"LOR LUMMY, LIL! WOT TISTE—AN' YOU A BLONDE!"
THE SONG OF THE MILL.
[Most of our water-mills have fallen into decay and disuse owing to the unsuitability of their machinery to grind imported grain. Will the revival of English grain production bring about a renewal of their usefulness?]
As by the pool I wandered that lies so clear and still
With tall old trees about it, hard by the silent mill
Whose ancient oaken timbers no longer creak and groan
With roar of wheel and water, and grind of stone on stone,
The idle mill-race slumbered beneath the mouldering wheel,
The pale March sunlight gilded no motes of floating meal,