Here did swaey the eltrot flow'rs,
When the hours o' night wer vew,
An' the zun, wi' eaerly beams
Brighten'd streams, an' dried the dew,
An' the goocoo there did greet
Passers by wi' dousty veet.
There the milkmaid hung her brow
By the cow, a-sheenen red;
An' the dog, wi' upward looks,
Watch'd the rooks above his head,
An' the brook, vrom bow to bow,
Here went swift, an' there wer slow.
Now the cwolder-blowen blast,
Here do cast vrom elems' heads
Feaeded leaves, a-whirlen round,
Down to ground, in yollow beds,
Ruslen under milkers' shoes,
When the day do dry the dews.
Soon shall grass, a-vrosted bright,
Glisten white instead o' green,
An' the wind shall smite the cows,
Where the boughs be now their screen.
Things do change as years do vlee;
What ha' years in store vor me?