There in the narrow leäne an' drong Hallow'd by times o' gwaïn along, The lofty ashes' leafless sh'ouds Rose dark avore the clear-edged clouds, The while the moon, at girtest height, Bespread the pooly brook wi' light, An' as our child, in loose-limb'd rest, Lay peäle upon her mother's breast, Her waxen eyelids seal'd her eyes Vrom darksome trees, an' sheenèn skies, An' halls a-hung wi' holm, that rung Wi' many a tongue, o' wold an' young.
Here, Jeäne, we vu'st did meet below The leafy boughs, a-swingèn slow, Avore the zun, wi' evenèn glow, Above our road, a-beamèn red; The grass in zwath wer in the meäds, The water gleam'd among the reeds In aïr a-steälèn roun' the hall, Where ivy clung upon the wall. Ah! well-a-day! O wall adieu! The wall is wold, my grief is new.
An' there you walk'd wi' blushèn pride, Where softly-wheelèn streams did glide, Drough sheädes o' poplars at my zide, An' there wi' love that still do live, Your feäce did wear the smile o' youth, The while you spoke wi' age's truth, An' wi' a rwosebud's mossy ball, I deck'd your bosom vrom the wall. Ah! well-a-day! O wall adieu! The wall is wold, my grief is new.
But now when winter's raïn do vall, An' wind do beät ageän the hall, The while upon the wat'ry wall In spots o' grey the moss do grow; The ruf noo mwore shall overspread The pillor ov our weary head, Nor shall the rwose's mossy ball Behang vor you the house's wall. Ah! well-a-day! O wall adieu! The wall is wold, my grief is new.
John Bleäke he had a bit o' ground Come to en by his mother's zide; An' after that, two hunderd pound His uncle left en when he died; "Well now," cried John, "my mind's a-bent To build a house, an' paÿ noo rent." An' Meäry gi'ed en her consent. "Do, do,"--the maïdens cried "True, true,"--his wife replied. "Done, done,--a house o' brick or stwone," Cried merry Bleäke o' Blackmwore.
Then John he call'd vor men o' skill, An' builders answer'd to his call; An' met to reckon, each his bill; Vor vloor an' window, ruf an' wall. An' woone did mark it on the groun', An' woone did think, an' scratch his crown, An' reckon work, an' write it down: "Zoo, zoo,"--woone treädesman cried, "True, true,"--woone mwore replied. "Aye, aye,--good work, an' have good paÿ," Cried merry Bleäke o' Blackmwore.