Poem by William Barnes

First Collection. Winter. The Weepèn Leädy

When, leäte o’ nights, above the green
By thik wold house, the moon do sheen,
A leädy there, a-hangèn low
Her head, ’s a-walkèn to an’ fro
In robes so white’s the driven snow,
 Wi’ woone eärm down, while woone do rest
 All lily-white athirt the breast
  O’ thik poor weepèn leädy.

The whirlèn wind an’ whis’lèn squall
Do sheäke the ivy by the wall,
An’ meäke the plyèn tree-tops rock,
But never ruffle her white frock;
An’ slammèn door an’ rattlèn lock,
 That in thik empty house do sound,
 Do never seem to meäke look round
  Thik ever downcast leädy.

A leädy, as the teäle do goo,
That woonce liv’d there, an’ lov’d too true,
Wer by a young man cast azide.
A mother sad, but not a bride;
An’ then her father, in his pride
 An’ anger, offer’d woone o’ two
 Vull bitter things to undergoo
  To thik poor weepèn leädy:

That she herzelf should leäve his door,
To darken it ageän noo mwore;
Or that her little plaÿsome chile,
A-zent away a thousand mile,
Should never meet her eyes to smile
 An’ plaÿ ageän; till she, in sheäme,
 Should die an’ leäve a tarnish’d neäme,
  A sad vorseäken leädy.

“Let me be lost,” she cried, “the while
I do but know vor my poor chile;”
An’ left the hwome ov all her pride,
To wander drough the worold wide,
Wi’ grief that vew but she ha’ tried:
 An’ lik’ a flow’r a blow ha’ broke,
 She wither’d wi’ the deadly stroke,
  An’ died a weepèn leädy.

An’ she do keep a-comèn on
To zee her father dead an’ gone,
As if her soul could have noo rest
Avore her teäry cheäk’s a-prest
By his vorgivèn kiss. Zoo blest
 Be they that can but live in love,
 An’ vind a pleäce o’ rest above
  Unlik’ the weepèn leädy.

1. Third Collection. Shaftesbury Feäir
2. Second Collection. Light or Sheäde
3. Third Collection. Comen Hwome
4. Second Collection. Childhood
5. Third Collection. Tweil

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