The BRUE war bright, and deep and clear; [Footnote: The reader must not suppose that the _river Brue,_ is generally a clear stream, or always rapid. I have elsewhere called it "lazy Brue." It is sometimes, at and above the floodgates at _Highbridge,_ when they are not closed by the tide, a rapid stream; but through the moors, generally, its course is slow. In the summertime, and at the period to which allusion is made, the floodgates were closed.] And Lammas dâ and harras near: The zun upon the waters drode Girt sheets of light as on a rode; From zultry heät the cattle hirn'd To shade or water as to firnd: Men, too, in yarly âternoon Doft'd quick ther cloaths and dash'd in zoon To thic deep river, whaur the trout, In all ther prankin, plâd about; And yels wi' zilver skins war zid, While gudgeons droo the wâter slid, Wi' carp sumtimes and wither fish Avoordon many a dainty dish. Whaur elvers too in spring time plâd, [Footnote: Young eels are called _elvers_ in Somersetshire. _Walton_, in his Angler, says, "Young eels, in the Severn, are called _yelvers_." In what part of the country through which the Severn passes they are called yelvers we are not told in Walton's book; as eels are called, in Somersetshere, yels, analogy seems to require _yelvers_ for their young; but I never heard them so called. The elvers used to be obtained from the salt-water side of the bridge.] And pailvuls mid o' them be had. The wâter cold--the zunshine bright, To zwiminers than what high delight! 'Tis long agwon whun youth and I Wish'd creepin Time would rise and vly-- A, half a hundred years an moor Zunz I a trod theäze earthly vloor! I zed, the face o' Brue war bright; Time smil'd too in thic zummer light. Wi' Hope bezide en promising A wordle o' fancies wild ö' whing. I mine too than one lowering cloud That zim'd to wrop us like a shroud; The death het war o' Doctor Cox-- To thenk o't now the storry shocks! Vor âll the country vur and near Shod than vor'n many a horty tear. The _Doctor_ like a duck could zwim; No fear o' drownin daver'd him! The pectur now I zim I zee! I wish I could liet's likeness gee! His _Son_, my brother _John, myzel_, Or _Evans_, mid the storry tell; But thâ be gwon and I, o' âll O'm left to zâ what did bevâll. Zo, nif zo be you like, why I To tell the storry now ool try.