At Easter, though the wind wer high,
We vound we had a zunny sky,
An' zoo wold Dobbin had to trudge
His dousty road by knap an' brudge,
An' jog, wi' hangen vetterlocks
A-sheaeken roun' his heavy hocks,
An' us, a lwoad not much too small,
A-riden out to Brookwell Hall;
An' there in doust vrom Dobbin's heels,
An' green light-waggon's vower wheels,
Our merry laughs did loudly sound,
In rollen winds athirt the ground;
While sheenen-ribbons' color'd streaeks
Did flutter roun' the maidens' cheaeks,
As they did zit, wi' smilen lips,
A-reachen out their vinger-tips
Toward zome teaeken pleaece or zight
That they did shew us, left or right;
An' woonce, when Jimmy tried to pleaece
A kiss on cousin Polly's feaece,
She push'd his hat, wi' wicked leers,
Right off above his two red ears,
An' there he roll'd along the groun'
Wi' spreaden brim an' rounded crown,
An' vound, at last, a cowpon's brim,
An' launch'd hizzelf, to teaeke a zwim;
An' there, as Jim did run to catch
His neaeked noddle's bit o' thatch,
To zee his strainens an' his strides,
We laugh'd enough to split our zides.
At Harwood Farm we pass'd the land
That father's father had in hand,
An' there, in oben light did spread,
The very groun's his cows did tread,
An' there above the stwonen tun
Avore the dazzlen mornen zun,
Wer still the rollen smoke, the breath
A-breath'd vrom his wold house's he'th;
An' there did lie below the door,
The drashol' that his vootsteps wore;
But there his meaete an' he bwoth died,
Wi' hand in hand, an' zide by zide;
Between the seaeme two peals a-rung,
Two Zundays, though they wer but young,
An' laid in sleep, their worksome hands,
At rest vrom tweil wi' house or lands.
Then vower childern laid their heads
At night upon their little beds,
An' never rose ageaen below
A mother's love, or father's ho:
Dree little maidens, small in feaece,
An' woone small bwoy, the fourth in pleaece
Zoo when their heedvul father died,
He call'd his brother to his zide,
To meaeke en stand, in hiz own stead,
His childern's guide, when he wer dead;
But still avore zix years brought round
The woodland goo-coo's zummer sound,
He weaested all their little store,
An' hardship drove em out o' door,
To tweil till tweilsome life should end.
'Ithout a single e'thly friend.
But soon wi' Harwood back behind,
An' out o' zight an' out o' mind,
We went a-rottlen on, an' meaede
Our way along to Brookwell Sleaede;
An' then we vound ourselves draw nigh
The Leaedy's Tow'r that rose on high,
An' seem'd a-comen on to meet,
Wi' growen height, wold Dobbin's veet.