor Jeaene a-beaet an’ left behind;
Vor she would sooner drop down dead.
Than let the pitchers get a-head.
’Tis merry at the rick to zee
How picks do wag, an’ hay do vlee.
While woone’s unlwoaden, woone do teaeke
The pitches in; an’ zome do meaeke
The lofty rick upright an’ roun’,
An’ tread en hard, an’ reaeke en down,
An’ tip en, when the zun do zet,
To shoot a sudden vall o’ wet.
An’ zoo ’tis merry any day
Where vo’k be out a-carren hay.
Other works by William Barnes...
