Yorkshire Lyrics Poems written in the Dialect as Spoken in the West Riding of Yorkshire. To which are added a Selection of Fugitive Verses not in the Dialect

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Yorkshire Lyrics, by John Hartley

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Title: Yorkshire Lyrics Poems written in the Dialect as Spoken in the West Riding of Yorkshire. To which are added a Selection of Fugitive Verses not in the Dialect

Author: John Hartley

Release Date: October 5, 2006 [EBook #19470]

Language: English

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK YORKSHIRE LYRICS ***

Produced by Alison Bush

Yorkshire Lyrics.

Poems written in the dialect as spoken in the West Riding of Yorkshire.

 To which are added a selection of Fugitive Verses not in the dialect.

                           By John Hartley,

          Author of Clock Almanack, Yorkshire Puddin,

                      Yorkshire Tales &c, &c,

                 "It has not been my lot to pore

                 O'er ancient tomes of Classic lore,

                    Or quaff Castalia's springs;

                 Yet sometimes the observant eye

                 May germs of poetry descry

                    In plain and common things."

  London: W. Nicholson & Sons, Limited, 26, Paternoster Square, E. C.

                      and Albion Works, Wakefield.

                          Dedication.

              To my dear daughter, Annie Sophie,

        this collection of dialect verses is dedicated,

                 as a token of sincere love.

               John Hartley. Christmas, 1898.

Contents.

Mi Darling Muse.

To a Daisy, Found blooming March 7th.

Mi Bonny Yorksher Lass.

Give it 'em Hot.

A Tale for th' Childer, on Christmas Eve.

Words ov Kindness.

A Brussen Bubble.

Th' Little Stranger.

Th' Traitle Sop.

Once agean Welcome.

Still true to Nell.

Bide thi Time.

A Cold Dooas.

A Jolly Beggar.

Aw Wodn't for all aw Could See.

Come thi Ways!

What is it?

Awst Nivver be Jaylus.

Lamentin' an Repentin'.

Bite Bigger.

Second Thowts.

A Neet when aw've Nowt to do.

Ther's much Expected.

Coortin Days.

Sweet Mistress Moore.

Waivin Mewsic.

Jimmy's Choice.

Old Moorcock.

Th' Short-Timer.

Sol an' Doll.

Their Fred.

Love an' Labor.

Nooan so Bad.

Th' Honest Hard Worker.

Peevish Poll.

The Old Bachelor's Story.

Did yo Ivver!

A Quiet Tawk.

Lines, on Startling a Rabbit.

Nivver Heed.

Gronfayther's Days.

Awr Dooad.

Whear Natur Missed it.

That's All.

Mary Hanner's Peanner.

Grondad's Lullaby.

Sixty, Turned, To-day.

That Lad Next Door.

A Summer Shaar.

Awr Lad.

Bonny Mary Ann.

That Christmas Puddin.

A Bad Sooart.

Fairly Weel-off.

A Warnin.

To W. F. Wallett. The Queen's Jester.

Lads an Lasses.

A New Year's Gift.

Matty's Reason.

Uncle Ben.

A Hawporth.

Th' Better Part.

Th' Lesser Evil.

Take Heart!

They all do it.

To Let.

Lost Love. (appeared twice in the paper book)

Drink.

Duffin Johnny. (A Rifleman's Adventure.)

Plenty o' Brass.

The New Year's Resolve.

A Strange Stooary.

What Wor it?

Billy Bumble's Bargain.

Aght o' Wark.

That's a Fact.

Babby Burds.

Queen ov Skircoit Green.

Th' Little Black Hand.

My Native Twang.

Sing On.

Shoo's thi Sister.

Another Babby.

To a Roadside Flower.

An Old Man's Christmas Morning.

Settin Off.

To th' Swallow.

A Wife.

Heart Brokken.

Lines, on finding a butterfly in a weaving shed.

Rejected.

Persevere.

A Pointer.

An Acrostic.

Help Thisen.

Bless 'em!

Act Square.

His Dowter Gate Wed.

All We Had.

Th' First o'th Sooart.

Poor Old Hat.

Done Agean.

What it is to be a Mother.

What they say.

Young Jockey.

Missed his Mark.

When Lost.

Mak a Gooid Start.

Stop at Hooam.

Advice to Jenny.

Jockey an Dolly.

Dooant Forget the Old Fowks.

Soa Bonny.

The Linnet.

Mary Jane.

Aw Dooant Care.

