While zedge, a-weävèn by the brink
O' shallow brooks, do slowly die.
An' on the timber tall,
The boughs, half beäre, do bend above
The bulgèn banks in Fall.
There, we'd a spring o' water near,
Here, water's deep in wink-draïn'd wells,
The church 'tis true, is nigh out here,
Too nigh wi' vive loud-boomèn bells.
There, naïghbours wer vull wide a-spread,