My childhood, youth, and manood too,
My Father's cot recâll
Thic Rookery. Bit I mist now
Tell what it did bevâll.
'Twar Mâ-time—heavy vi' tha nests
War laden âll tha trees;
An to an fraw, wi' creekin loud,
Thâ sway'd ta iv'ry breeze.
One night tha wine—a thundrin wine,
Jitch as war hired o' nivor,
Blaw'd two o' thic girt giant trees
Flat down into tha river.
Nests, aggs, an young uns, âll awâ
War zweept into tha wâter
An zaw war spwiled tha Rookery
Vor iver and iver âter.
I visited my Father's cot:
Tha Rooks war âll a gwon;
Whaur stood tha trees in lofty pride
I zid there norra one.
My Father's cot war desolate;
An âll look'd wild, vorlorn;
Tha Ash war stunted that war zet
Tha dâ that I war born.
My Father, Mother, Rooks, âll gwon!
My Charlotte an my Lizzy!—
Tha gorden wi' tha tutties too!—
Jitch thawts why be za bizzy!—
Behawld tha wâ o' human thengs!
Rooks, lofty trees, an Friends—
A kill'd, taur up, like leaves drap off!—
Zaw feaver'd bein ends.
TOM GOOL, AND LUCK IN THA BAG.
"Luck, Luck in tha Bag! Good Luck!
Put in an try yer fortin;
Come, try yer luck in tha Lucky Bag!
You'll git a prize vor sartin."