Sweet Linda Deäne do match the skies Wi' sheenèn blue o' glisnèn eyes, An' feaïrest blossoms do but show Her forehead's white, an' feäce's glow; But there's a winsome jaÿ above, The brightest hues ov e'th an' skies. The dearest zight o' many eyes, Would be the smile o' Linda's love; But high above my lowly love Is Linda Deäne ov Ellendon.
_John; William; William's Bwoy; and William's Maïd at Feäir._
Zoo here be your childern, a-sheärèn Your feäir-day, an' each wi' a feäirèn.
Aye, well, there's noo peace 'ithout comèn To stannèn an' show, in the zummer.
An' how is your Jeäne? still as merry As ever, wi' cheäks lik' a cherry?
Still merry, but beauty's as feädesome 'S the raïn's glowèn bow in the zummer.
Well now, I do hope we shall vind ye Come soon, wi' your childern behind ye, To Stowe, while o' bwoth zides o' hedges, The zunsheen do glow in the zummer.
Well, aye, when the mowèn is over, An' ee-grass do whiten wi' clover. A man's a-tired out, vor much walken, The while he do mow in the zummer.
I'll goo, an' we'll zet up a wicket, An' have a good innèns at cricket; An' teäke a good plounce in the water. Where clote-leaves do grow in the zummer.
I'll goo, an' we'll play "Thread the needle" Or "Huntèn the slipper," or wheedle Young Jemmy to fiddle, an' reely So brisk to an' fro in the zummer.
An' Jeäne. Mind you don't come 'ithout her, My wife is a-thinkèn about her; At our house she'll find she's as welcome 'S the rwose that do blow in the zummer.
At Lindenore upon the steep, Bezide the trees a-reachèn high, The while their lower limbs do zweep The river-stream a-flowèn by; By grægle bells in beds o' blue, Below the tree-stems in the lew, Calm aïr do vind the rwose-bound door, Ov Ellen Dare o' Lindenore.
An' there noo foam do hiss avore Swift bwoats, wi' water-plowèn keels, An' there noo broad high-road's a-wore By vur-brought trav'lers' cracklèn wheels; Noo crowd's a-passèn to and fro, Upon the bridge's high-sprung bow: An' vew but I do seek the door Ov Ellen Dare o' Lindenore.
Vor there the town, wi' zun-bright walls, Do sheen vur off, by hills o' grey, An' town-vo'k ha' but seldom calls O' business there, from day to day: But Ellen didden leäve her ruf To be admir'd, an' that's enough-- Vor I've a-vound 'ithin her door, Feäir Ellen Dare o' Lindenore.