WHEN high-flown larks wer on the wing,

A warm-aïr'd holiday in Spring,

We stroll'd, ‘ithout a ceäre or frown,

Up roun’ the down at Meldonley;

An’ where the hawthorn-tree did stand

Alwone, but still wi’ mwore at hand,

We zot wi’ sheädes o’ clouds on high sat, shadows

A-flittèn by, at Meldonley.

An’ there, the while the tree did sheäde

Their gigglèn heads, my knife's keen bleäde

Carved out, in turf avore my knee,

J. L., * T. D., at Meldonley.

‘Twer Jessie Lee J. L. did meän,

T. D. did stan’ vor Thomas Deäne;

The “L” I scratch'd but slight, vor he

Mid soon be D, at Meldonley. might

An’ when the vields o’ wheat did spread

Vrom hedge to hedge in sheets o’ red,

An’ bennets wer a-sheäkèn brown, grass-stalks

Upon the down at Meldonley,

We stroll'd ageän along the hill,

An’ at the hawthorn-tree stood still,

To zee J. L. vor Jessie Lee,

An’ my T. D., at Meldonley.

The grey-poll'd bennet-stems did hem grey-headed

Each half-hid letter's zunken rim,

By leädy's-vingers that did spread kidney vetches

In yollow red, at Meldonley.

An’ heärebells there wi’ light blue bell

Shook soundless on the letter L,

To ment the bells when L vor Lee imitate

Become a D at Meldonley.

Vor Jessie, now my wife, do strive

Wi’ me in life, an’ we do thrive;

Two sleek-heäired meäres do sprackly pull horses, briskly

My waggon vull, at Meldonley;

An’ small-hoofd sheep, in vleeces white,

Wi’ quickly-pankèn zides, do bite panting

My thymy grass, a-mark'd vor me

In black, T.D., at Meldonley.