As clouds did ride wi' heaesty flight.
An' woods did swaey upon the height,
An' bleaedes o' grass did sheaeke, below
The hedge-row bremble's swingen bow,
I come back hwome where winds did zwell,
In whirls along the woody gleaedes,
On primrwose beds, in windy sheaedes,
To Burnley's dark-tree'd dell.
There hills do screen the timber's bough,
The trees do screen the leaeze's brow,
The timber-sheaeded leaeze do bear
A beaeten path that we do wear.
The path do stripe the leaeze's zide,
To willows at the river's edge.
Where hufflen winds did sheaeke the zedge
An' sparklen weaeves did glide.
An' where the river, bend by bend,
Do draein our meaed, an' mark its end,
The hangen leaeze do teaeke our cows,
An' trees do sheaede em wi' their boughs,
An' I the quicker beaet the road,
To zee a-comen into view,
Still greener vrom the sky-line's blue,
Wold Burnley our abode.