ing below a cloudless sky.
An' sparrows, clust'ren roun' the bough,
Mid chatter to the men at plough,--
The blackbird, whisslen in among
The boughs, do zing the gayest zong.

Vor we do hear the blackbird zing
His sweetest ditties in the spring,
When nippen win's noo mwore do blow
Vrom northern skies, wi' sleet or snow,
But dr[=e]ve light doust along between
The leaene-zide hedges, thick an' green;
An' zoo the blackbird in among
The boughs do zing the gayest zong.

'Tis blithe, wi' newly-open'd eyes,
To zee the mornen's ruddy skies;
Or, out a-haulen frith or lops
Vrom new-pl[=e]sh'd hedge or new-vell'd copse,
To rest at noon in primrwose beds
Below the white-bark'd woak-trees' heads;
But there's noo time, the whole daey long,
Lik' evenen wi' the blackbird's zong.

Vor when my work is all a-done
Avore the zetten o' the zun,
Then blushen Jeaene do walk along
The hedge to meet me in the drong,
An' stay till all is dim an' dark
Bezides the ashen tree's white bark;
An' all bezides the blackbird's shrill
An' runnen evenen-whissle's still.

An' there in bwoyhood I did rove
Wi' pryen eyes along the drove
To vind the nest the blackbird meaede
O' grass-stalks in the high bough's sheaede:
Or clim' aloft, wi' clingen knees,
Vor crows' aggs up in swayen trees,
While frighten'd blackbirds down below
Did chatter o' their little foe.
An' zoo there's noo pleaece lik' the drong,
Where I do hear the blackbird's zong.

WOODCOM' FEAST.

Come, Fanny, come! put on thy white,
'Tis Woodcom' feaest, good now! to-night.
Come! think noo mwore, you silly maid,
O' chicken drown'd, or ducks a-stray'd;
Nor mwope to vind thy new frock's tail
A-tore by hitchen in a nail;
Nor grieve an' hang thy head azide,
A-thinken o' thy lam' that died.
The flag's a-vleen wide an' high,
An' ringen bells do sheaeke the sky;
The fifes do play, the horns do roar,
An' boughs be up at ev'ry door:
They 'll be a-dancen soon,--the drum
'S a-rumblen now. Come, Fanny, come!
Why father's gone, an' mother too.
They went up leaene an hour agoo;
An' at the green the young and wold
Do stan' so thick as sheep in vwold:
The men do laugh, the bwoys do shout,--
Come out you mwopen wench, come out,
An' go wi' me, an' show at leaest
Bright eyes an' smiles at Woodcom' feaest.

Come, let's goo out, an' fling our heels
About in ji