Oh! the wood wer a-vell'd in the copse,
An' the moss-bedded primrwose did blow;
An' vrom tall-stemmed trees' leafless tops,
There did lie but slight sheaedes down below.
An' the sky wer a-showen, in drough
By the tree-stems, the deepest o' blue,
Wi' a light that did vall on an' off
The dry ground, a-strew'd over wi' scroff.
There the hedge that wer leaetely so high,
Wer a-plush'd, an' along by the zide,
Where the waggon 'd a-haul'd the wood by,
There did reach the deep wheelrouts, a-dried.
An' the groun' wi' the sticks wer bespread,
Zome a-cut off alive, an' zome dead.
An' vor burnen, well wo'th reaeken off,
By the childern a-picken o' scroff.
In the tree-studded leaeze, where the woak
Wer a-spreaden his head out around,
There the scrags that the wind had a-broke,
Wer a-lyen about on the ground
Or the childern, wi' little red hands,
Wer a-tyen em up in their bands;
Vor noo squier or farmer turn'd off
Little childern a-picken o' scroff.
There wer woone bloomen child wi' a cloak
On her shoulders, as green as the ground;
An' another, as gray as the woak,
Wi' a bwoy in a brown frock, a-brown'd.
An' woone got up, in play, vor to tait,
On a woak-limb, a-growen out straight.
But she soon wer a-taited down off,
By her meaetes out a-picken o' scroff.
When they childern do grow to staid vo'k,
An' goo out in the worold, all wide
Vrom the copse, an' the zummerleaeze woak,
Where at last all their elders ha' died,
They wull then vind it touchen to bring,
To their minds, the sweet springs o' their spring,
Back avore the new vo'k did turn off
The poor childern a-picken o' scroff.