Aye, aye, the leaene wi' flow'ry zides
A-kept so lew, by hazzle-wrides,
Wi' beds o' graegles out in bloom,
Below the timber's windless gloon
An' geaete that I've a-swung,
An' rod as he's a-hung,
When I wer young, in Woakley Coomb.
'Twer there at feaest we all did pass
The evenen on the leaenezide grass,
Out where the geaete do let us drough,
Below the woak-trees in the lew,
In merry geaemes an' fun
That meaede us skip an' run,
Wi' burnen zun, an' sky o' blue.
But still there come a scud that drove
The titt'ren maidens vrom the grove;
An' there a-left wer flow'ry mound,
'Ithout a vaice, 'ithout a sound,
Unless the air did blow,
Drough ruslen leaves, an' drow,
The rain drops low, upon the ground.
I linger'd there an' miss'd the naise;
I linger'd there an' miss'd our jays;
I miss'd woone soul beyond the rest;
The maid that I do like the best.
Vor where her vaice is gay
An' where her smiles do play,
There's always jay vor ev'ry breast.
Vor zome vo'k out abroad ha' me'th,
But nwone at hwome bezide the he'th;
An' zome ha' smiles vor strangers' view;
An' frowns vor kith an' kin to rue;
But her sweet vaice do vall,
Wi' kindly words to all,
Both big an' small, the whole day drough.
An' when the evenen sky wer peaele,
We heaerd the warblen nightengeaele,
A-drawen out his lwonesome zong,
In winden music down the drong;
An' Jenny vrom her he'th,
Come out, though not in me'th,
But held her breath, to hear his zong.
Then, while the bird wi' oben bill
Did warble on, her vaice wer still;
An' as she stood avore me, bound
In stillness to the flow'ry mound,
"The bird's a jay to zome,"
I thought, "but when he's dum,
Her vaice will come, wi' sweeter sound."