My Lass.

A Gooid Kursmiss Day.

Mi Love's Come Back.

A Wife.

All Tawk.

Aw Can't Tell.

Happen Thine.

Contrasts.

To Mally.

Th' State o' th' Poll. A nop tickle illusion.

Try a Smile.

Growin Old.

Gooid Bye, Old Lad.

That Drabbled Brat.

Song for th' Hard Times, (1879.)

Stir thi Lass!

Tother Day.

Happy Sam's Song.

Gradely Weel off.

Is it Reight?

A Yorksher Bite.

Lily's Gooan.

What aw Want.

Latter Wit.

A Millionaire.

Mi Fayther's Pipe.

Let th' Lasses Alooan!

A Breet Prospect.

Missin Yor Way.

Heather Bells.

A Lucky Dog.

My Doctrine.

That Lass.

Mi Old Umberel

What it Comes to.

Hold up yer Heeads.

A Quiet Day.

Lass o'th Haley Hill.

Ditherum Dump.

My Polly.

Love one Another.

Dick an Me.

Briggate at Setterdy Neet.

Awr Annie.

Peter Prime's Principles.

Cuckoo!

Fowk Next Door.

Dad's Lad.

Willie's Weddin.

Somdy's Chonce.

To a True Friend.

Warmin Pan.

It may be Soa.

A Safe Investment.

Red Stockin.

Plain Jane.

Cash V. Cupid.

Mary's Bonnet.

Prime October.

Old Dave to th' New Parson.

Tom Grit.

Th' Demon o' Debt.

Th' Lad 'at Loves his Mother.

Matilda Jane.

Modest Jack o' Wibsey Slack.

Work Lads!

Bonny Yorksher.

Sixty an Sixteen.

Come thi Ways in.

Horton Tide.

Mi Old Slippers.

A Friend to Me.

A Pair o' Black Een.

A Screw Lawse.

A Sad Mishap.

If.

A True Tale.

Peter's Prayer.

Mak th' Best Ont.

On Strike.

Be Happy.

Its True.

Natty Nancy.

Fugitive poems.

Angels of Sunderland. In Memoriam, June 16th, 1893.

Trusting Still.

Shiver the Goblet.

Little Sunshine.

Passing Events.

Those Days have Gone.

I'd a Dream.

To my Harp.

Backward Turn, Oh! Recollection.

Alice.

Looking Back.

I Know I Love Thee

Bachelors Quest.

Waiting at the Gate.

Love.

Do your Best and Leave the Rest.

To my Daughter on her Birthday.

Remorse.

My Queen

Now and Then.

The Open Gates.

Blue Bells.

A Song of the Snow

Hide not thy Face.

In my Garden of Roses.

The Match Girl.

De Profundis.

Nettie.

The Dean's Brother.

I Would not Live Alway.

Too Late.

On the Banks of the Calder.

Lines on Receiving a Bunch of Wild Hyacinths by Post.

November's Here.

Mary.

When Cora Died.

The Violet.

Repentant.

Sunset.

Poetry and Prose.

Years Ago.

Somebody's.

Claude.

All on a Christmas Morning.

Once Upon a Time.

Nearing Home.

Those Tiny Fingers.

Lilly-White Hand.

Shut Out.

Charming May.

Who Cares?

Mi Darling Muse.

Mi darlin' Muse, aw coax and pet her,

To pleeas yo, for aw like nowt better;

An' if aw find aw connot get her

         To lend her aid,

Into foorced measure then aw set her,

         The stupid jade!

An' if mi lines dooant run as spreetly,

Nor beam wi gems o' wit soa breetly,

Place all the blame,—yo'll place it reightly,

         Upon her back;

To win her smile aw follow neetly,

         Along her track.

Maybe shoo thinks to stop mi folly,

An let me taste o' melancholy;

But just to spite her awl be jolly,

         An say mi say;

Awl fire away another volley

         Tho' shoo says Nay.

We've had some happy times together,

For monny years we've stretched our tether,

An as aw dunnot care a feather

         For fowk 'at grummel,

We'll have another try. Aye! whether

         We stand or tummel.

Sometimes th' reward for all us trubble,

Has been a crop o' scrunty stubble,

But th' harvest someday may be double,

         At least we'll trust it;

An them 'at say it's but a bubble,

         We'll leeav to brust it.

To a Daisy, Found blooming March 7th.

A'a awm feeared tha's come too sooin,

         Little daisy!

