maidens, mornen, noon, an' night,
A-gwain down steps vor water.

ELLEN BRINE OV ALLENBURN.

Noo soul did hear her lips complain,
An' she's a-gone vrom all her pain,
An' others' loss to her is gain
For she do live in heaven's love;
Vull many a longsome day an' week
She bore her ailen, still, an' meek;
A-worken while her strangth held on,
An' guiden housework, when 'twer gone.
Vor Ellen Brine ov Allenburn,
Oh! there be souls to murn.

The last time I'd a-cast my zight
Upon her feaece, a-feaeded white,
Wer in a zummer's mornen light
In hall avore the smwold'ren vier,
The while the childern beaet the vloor,
In play, wi' tiny shoes they wore,
An' call'd their mother's eyes to view
The feaet's their little limbs could do.
Oh! Ellen Brine ov Allenburn,
They childern now mus' murn.

Then woone, a-stoppen vrom his reaece,
Went up, an' on her knee did pleaece
His hand, a-looken in her feaece,
An' wi' a smilen mouth so small,
He zaid, "You promised us to goo
To Shroton feaeir, an' teaeke us two!"
She heaerd it wi' her two white ears,
An' in her eyes there sprung two tears,
Vor Ellen Brine ov Allenburn
Did veel that they mus' murn.

September come, wi' Shroton feaeir,
But Ellen Brine wer never there!
A heavy heart wer on the meaere
Their father rod his hwomeward road.
'Tis true he brought zome feaerens back,
Vor them two childern all in black;
But they had now, wi' playthings new,
Noo mother vor to shew em to,
Vor Ellen Brine ov Allenburn
Would never mwore return.

THE MOTHERLESS CHILD.

The zun'd a-zet back tother night,
But in the zetten pleaece
The clouds, a-redden'd by his light,
Still glow'd avore my feaece.
An' I've a-lost my Meaery's smile,
I thought; but still I have her chile,
Zoo like her, that my eyes can treaece
The mother's in her daughter's feaece.
O little feaece so near to me,
An' like thy mother's gone; why need I zay
Sweet night cloud, wi' the glow o' my lost day,
Thy looks be always dear to me.
The zun'd a-zet another night;
But, by the moon on high,
He still did zend us back his light
Below a cwolder sky.
My Meaery's in a better land
I thought, but still her chile's at hand,
An' in her chile she'll zend me on
Her love, though she herzelf's a-gone.
O little chile so near to me,
An' like thy mother gone; why need I zay,
Swe