f'd sheep, in vleeces white,
Wi' quickly-panken zides, do bite
My thymy grass, a-mark'd vor me
In black, T. D., at Meldonley.

THE NEW HOUSE A-GETTEN WOLD.

Ah! when our wedded life begun,
Theaese clean-wall'd house of ours wer new;
Wi' thatch as yollor as the zun
Avore the cloudless sky o' blue;
The sky o' blue that then did bound
The blue-hilled worold's flow'ry ground.

An' we've a-vound it weather-brown'd,
As Spring-tide blossoms oben'd white,
Or Fall did shed, on zunburnt ground,
Red apples from their leafy height:
Their leafy height, that Winter soon
Left leafless to the cool-feaeced moon.

An' rain-bred moss ha' stain'd wi' green
The smooth-feaeced wall's white-morter'd streaks,
The while our childern zot between
Our seats avore the fleaeme's red peaks:
The fleaeme's red peaks, till axan white
Did quench em vor the long-sleep'd night.

The bloom that woonce did overspread
Your rounded cheaek, as time went by,
A-shrinken to a patch o' red,
Did feaede so soft's the evenen sky:
The evenen sky, my faithful wife,
O' days as feaeir's our happy life.

ZUNDAY.

In zummer, when the sheaedes do creep
Below the Zunday steeple, round
The mossy stwones, that love cut deep
Wi' neaemes that tongues noo mwore do sound,
The leaene do lose the stalken team,
An' dry-rimm'd waggon-wheels be still,
An' hills do roll their down-shot stream
Below the resten wheel at mill.
O holy day, when tweil do ceaese,
Sweet day o' rest an' greaece an' peaece!

The eegrass, vor a while unwrung
By hoof or shoe, 's a sheenen bright,
An' clover flowers be a-sprung
On new-mow'd knaps in beds o' white,
An' sweet wild rwoses, up among
The hedge-row boughs, do yield their smells.
To aier that do bear along
The loud-rung peals o' Zunday bells,
Upon the day o' days the best,
The day o' greaece an' peaece an' rest.

By brightshod veet, in peaeir an' peaeir,
Wi' comely steps the road's a-took
To church, an' work-free han's do beaer
Woone's walken stick or sister's book;
An' there the bloomen niece do come
To zee her aunt, in all her best;
Or married daughter do bring hwome
Her vu'st sweet child upon her breast,
As she do seek the holy pleaece,
The day o' rest an' peaece an' greaece.

THE PILLAR'D GEAeTE.

As I come by, zome years agoo,
A-burnt b