Pray, whativer wor ta doin?

         Are ta crazy?

Winter winds are blowin' yet,—

Tha'll be starved, mi little pet.

Did a gleam o' sunshine warm thee,

         An' deceive thee?

Niver let appearance charm thee,

         For believe me,

Smiles tha'll find are oft but snares,

Laid to catch thee unawares.

Still aw think it luks a shame,

         To tawk sich stuff;

Aw've lost faith, an' tha'll do th' same,

         Hi, sooin enuff.

If tha'rt happy as tha art

Trustin' must be th' wisest part.

Come, aw'll pile some bits o' stooan,

         Raand thi dwellin';

They may screen thee when aw've gooanm,

         Ther's no tellin';

An' when gentle spring draws near

Aw'll release thee, niver fear.

An' if then thi pretty face,

         Greets me smilin';

Aw may come an' sit bith' place,

         Time beguilin';

Glad to think aw'd paar to be,

Of some use, if but to thee.

Mi Bonny Yorksher Lass.

Aw've travelled East, West, North, an South,

   An led a rooamin' life;

Aw've met wi things ov stirlin' worth,

   Aw've shared wi joy an strife;

Aw've kept a gooid stiff upper lip,

   Whativver's come to pass:

But th' captain of mi Fortun's ship,

   Has been mi Yorksher Lass.

Storm-tossed, sails rent, an reckonin' lost,

   A toy for wind an wave;

Mid blindin' fog an snow an frost,

   Aw've thowt noa power could save;

But ivver in the darkest day,

   Wi muscles strong as brass,

To some safe port shoo's led the way,—

   Mi honest Yorksher Lass.

Shoo's fair,—all Yorksher lasses are,—

   Shoo's bonny as the rest,

Her brow ne'er shows a line o' care,

   Shoo thinks what is, is best.

Shoo's lovin', true, an full o' pluck,

   An it seems as clear as glass,

'At th' lad is sewer to meet gooid luck

   'At weds a Yorksher Lass.

Ther's oriental beauties, an'

   Grand fowk ov ivvery grade,

But when it comes to honest worth,

    Shoo puts 'em all ith' shade,

For wi her charms an virtues,

   Shoo stands at top o'th' class;

Ther's nooan soa rare as can compare,

   Wi a bonny Yorksher Lass,

Then here's to th' Yorksher lasses!

   Whearivver they may be;

Ther worth ther's nooan surpasses,

    An ther's nooan as brave an free!

If awd to live life o'er ageean,

    Awd think misen an ass,

If aw didn't tak for company,

    A bonny Yorksher lass.

Give it 'em Hot.

Give it 'em hot, an be hanged to ther feelins!

   Souls may be lost wol yor choosin' yor words!

Out wi' them doctrines 'at taich o' fair dealins!

   Daan wi' a vice tho' it may be a lord's!

What does it matter if truth be unpleasant?

   Are we to lie a man's pride to exalt!

Why should a prince be excused, when a peasant

   Is bullied an' blamed for a mich smaller fault?

O, ther's too mich o' that sneakin and bendin;

   An honest man still should be fearless and bold;

But at this day fowk seem to be feeared ov offendin,

   An' they'll bow to a cauf if it's nobbut o' gold.

Give me a crust tho' it's dry, an' a hard 'en,

   If aw know it's my own aw can ait it wi' glee;

Aw'd rayther bith hauf work all th' day for a farden,

   Nor haddle a fortun wi' bendin' mi knee.

Let ivery man by his merit be tested,

   Net by his pocket or th' clooas on his back;

Let hypocrites all o' ther clooaks be divested,

   An' what they're entitled to, that let em tak.

Give it 'em hot! but remember when praichin,

   All yo 'at profess others failins to tell,

'At yo'll do far moor gooid wi' yor tawkin an' taichin,

   If yo set an example, an' improve yorsel.

A Tale for th' Childer, on Christmas Eve.

Little childer,—little childer;

   Harken to an old man's ditty;

Tho yo live ith' country village,—

   Tho yo live ith' busy city.

Aw've a little tale to tell yo,—

   One 'at ne'er grows stale wi' tellin,—

It's abaat One who to save yo,

   Here amang men made His dwellin.

Riches moor nor yo can fancy,—

   Moor nor all this world has in it,—

He gave up becoss He loved yo,

   An He's lovin yo this minnit.

All His power, pomp and glory,

   Which to think on must bewilder,—

All He left,—an what for think yo?

