Classic Poem

Dear Harden, the home o’ my boyhood so dear,
Thy wanderin’ son sall thee ivver revere;
Tho’ years hev rolled ower sin thy village I left,
An’ o’ frends an’ relations I now am bereft.

Yet thy hills they are pleasant, tho’ rocky an’ bare;
Thy dowters are handsome, thy sons they are rare;
When I walk thro’ thy dells, by the clear running streams,
I think o’ my boyhood an’ innocent dreams.

No care o’ this life then troubled my breast,
I wor like a young bird new fligged fra its nest;
Wi’ my dear little mates did I frolic and play,
Wal life’s sweetest moments wor flying away.

As the dew kissed the daisies their portals to close,
At neet i’ my bed I did sweetly repose;
An’ rose in the morning at Nature’s command,
Till fra boyhood to manhood my frame did expand.

The faces that once were familiar to me,
Those that did laugh at my innocent glee;
I fancy I see them, tho’ now far away,
Or p’r’aps i’ Bingley church-yard they may lay.

For since I’ve embarked on life’s stormy seas,
My mind’s like the billows that’s nivver at ease;
Yet I still hev a hope my last moments to crown—
In thee, dearest village, to lay myself down.