'nt a-vound,
The sweets o' week's-end comen round!
When Zadurday do bring woone's mind
Sweet thoughts o' Zunday clwose behind;
The day that's all our own to spend
Wi' God an' wi' an e'thly friend.
The worold's girt vo'k, wi' the best
O' worldly goods mid be a-blest;
But Zunday is the poor man's peaert,
To seaeve his soul an' cheer his heart.

THE MEAD A-MOW'D.

When sheaedes do vall into ev'ry hollow,
An' reach vrom trees half athirt the groun';
An' banks an' walls be a-looken yollow,
That be a-turn'd to the zun gwain down;
Drough hay in cock, O,
We all do vlock, O,
Along our road vrom the meaed a-mow'd.

An' when the last swayen lwoad's a-started
Up hill so slow to the lofty rick,
Then we so weary but merry-hearted,
Do shoulder each [=o]'s a reaeke an' pick,
Wi' empty flagon,
Behind the waggon,
To teaeke our road vrom the meaed a-mow'd.

When church is out, an' we all so slowly
About the knap be a-spreaden wide,
How gay the paths be where we do strolly
Along the leaene an' the hedge's zide;
But nwone's a voun', O,
Up hill or down, O,
So gay's the road drough the meaed a-mow'd.

An' when the visher do come, a-drowen
His flutt'ren line over bleaedy zedge,
Drough groun's wi' red thissle-heads a-blowen,
An' watchen o't by the water's edge;
Then he do love, O,
The best to rove, O,
Along his road drough the meaed a-mow'd.

THE SKY A-CLEAREN.

The dreven scud that overcast
The zummer sky is all a-past,
An' softer air, a-blowen drough
The quiv'ren boughs, do sheaeke the vew
Last rain drops off the leaves lik' dew;
An' peaeviers, now a-getten dry,
Do steam below the zunny sky
That's now so vast a-cleaeren.

The sheaedes that wer a-lost below
The stormy cloud, ageaen do show
Their mocken sheaepes below the light;
An' house-walls be a-looken white,
An' vo'k do stir woonce mwore in zight,
An' busy birds upon the wing
Do whiver roun' the boughs an' zing,
To zee the sky a-clearen.

Below the hill's an ash; below
The ash, white elder-flow'rs do blow:
Below the elder is a bed
O' robinhoods o' blushen red;
An' there, wi' nunches all a-spread,
The hay-meaekers, wi' each a cup
O' drink, do smile to zee hold up
The rain, an' sky a-cleaeren.

'Mid blushen