It's forty long summers an winters, sin tha bade "gooid bye,"
An as fine a young fella tha wor, as ivver aw met i' mi life;
When tha went to some far away land, thi fortune to try,
An aw stopt at hooam to toil on,
becoss it wor th' wish o' my wife.
An shoo wor a bonny young wench, an better nor bonny,—
Aw seem nah as if aw can see her,
wi' th' first little bairn on her knee;
An we called it Ann, for aw liked that name best ov onny,
An fowk said it wor th' pictur o'th' mother,
wi' just a strinklin o' me.
An th' next wor a lad, an th' next wor a lad, then a lass came,—
That made us caant six,—an six happier fowk nivver sat to a meal,
An they grew like hop plants—full o' life—but waikly i'th' frame,
An at last one drooped, an Deeath coom an marked her with his seal.
A year or two moor an another seemed longin to goa,
An all we could do wor to smooth his deeath bed,
'at he might sleep sweeter—
Then th' third seemed to sicken an pine, an we couldn't say "noa,"
For he said his sister had called,
an he wor most anxious to meet her—
An how we watched th' youngest, noa mortal can tell but misen,
For we prized it moor,
becoss it wor th' only one left us to cherish;
At last her call came, an shoo luked sich a luk at us then,
Which aw ne'er shall forget,
tho' mi mem'ry ov all other things perish.
A few years moor, when awr griefs wor beginnin to lighten,
Mi friends began askin my wife,
if shoo felt hersen hearty an strong?
An aw nivver saw at her face wor beginnin to whiten,
Till shoo grew like a shadow, an aw could'nt even guess wrong.
Then aw stood beside th' grave when th' saxton
wor shovin in th' gravel,
An he sed, "this last maks five,
an aw think ther's just room for another,"
An aw went an left him, lonely an heartsick to travel,
Till th' time comes when aw may lig daan
beside them four bairns an ther mother.
An aw think what a glorious Christmas day 'twod ha been
If aw'd gooan to that place where
ther's noa moor cares, nor partin, nor sorrow;
An aw knaw they're thear, or that dream aw should nivver ha seen,
But aw'll try to be patient,
an maybe shoo'll come fotch me to-morrow.
Settin Off.
It isn't 'at aw want to rooam
An leeav thi bi thisen:
For aw'm content enuff at hooam,
Aw'm net like other men.
But then ther's thee an childer three,
To care for an protect,
It's reight 'at yo should luk to me,
An wrang should aw neglect.