he feaeir worold wer new,
An' life wer all hopevul an' gay;
An' the times o' the sprouten o' leaves,
An' the cheaek-burnen seasons o' mowen,
An' binden o' red-headed sheaves,
Wer all welcome seasons o' jay.

Then the housen seem'd high, that be low,
An' the brook did seem wide that is narrow,
An' time, that do vlee, did goo slow,
An' veelens now feeble wer strong,
An' our worold did end wi' the neaemes
Ov the Sha'sbury Hill or Bulbarrow;
An' life did seem only the geaemes
That we play'd as the days rolled along.

Then the rivers, an' high-timber'd lands,
An' the zilvery hills, 'ithout buyen,
Did seem to come into our hands
Vrom others that own'd em avore;
An' all zickness, an' sorrow, an' need,
Seem'd to die wi' the wold vo'k a-dyen,
An' leaeve us vor ever a-freed
Vrom evils our vorefathers bore.

But happy be childern the while
They have elders a-liven to love em,
An' teaeke all the wearisome tweil
That zome hands or others mus' do;
Like the low-headed shrubs that be warm,
In the lewth o' the trees up above em,
A-screen'd vrom the cwold blowen storm
That the timber avore em must rue.

MEAeRY'S SMILE.

When mornen winds, a-blowen high,
Do zweep the clouds vrom all the sky,
An' laurel-leaves do glitter bright,
The while the newly broken light
Do brighten up, avore our view,
The vields wi' green, an' hills wi' blue;
What then can highten to my eyes
The cheerful feaece ov e'th an' skies,
But Meaery's smile, o' Morey's Mill,
My rwose o' Mowy Lea.

An' when, at last, the evenen dews
Do now begin to wet our shoes;
An' night's a-riden to the west,
To stop our work, an' gi'e us rest,
Oh! let the candle's ruddy gleaere
But brighten up her sheenen heaeir;
Or else, as she do walk abroad,
Let moonlight show, upon the road,
My Meaery's smile, o' Morey's Mill,
My rwose o' Mowy Lea.

An' O! mid never tears come on,
To wash her feaece's blushes wan,
Nor kill her smiles that now do play
Like sparklen weaeves in zunny May;
But mid she still, vor all she's gone
Vrom souls she now do smile upon,
Show others they can vind woone jay
To turn the hardest work to play.
My Meaery's smile, o' Morey's Mill,
My rwose o' Mowy Lea.

MEAeRY WEDDED.

The zun can zink, the stars mid rise,
An' woods be green to sheenen skies;
The cock mid crow to mornen ligh