Classic Poem

P ENTRIDGE ! — oh! my heart's a-zwellen
Vull o' jaÿè wi' vo'k a-tellen
Any news o' thik wold pleäce,
An' the boughy hedges round it,
An' the river that do bound it
Wi' his dark but glis'nen feäce.
Vor there's noo land, on either hand,
To me lik' Pentridge by the river.

Be there any leaves to quiver
On the aspen by the river?
Doo he sheäde the water still,
Where the rushes be a-growen,
Where the sullen Stour's a-flowen
Drough the meäds vrom mill to mill?
Vor if a tree wer dear to me,
Oh! 'twer thik aspen by the river.

There, in eegrass new a-shooten,
I did run on even vooten,
Happy, over new-mow'd land;
Or did zing wi' zingen drushes
While I plaited, out o' rushes,
Little baskets vor my hand;
Bezide the clote that there did float,
Wi' yollow blossoms, on the river.

When the western zun's a vallen,
What sh'ill vaice is now a-callen
Hwome the deäiry to the pails;
Who do dreve em on, a-flingen
Wide-bow'd horns, or slowly zwingen
Right an' left their tufty tails?
As they do goo a-huddled drough
The geäte a-leäden up vrom river.

Bleäded grass is now a-shooten
Where the vloor wer woonce our vooten,
While the hall wer still in pleäce.
Stwones be looser in the wallen;
Hollow trees be nearer vallen;
Ev'ry thing ha' chang'd its feäce.
But still the neäme do bide the seäme —
'Tis Pentridge — Pentridge by the river.