Poem by William Barnes

Second Collection. Fatherhood

Let en zit, wi’ his dog an’ his cat,
 Wi’ their noses a-turn’d to the vier,
 An’ have all that a man should desire;
But there idden much reädship in that.
Whether vo’k mid have childern or no,
 Wou’dden meäke mighty odds in the maïn;
They do bring us mwore jaÿ wi’ mwore ho,
 An’ wi’ nwone we’ve less jaÿ wi’ less païn.
We be all lik’ a zull’s idle sheäre out,
An’ shall rust out, unless we do wear out,
 Lik’ do-nothèn, rue-nothèn,
    Dead alive dumps.

As vor me, why my life idden bound
 To my own heart alwone, among men;
 I do live in myzelf, an’ ageän
In the lives o’ my childern all round:
I do live wi’ my bwoy in his plaÿ,
 An’ ageän wi’ my maïd in her zongs;
An’ my heart is a-stirr’d wi’ their jaÿ,
 An’ would burn at the zight o’ their wrongs.
I ha’ nine lives, an’ zoo if a half
O’m do cry, why the rest o’m mid laugh
 All so plaÿvully, jaÿvully,
    Happy wi’ hope.

Tother night I come hwome a long road,
 When the weather did sting an’ did vreeze;
An’ the snow—vor the day had a-snow’d—
 Wer avroze on the boughs o’ the trees;
An’ my tooes an’ my vingers wer num’,
 An’ my veet wer so lumpy as logs,
An’ my ears wer so red’s a cock’s cwom’;
 An’ my nose wer so cwold as a dog’s;
But so soon’s I got hwome I vorgot
Where my limbs wer a-cwold or wer hot,
 When wi’ loud cries an’ proud cries
    They coll’d me so cwold.

Vor the vu’st that I happen’d to meet
 Come to pull my girtcwoat vrom my eärm,
 An’ another did rub my feäce warm,
An’ another hot-slipper’d my veet;
While their mother did cast on a stick,
 Vor to keep the red vier alive;
An’ they all come so busy an’ thick
 As the bees vlee-èn into their hive,
An’ they meäde me so happy an’ proud,
That my heart could ha’ crow’d out a-loud;
 They did tweil zoo, an’ smile zoo,
    An’ coll me so cwold.

As I zot wi’ my teacup, at rest,
 There I pull’d out the taÿs I did bring;
 Men a-kickèn, a-wagg’d wi’ a string,
An’ goggle-ey’d dolls to be drest;
An’ oh! vrom the childern there sprung
 Such a charm when they handled their taÿs,
That vor pleasure the bigger woones wrung
 Their two hands at the zight o’ their jaÿs;
As the bwoys’ bigger vaïces vell in
Wi’ the maïdens a-titterèn thin,
 An’ their dancèn an’ prancèn,
    An’ little mouth’s laughs.

Though ’tis hard stripes to breed em all up,
 If I’m only a-blest vrom above,
 They’ll meäke me amends wi’ their love,
Vor their pillow, their pleäte, an’ their cup;
Though I shall be never a-spweil’d
 Wi’ the sarvice that money can buy;
Still the hands ov a wife an’ a child
 Be the blessèns ov low or ov high;
An’ if there be mouths to be ved,
He that zent em can zend me their bread,
 An’ will smile on the chile
    That’s a-new on the knee.

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

Print

1177 Views

Last Poems

To Russian version