But they niver leeav us, niver—
Storms may come, but still they stay;
But th' first wind 'at ma's thee shiver,
Up tha mounts an' flies away.
Ther's too mony like thee, swallow,
'At when fortun's sun shines breet,
Like a silly buzzard follow,
Doncin raand a bit o' leet.
But ther's few like Robin redbreast,
Cling throo days o' gloom an' care;