If mem'ry, when our hope's a-gone,
Could bring us dreams to cheat us on,
Ov happiness our hearts voun' true
In years we come too quickly drough;
What days should come to me, but you,
That burn'd my youthvul cheaeks wi' zuns
O' zummer, in my playsome runs
About the woody hollow.
When evenen's risen moon did peep
Down drough the hollow dark an' deep,
Where gigglen sweethearts meaede their vows
In whispers under waggen boughs;
When whisslen bwoys, an' rott'len ploughs
Wer still, an' mothers, wi' their thin
Shrill vaices, call'd their daughters in,
From walken in the hollow;
What souls should come avore my zight,
But they that had your zummer light?
The litsome younger woones that smil'd
Wi' comely feaezen now a-spweil'd;
Or wolder vo'k, so wise an' mild,
That I do miss when I do goo
To zee the pleaece, an' walk down drough
The lwonesome woody hollow?
When wrongs an' overbearen words
Do prick my bleeden heart lik' swords,
Then I do try, vor Christes seaeke,
To think o' you, sweet days! an' meaeke
My soul as 'twer when you did weaeke
My childhood's eyes, an' when, if spite
Or grief did come, did die at night
In sleep 'ithin the hollow.