Where the bridge out at Woodley did stride,
Wi' his wide arches' cool sheäded bow,
Up above the clear brook that did slide
By the popples, befoam'd white as snow:
As the gilcups did quiver among
The white deäisies, a-spread in a sheet.
There a quick-trippèn maïd come along,--
Aye, a girl wi' her light-steppèn veet.
An' she cried "I do praÿ, is the road
Out to Lincham on here, by the meäd?"
An' "oh! ees," I meäde answer, an' show'd
Her the way it would turn an' would leäd:
"Goo along by the beech in the nook,
Where the childern do play in the cool,
To the steppèn stwones over the brook,--
Aye, the grey blocks o' rock at the pool."
"Then you don't seem a-born an' a-bred,"
I spoke up, "at a place here about;"
An' she answer'd wi' cheäks up so red
As a pi'ny but leäte a-come out,
"No, I liv'd wi' my uncle that died
Back in Eäpril, an' now I'm a-come
Here to Ham, to my mother, to bide,--
Aye, to her house to vind a new hwome."
I'm asheämed that I wanted to know
Any mwore of her childhood or life,
But then, why should so feäir a child grow
Where noo father did bide wi' his wife;
Then wi' blushes of zunrisèn morn,
She replied "that it midden be known,
"Oh! they zent me away to be born,--
Aye, they hid me when zome would be shown."
Oh! it meäde me a'most teary-ey'd,
An' I vound I a'most could ha' groan'd--
What! so winnèn, an' still cast a-zide--
What! so lovely, an' not to be own'd;
Oh! a God-gift a-treated wi' scorn,
Oh! a child that a squier should own;
An' to zend her away to be born!--
Aye, to hide her where others be shown!
