Below the timber's new-leav'd tops,
Wer ashèn poles, a-castèn straïght,
On primrwose beds, their langthy waïght;
Below the yollow light, a-shed
Drough boughs upon the vi'let's head,
By climèn ivy, that did reach,
A sheenèn roun' the dead-leav'd beech.
An' there her father zot, an' meäde
His hwomely meal bezide a gleäde;
While she, a-croopèn down to ground,