Dear Harden, the home o’ my boyhood so dear,
Thy wanderin’ son sall thee ivver revere;
Tho’ years hev rolled ower sin thy village I left,
An’ o’ frends an’ relations I now am bereft.
Yet thy hills they are pleasant, tho’ rocky an’ bare;
Thy dowters are handsome, thy sons they are rare;
When I walk thro’ thy dells, by the clear running streams,
I think o’ my boyhood an’ innocent dreams.
No care o’ this life then troubled my breast,
I wor like a young bird new fligged fra its nest;
Wi’ my dear little mates did I frolic and play,
Wal life’s sweetest moments wor flying away.
As the dew kissed the daisies their portals to close,
At neet i’ my bed I did sweetly repose;
An’ rose in the morning at Nature’s command,
Till fra boyhood to manhood my frame did expand.
The faces that once were familiar to me,
Those that did laugh at my innocent glee;
I fancy I see them, tho’ now far away,
Or p’r’aps i’ Bingley church-yard they may lay.
For since I’ve embarked on life’s stormy seas,
My mind’s like the billows that’s nivver at ease;
Yet I still hev a hope my last moments to crown—
In thee, dearest village, to lay myself down.
The Heroic Watchman of Calversyke Hill.
[This extraordinary “hero” either bore false witness against his neighbour, a poor artisan, or (taking his own word for it) saved the nation from great disaster and ruin by putting out a fire that no one saw but himself.]
We’ve heard of great fires in city and town,
And many disasters by fire are known;
But surely this fire which I’m going to tell,
Was worse than Mount Etna, Vesuvius, or hell;
For the great prophecy it no doubt would fulfil,
But for t’heroic watchman at Calversyke Hill.
This fire broke out in the night it was said,
While peaceful each villager slept in his bed;
And so greatly the flames did light up the skies,
That it took the big watchman all in surprise,
Yet great was the courage and undaunted the skill
Of the heroic watchman of Calversyke Hill.