   Just for love ov little childer.

In a common, lowly stable

   He wor laid, an th' stars wor twinklin,

As if angel's 'een wor peepin

   On His face 'at th' dew wor sprinklin.

An one star, like a big lantern,

   Shepherds who ther flocks wor keepin,

Saw, an foller'd till it rested

   Just aboon whear He wor sleepin.

Then strange music an sweet voices

   Seem'd to sing reight aght o' Heaven,

"Unto us a child is born!

   Unto us a son is given!"

Then coom wise men thro strange nations,—

   Young men an men old an hoary,—

An they all knelt daan befoor Him,

   An araand Him shone a glory.

Then a King thowt he wod kill Him,

   Tho he reckoned net to mind Him,

But they went to a strange country,

   Whear this bad King couldn't find Him.

An He grew up strong and sturdy,

   An He sooin began His praichin,

An big craads stood raand to listen,

   An they wondered at His taichin.

Then some sed bad things abaat Him,

   Called Him names, laft at an jeered Him;—

Sed He wor a base imposter,

   For they hated, yet they feeard Him.

Some believed in His glad tidins,—

   Saw Him cure men ov ther blindness,—

Saw Him make once-deead fowk livin,

   Saw Him full o' love an kindness.

Wicked men at last waylaid Him,

   Drag'd Him off to jail and tried Him,

Tho noa fault they could find in Him,

   Yet they cursed an crucified Him.

Nubdy knows ha mich He suffered;

   But His work on earth wor ended:—

From the grave whear they had laid Him,

   Into Heaven He ascended.

Love like His may well bewilder,—

   Sinners weel may bow befoor Him;—

Nah He waits for th' little childer,

   Up in Heaven whear saints adore Him.

Think when sittin raand yor hearthstun,

   An the Kursmiss bells are ringing,

Ha He lived an died at yo may

   Join those angels in ther singin.

Words ov Kindness.

'Tis strange 'at fowk will be sich fooils

   To mak life net worth livin',

Fermentin' rows, creatin' mooils,

   Detractin' an' deceivin'.

To fratch an' worry day an' neet,

   Is sewerly wilful blindness,

When weel we know ther's nowt as sweet,

   As a few words spoke i' kindness.

Ther is noa heart withaat its grief,

   The gayest have some sadness;

But oft a kind word brings relief,

   An' sheds a ray ov gladness.

We ought to think of others moor,

   Nor ov ther pains be mindless;

We may bring joy to monny a door

   Wi' a few words spoke i' kindness.

A peevish spaik, a bitin' jest,

   'At may be thowtless spokken,

May be like keen edged dagger prest

   Throo some heart nearly brokken.

Then let love be awr rule o' life,

   This world's cares we shall find less;

For nowt can put an end to strife,

   Like a few words spoke i' kindness.

A Brussen Bubble.

Bet wor a stirrin, strappin lass,

   Shoo lived near Woodus Moor;—

An varry keen shoo wor for brass,

   Tho little wor her stoor.

Shoo'd wed for love—and as luck let,

   It proved a lucky hit;

A finer chap yo've seldom met,

   Or one wi better wit.

His name awm net inclined to tell,

   But he'd been kursend John;

An he wor rayther praad hissel,

   An anxious to get on.

At neet they'd sit an tawk, an plan,

   Some way to mend ther state;

What one chap's done another can,

   Sed Bet, let's get agate.

"This morn wol darnin socks for thee

   This thowt coom i' mi nop,

An do't we will if tha'll agree;—

   Let's start a little shop.

We'll sell all sooarts o' useful things

   'At ivverybody needs;

Like scaarin-stooan, an tape an pins,

   An buttons, sooap, an threeds.

An spice for th' childer,—castor oil,

   An traitle drink, an pies,

An kinlin wood, an maybe coil,

   Fresh yeast an hooks an eyes.

Corn plaisters, Bristol brick, an clay,

   Puttates, rewbub an salt;

An if that can't be made to pay,

   It willn't be my fault."

Th' idea's a gooid en, John replied,

   "We should ha done 't befoor;

Aw raillee think at if its tried,

   We'st neer luk back noa moor.

But whear's th' stock commin throo, mi lass?

   That's moor nor aw can tell;

Fowk willn't come an spend ther brass,

   Unless yo've stuff to sell."

"Why, wodn't th' maister lend a hand?

   Tha knows he's fond o' me;

A five paand nooat wod do it grand—

   Awd ax if aw wor thee."

