ghs a-stoopen low;
While culvers in the trees did coo
Above the vallen dew.

An' there, wi' heaeir o' glossy black,
Bezide your neck an' down your back,
You rambled gay a-bloomen feaeir;
By boughs o' may a-bloomen feaeir;
An' while the birds did twitter nigh,
An' water weaeves did glitter nigh,
You gather'd cowslips in the lew,
Below the vallen dew.

An' now, while you've a-been my bride
As years o' flow'rs ha' bloom'd an' died,
Your smilen feaece ha' been my jay;
Your soul o' greaece ha' been my jay;
An' wi' my evenen rest a-come,
An' zunsheen to the west a-come,
I'm glad to teaeke my road to you
Vrom vields o' vallen dew.

An' when the rain do wet the may,
A-bloomen where we woonce did stray,
An' win' do blow along so vast,
An' streams do flow along so vast;
Ageaen the storms so rough abroad,
An' angry tongues so gruff abroad,
The love that I do meet vrom you
Is lik' the vallen dew.

An' you be sprack's a bee on wing,
In search ov honey in the Spring:
The dawn-red sky do meet ye up;
The birds vu'st cry do meet ye up;
An' wi' your feaece a-smilen on,
An' busy hands a-tweilen on,
You'll vind zome useful work to do
Until the vallen dew.

THE WIFE A-LOST.

Since I noo mwore do zee your feaece,
Up steaeirs or down below,
I'll zit me in the lwonesome pleaece,
Where flat-bough'd beech do grow:
Below the beeches' bough, my love,
Where you did never come,
An' I don't look to meet ye now,
As I do look at hwome.

Since you noo mwore be at my zide,
In walks in zummer het,
I'll goo alwone where mist do ride,
Drough trees a-drippen wet:
Below the rain-wet bough, my love,
Where you did never come,
An' I don't grieve to miss ye now,
As I do grieve at home.

Since now bezide my dinner-bwoard
Your vaice do never sound,
I'll eat the bit I can avword,
A-vield upon the ground;
Below the darksome bough, my love,
Where you did never dine,
An' I don't grieve to miss ye now,
As I at hwome do pine.

Since I do miss your vaice an' feaece
In prayer at eventide,
I'll pray wi' woone said vaice vor greaece
To goo where you do bide;
Above the tree an' bough, my love,
Where you be gone avore,
An' be a-waiten vor me now,
To come vor evermwore.

THE THORNS IN THE GEAeTE.

Ah! Meaester Collins overtook
Our knot o' vo'k