He'll always be a-kept in mind,
Vor all his springy-vooted hounds
Ha' done o' trottèn round his grounds,
An' we have all a-left the spot,
To teäke, a-scatter'd, each his lot;
An' even Father, lik' the rest,
Ha' left our long vorseäken nest;
An' we should vind it sad to dwell,
Ageän at hwome in Culver Dell.
The aïry mornèns still mid smite