An John did ax, an strange to say

   He gat it thear an then;

An Bet wor ne'er i' sich a way—

   Fairly besides hersen.

Soa th' haase wor turned into a shop,

   An praad they wor,—an Bet

Sed to hersen—"It luks tip top,

   Aw'st be a lady yet."

An th' naybors coom throo far an near,

   To buy a thing or two,

What they'd paid tuppence for,—why, here

   Bet made three awpence do.

When John coom home at neet, his wife

   Wor soa uncommon thrang,

At th' furst time in his wedded life,

   His drinkin time coom wrang.

He did his best to seem content,

   Till shuttin up time coom;

Why, lass, he said, thar't fairly spent,

   Tha's oppen'd wi a boom."

An ivvery day, to th' end o'th' wick

   Browt customers enuff;

But th' stock wor lukkin varry sick,

   For shoo'd sell'd all her stuff.

But then, shoo'd bowt a new silk gaon,

   An John a silk top hat,

An th' nicest easy chair ith' taan,

   An bits o' this an that.

An th' upshot wor, shoo'd spent all th' brass,

   An shoo'd nowt left to sell;

An what John sed,—aw'll let that pass

   For 'tisn't fit to tell.

Soa th' business brust, but Bet declares,

   'Twor nobbut want o' thowt,

For shoo'd sooin ha made a fortun,

   If th' stock had cost 'em nowt.

Th' Little Stranger.

Little bonny, bonny babby!

How tha stares, an' weel tha may,

For its but an haar or hardly

Sin' tha furst saw th' leet o' day.

A'a tha little knows, young moppet,

Ha awst have to tew for thee;

But may be when forced to drop it,

'At tha'll do a bit for me.

Are ta maddled mun amang it?

Does ta wonder what aw mean?

Aw should think tha does, but dang it,

Where's ta been to leearn to scream?

That's noa sooart o' mewsic, bless thi,

Dunnot peawt thi lip like that;

Mun, aw hardly dar to nurse thi,

Feared awst hurt thi, little brat.

Come, aw'll tak thi to thi mother,

Shoo's more used to sich nor me,

Hands like mine worn't made to bother

Wi sich ginger-breead as thee.

Innocent an' helpless craytur,

All soa pure an' undefiled,

If ther's ought belangs to heaven,

Lives o'th' earth, it is a child.

An' its hard to think 'at someday,

If tha'rt spared to weather throo,

'At tha'll be a man, an' someway

Have to feight life's battles too.

Kings an' Queens, an' lords an' ladies,

Once wor nowt noa moor to see,

An' th' warst wretch at hung o'th' gallows,

Once wor born as pure as thee.

An' what tha at last may come to,

God aboon us all can tell;

But aw hope 'at tha'll be lucky,

Even tho aw fail mysel.

Do aw ooin thi? its a pity,

Hush! nah prathi dunnot freat;

Goa an' snoozle to thi titty,

Tha'rt too young for trouble yet.

Th' Traitle Sop.

Once in a little country taan

   A grocer kept a shop,

And sell'd amang his other things,

   Prime traitle-drink and pop;

Teah, coffee, currans, spenish juice,

   Soft soap an' paader blue,

Presarves an' pickles, cinnamon,

   Allspice an' pepper too.

An' hoasts o' other sooarts o' stuff

   To sell to sich as came,

As figs, an' raisens, salt an' spice,

   Too numerous to name.

One summer's day a waggon stood

   Just opposite his door;

An' th' childer all gaped raand as if

   They'd ne'er seen one afoor.

An' in it wor a traitle cask,

   It wor a wopper too,

To get it aght they all wor fast

   Which iver way to do.

But wol they stood an' parley'd thear,

   Th' horse gave a sudden chuck,

An' aght it flew, an' bursting threw

   All th' traitle into th' muck.

Then th' childer laff'd an' clapp'd their hands,

   To them it seem'd rare fun;

But th' grocer ommost lost his wits

   When he saw th' traitle run.

He stamp'd an' raved, an' then declared

   He wodn't pay a meg!

An' th' carter vow'd until he did

   He wodn't stir a peg.

He said he'd done his business reight,—

   He'd brought it up to th' door,

An' thear it wor, an' noa fair chap

   Wod want him to do moor.

But wol they stamped, an' raved, an' swore,

   An' vented aght ther spleen,

Th' childer wor thrang enough, you're sure,

   All plaisterd up to th' een.

