So many less do hold the land,—
You'd vind but vive that still do stand,
A-comèn down vrom gramfer's.
There, in the midst ov all his land,
The squier's ten-tunn'd house did stand,
Where he did meäke the water clim'
A bank, an' sparkle under dim
Bridge arches, villèn to the brim
His pon', an' leäpèn, white as snow,
Vrom rocks a-glitt'rèn in a bow,