Don’t try to win a maiden’s heart,
To leaeve her in her love,—'tis wrong:
’Tis bitter to her soul to peaert
Wi’ woone that is her sweetheart long.
A maid’s vu’st love is always strong;
An’ if do fail, she’ll linger on,
Wi’ all her best o’ pleasure gone,
An’ hope a-left behind her.
Thy poor lost Jenny wer a-grow’d
So kind an’ thoughtvul vor her years,
When she did meet wi’ vo’k a-know’d
The best, her love did speak in tears.
She walk’d wi’ thee, an’ had noo fears
O’ thy unkindness, till she zeed
Herzelf a-cast off lik’ a weed,
An’ hope a-left behind her.
Thy slight turn’d peaele her cherry lip;
Her sorrow, not a-zeed by eyes,
Wer lik’ the mildew, that do nip
A bud by darksome midnight skies.
The day mid come, the zun mid rise,
But there’s noo hope o’ day nor zun;
The storm ha’ blow’d, the harm’s a-done,
An’ hope’s a-left behind her.
The time will come when thou wouldst gi’e
The worold vor to have her smile,
Or meet her by the parrock tree,
Or catch her jumpen off the stile;
Thy life’s avore thee vor a while,
But thou wilt turn thy mind in time,
An’ zee the deed as ’tis,—a crime,
An’ hope a-left behind thee.
Zoo never win a maiden’s heart,
But her’s that is to be thy bride,
An’ play drough life a manly peaert,
An’ if she’s true when time ha’ tried
Her mind, then teaeke her by thy zide.
True love will meaeke thy hardships light,
True love will meaeke the worold bright,
When hope’s a-left behind thee.
Other works by William Barnes...
