In zummer, when the knaps wer bright
In cool-air'd evenen's western light,
An' hay that had a-dried all day,
Did now lie grey, to dewy night;
I went, by happy chance, or doom,
Vrom Broadwoak Hill, athirt to Coomb,
An' met a maid in all her bloom:
The feairest maid o' Newton.
She bore a basket that did ride
So light, she didden leaen azide;
Her feaece wer oval, an' she smil'd
So sweet's a child, but walk'd wi' pride.
I spoke to her, but what I zaid
I didden know; wi' thoughts a-vled,
I spoke by heart, an' not by head,
Avore the maid o' Newton.
I call'd her, oh! I don't know who,
'Twer by a neaeme she never knew;
An' to the heel she stood upon,
She then brought on her hinder shoe,
An' stopp'd avore me, where we met,
An' wi' a smile woone can't vorget,
She zaid, wi' eyes a-zwimmen wet,
"No, I be woone o' Newton."
Then on I rambled to the west,
Below the zunny hangen's breast,
Where, down athirt the little stream,
The brudge's beam did lie at rest:
But all the birds, wi' lively glee,
Did chirp an' hop vrom tree to tree,
As if it wer vrom pride, to zee
Goo by the maid o' Newton.
By fancy led, at evenen's glow,
I woonce did goo, a-roven slow,
Down where the elems, stem by stem,
Do stan' to hem the grove below;
But after that, my veet vorzook
The grove, to seek the little brook
At Coomb, where I mid zometimes look,
To meet the maid o' Newton.