Sundry Pieces: The Girt Wold House o’ Mossy Stwone
The girt wold house o’ mossy stwone,
Up there upon the knap alwone,
Had woonce a bleaezen kitchen-vier,
That cook’d vor poor-vo’k an’ a squier.
The very last ov all the reaece
That liv’d the squier o’ the pleaece,
Died off when father wer a-born,
An’ now his kin be all vorlorn
Vor ever,—vor he left noo son
To teaeke the house o’ mossy stwone.
An’ zoo he vell to other hands,
An’ gramfer took en wi’ the lands:
An’ there when he, poor man, wer dead,
My father shelter’d my young head.
An’ if I wer a squier, I
Should like to spend my life, an’ die
In thik wold house o’ mossy stwone,
Up there upon the knap alwone.
Don’t talk ov housen all o’ brick,
Wi’ rocken walls nine inches thick,
A-trigg’d together zide by zide
In streets, wi’ fronts a straddle wide,
Wi’ yards a-sprinkled wi’ a mop,
Too little vor a vrog to hop;
But let me live an’ die where I
Can zee the ground, an’ trees, an’ sky.
The girt wold house o’ mossy stwone
Had wings vor either sheaede or zun:
Woone where the zun did glitter drough,
When vu’st he struck the mornen dew;
Woone feaeced the evenen sky, an’ woone
Push’d out a pworch to zweaty noon:
Zoo woone stood out to break the storm,
An’ meaede another lew an’ warm.
An’ there the timber’d copse rose high,
Where birds did build an’ heaeres did lie,
An’ beds o’ graegles in the lew,
Did deck in May the ground wi’ blue.
An’ there wer hills an’ slopen grounds,
That they did ride about wi’ hounds;
An’ drough the meaed did creep the brook
Wi’ bushy bank an’ rushy nook,
Where perch did lie in sheaedy holes
Below the alder trees, an’ shoals
O’ gudgeon darted by, to hide
Theirzelves in hollows by the zide.
An’ there by leaenes a-winden deep,
Wer mossy banks a-risen steep;
An’ stwonen steps, so smooth an’ wide,
To stiles an’ vootpaths at the zide.
An’ there, so big’s a little ground,
The geaerden wer a-wall’d all round:
An’ up upon the wall wer bars
A-sheaeped all out in wheels an’ stars,
Vor vo’k to walk, an’ look out drough
Vrom trees o’ green to hills o’ blue.
An’ there wer walks o’ peaevement, broad
Enough to meaeke a carriage-road,
Where steaetely leaedies woonce did use
To walk wi’ hoops an’ high-heel shoes,
When yonder hollow woak wer sound,
Avore the walls wer ivy-bound,
Avore the elems met above
The road between em, where they drove
Their coach all up or down the road
A-comen hwome or gwain abroad.
The zummer air o’ theaese green hill
‘V a-heav’d in bosoms now all still,
An’ all their hopes an’ all their tears
Be unknown things ov other years.
But if, in heaven, souls be free
To come back here; or there can be
An e’thly pleaece to meaeke em come
To zee it vrom a better hwome,—
Then what’s a-twold us mid be right,
That still, at dead o’ tongueless night,
Their gauzy sheaepes do come an’ glide
By vootways o’ their youthvul pride.
An’ while the trees do stan’ that grow’d
Vor them, or walls or steps they know’d
Do bide in pleaece, they’ll always come
To look upon their e’thly hwome.
Zoo I would always let alwone
The girt wold house o’ mossy stwone:
I woulden pull a wing o’n down,
To meaeke ther speechless sheaedes to frown;
Vor when our souls, mid woonce become
Lik’ their’s, all bodiless an’ dumb,
How good to think that we mid vind
Zome thought vrom them we left behind,
An’ that zome love mid still unite
The hearts o’ blood wi’ souls o’ light.
Zoo, if 'twer mine, I’d let alwone
The girt wold house o’ mossy stwone.
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