A neighbor chap saw th' state o' things,

   An' pitied ther distress,

An' begg'd em not to be soa sour

   Abaht soa sweet a mess;

An' tha'd be sour, th' owd grocer sed,

   "If th' job wor thine owd lad,

An' somdy wanted thee to pay

   For what tha'd niver had."

Th' fault isn't mine, said th' cart driver,

   "My duty's done I hope?

I've brought him traitle, thear it is,

   An' he mun sam it up."

Soa th' neighbor left em to thersen,

   He'd nowt noa moor to say,

But went to guard what ther wor left,

   An' send th' young brood away.

This didn't suit th' young lads a bit,—

   They didn't mean to stop,

They felt detarmin'd that they'd get

   Another traitle sop.

They tried all ways but th' chap stood firm,

   They couldn't get a lick,

An' some o'th' boldest gate a taste

   O'th neighbor's walkin stick.

At last one said, "I know a plan

   If we can scheme to do it,

We'll knock one daan bang into th' dolt,

   An' let him roll reight throo it;"

Agreed! agreed! they all replied,

   "An here comes little Jack,

He's foorced to pass cloise up this side,

   We'll do it in a crack."

Poor Jack wor rayther short, an' came

   Just like a suckin duck;

He little dream'd at th' sweets o' life

   Wod ivver be his luck.

But daan they shoved him, an' he roll'd

   Heead first bang into th' mess,

An' aght he coom a woeful seet,

   As yo may easy guess.

They marched him off i' famous glee,

   All stickified an' clammy,

Then licked him clean an' sent him hooam

   To get lick'd by his mammy.

Then th' cartdriver an th' grocer came,

   Booath in a dreadful flutter,

To save some, but they came too lat,

   It all wor lost ith gutter:

It towt a lesson to em booath

   Befoor that job wor ended,

To try (at stead o' falling aght)

   If owt went wrang to mend it.

For wol fowk rave abaht ther loss,

   Some sharper's sure to pop,

An' aght o' ther misfortunes

   They'll contrive to get a sop.

Once agean Welcome.

Once agean welcome! oh, what is ther grander,

When years have rolled by sin' yo left an old friend?

An what cheers yor heart, when yo far away wander,

As mich as the thowts ov a welcome at th' end?

Yo may goa an be lucky, an win lots o' riches;

Yo may gain fresh acquaintance as onward yo rooam;

But tho' wealth may be temptin, an honor bewitches,

Yet they're nowt when compared to a welcome back hooam.

Pray, who hasn't felt as they've sat sad an lonely,

They'd give all they possessed for the wings ov a dove,

To fly far away, just to catch a seet only

Ov th' friends o' ther childhood, the friends 'at they love.

Hope may fill the breast when some old spot we're leavin,

Bright prospects may lure us throo th' dear land away,

But it's joy o' returnin at sets one's breast heavin,

It's th' hopes ov a welcome back maks us feel gay.

Long miles yo may trudge ovver moor, heath, or mire,

Till yor legs seem to totter, an th' stummack feels faint;

But yor thowts still will dwell o' that breet cottage fire,

Till yo feel quite refreshed bi th' fancies yo paint.

An when yo draw nearer, an ovver th' old palins

Yo see smilin faces 'at welcome yo back,

Ther's an end to being weary! away wi complainin's!

Yo leeave all yor troubles behind on yor track.

Then if ther's sich joy in a welcome receivin,

Let us ivvery one try sich a pleasure to gain;

An bi soothin' fowk's cares, an ther sorrows relievin,

Let us bind em all to us, wi' friendship's strong chain.

Let us love an be loved! let's be kind an forgivin,

An then if fate forces us far from awr hooam,

We shall still throughout life have the joy o' receivin

A tear when we part, an a smile when we come.

Still true to Nell.

Th' sun wor settin,—red an gold,

   Wi splendor paintin th' west,

An purplin tints throo th' valley roll'd,

   As daan he sank to rest.

Yet dayleet lingered looath to leeav

   A world soa sweet an fair,

Wol silent burds a pathway cleave,

   Throo th' still an slumb'rin air.

Aw stroll'd along a country rooad,

   Hedged in wi thorn an vine;

Which wild flower scents an shadows broad,

   Converted to a shrine.

As twileet's deeper curtains fell

   Aw sat mi daan an sighed;

Mi thowts went back to th' time when Nell,

   Had rambled bi mi side.

Aw