When the storm do come up wi' a thundery cloud That do shut out the zunlight, an' high Over head the wild thunder do rumble so loud, An' the lightnèn do flash vrom the sky, Where noo shelter's a-vound but his hut, that is nigh, There out ov all harm, In the dry an' the warm, The poor little shep'erd do smile at the storm.
When the cwold winter win' do blow over the hill, An' the hore-vrost do whiten the grass, An' the breath o' the no'th is so cwold, as to chill The warm blood ov woone's heart as do pass; When the ice o' the pond is so slipp'ry as glass, There, a-zingèn a zong, Or a-whislèn among The sheep, the poor shep'erd do bide all day long.
When the shearèn's a-come, an' the shearers do pull In the sheep, hangèn back a-gwaïn in, Wi' their roun' zides a-heavèn in under their wool, To come out all a-clipp'd to the skin; When the feästèn, an' zingèn, an fun do begin, Vor to help em, an' sheäre All their me'th an' good feäre, The poor little shep'erd is sure to be there.
Don't try to win a maïden's heart, To leäve her in her love,--'tis wrong: 'Tis bitter to her soul to peärt Wi' woone that is her sweetheart long. A maïd's vu'st love is always strong; An' if do faïl, she'll linger on, Wi' all her best o' pleasure gone, An' hope a-left behind her.
Thy poor lost Jenny wer a-grow'd So kind an' thoughtvul vor her years, When she did meet wi' vo'k a-know'd The best, her love did speak in tears. She walk'd wi' thee, an' had noo fears O' thy unkindness, till she zeed Herzelf a-cast off lik' a weed, An' hope a-left behind her.
Thy slight turn'd peäle her cherry lip; Her sorrow, not a-zeed by eyes, Wer lik' the mildew, that do nip A bud by darksome midnight skies. The day mid come, the zun mid rise, But there's noo hope o' day nor zun; The storm ha' blow'd, the harm's a-done, An' hope's a-left behind her.
The time will come when thou wouldst gi'e The worold vor to have her smile, Or meet her by the parrock tree, Or catch her jumpèn off the stile; Thy life's avore thee vor a while, But thou wilt turn thy mind in time, An' zee the deèd as 'tis,--a crime, An' hope a-left behind thee.
Zoo never win a maïden's heart, But her's that is to be thy bride, An' plaÿ drough life a manly peärt, An' if she's true when time ha' tried Her mind, then teäke her by thy zide. True love will meäke thy hardships light, True love will meäke the worold bright, When hope's a-left behind thee.