Wi' woone a-comèn up, vor woone a-gone;
An' feäir they floated in their sky-back'd flight,
But still they never meäde a sound to me.
An' there the miller, down the stream did float
Wi' all his childern, in his white-saïl'd bwoat,
Vur off, beyond the stragglèn cows in meäd,
But zent noo vaïce, athirt the ground, to me.
An' then a buttervlee, in zultry light,
A-wheelèn on about me, vier-bright,
Did show the gaÿest colors to my eye,