In leaene the gipsies, as we went A-milken, had a-pitch’d their tent… Between the gravel-pit an’ clump O’ trees, upon the little hump: An’ while upon the grassy groun’

Ov all the housen o’ the pleaece, There’s woone where I do like to… By day or night the best ov all, To zee my Fanny’s smilen feaece; An’ there the steaetely trees do g…

In happy times a while agoo, My lively hope, that’s now a-gone Did stir my heart the whole year d… But mwost when green-bough’d sprin… When I did rove, wi’ litty veet,

And passing here through evening d… He hastened happy to her door, But found the old folk only two With no more footsteps on the floo… To walk again below the skies

Zoo then the leaedy an’ the squier… At Chris’mas, gather’d girt an’ s… Vor me’th, avore their roaren vier… An! roun’ their bwoard, 'ithin the… An’ there, in glitt’ren rows, betw…

Ah! John! how I do love to look At theaese green hollor, an’ the b… Among the withies that do hide The stream, a-growen at the zide; An’ at the road athirt the wide

The woaken tree, a-beaet at night By stormy winds wi’ all their spit… Mid toss his lim’s, an’ ply, an’ m… Wi’ unknown struggles all alwone; An’ when the day do show his head,

When dewy fall’s red leaves do vle… Along the grass below the tree, Or lie in yollow beds a-shook Upon the shallow-water’d brook, Or drove 'ithin a sheaedy nook;

The brook I left below the rank Ov alders that do sheaede his bank… A-runnen down to dreve the mill Below the knap, 's a runnen still; The creepen days an’ weeks do vill

Why, rain or sheen, or blow or sno… I zaid, if I could stand so’s, I’d come, vor all a friend or foe, To sheaeke ye by the hand, so’s; An’ spend, wi’ kinsvo’k near an’ d…

Upon the hedge theaese bank did be… Wi’ lwonesome thought untwold in w… I woonce did work, wi’ noo sound t… But my own strokes, an’ chirpen bi… As down the west the zun went wan,

When music, in a heart that’s true… Do kindle up wold loves anew, An’ dim wet eyes, in feaeirest lig… Do zee but inward fancy’s zights; When creepen years, wi’ with’ren b…

The church do zeem a touchen zight… When vo’k, a-comen in at door, Do softly tread the long-ail’d vlo… Below the pillar’d arches’ height, Wi’ bells a-pealen,

When from the child, that still is… By hand, a father’s hand is gone,— Or when a few-year’d mother dead Has left her children growing on,— When men have left their children…

If souls should only sheen so brig… In heaven as in e’thly light, An’ nothen better wer the ceaese, How comely still, in sheaepe an’ f… Would many reach thik happy pleaec…