Fine weather on his brow,
As he, in happy work, do kneel
Up roun' the new-built mow,
That now do zwell in sich a size,
An' rise to sich a height,
That, oh! the miller's wistful eyes
Do sparkle at the zight
An' long mid stand,
A happy band,
To till the land,
Wi' head an' hand,
By crowns o' Do'set Downs, O.

THE MEAeD IN JUNE.

Ah! how the looks o' sky an' ground
Do change wi' months a-stealen round,
When northern winds, by starry night,
Do stop in ice the river's flight;
Or brooks in winter rains do zwell,
Lik' rollen seas athirt the dell;
Or trickle thin in zummer-tide;
Among the mossy stwones half dried;
But still, below the zun or moon,
The fearest vield's the meaed in June.

An' I must own, my heart do beaet
Wi' pride avore my own blue geaete,
Where I can bid the steaetely tree
Be cast, at langth, avore my knee;
An' clover red, an' deaezies feair,
An' gil'cups wi' their yollow gleaere,
Be all a-match'd avore my zight
By wheelen buttervlees in flight,
The while the burnen zun at noon
Do sheen upon my meaed in June.

An' there do zing the swingen lark
So gay's above the finest park,
An' day do sheaede my trees as true
As any steaetely avenue;
An' show'ry clouds o' Spring do pass
To shed their rain on my young grass,
An' air do blow the whole day long,
To bring me breath, an' teaeke my zong,
An' I do miss noo needvul boon
A-gi'ed to other meaeds in June.

An' when the bloomen rwose do ride
Upon the boughy hedge's zide,
We haymeaekers, in snow-white sleeves,
Do work in sheaedes o' quiv'ren leaves,
In afternoon, a-liften high
Our reaekes avore the viery sky,
A-reaeken up the hay a-dried
By day, in lwongsome weaeles, to bide
In chilly dew below the moon,
O' shorten'd nights in zultry June.

An' there the brook do softly flow
Along, a-benden in a bow,
An' vish, wi' zides o' zilver-white,
Do flash vrom shoals a dazzlen light;
An' alders by the water's edge,
Do sheaede the ribbon-bleaeded zedge,
An' where, below the withy's head,
The zwimmen clote-leaves be a-spread,
The angler is a-zot at noon
Upon the flow'ry bank in June.

Vor all the aier that do bring
My little meaed the breath o' Spring,
By day an' night's a-flowen wide
Above all other vields bezide;
Vor all the zun above my ground
'S a-zent vor all the nai