Or clim'd the timber's bark aloft,
Below the zingèn lark aloft,
The while we heärd the echo sound
Drough all the ringèn valley round.
A lwonesome grove o' woak did rise,
To screen our house, where smoke did rise,
A-twistèn blue, while yeet the zun
Did langthen on our childhood's fun;
An' there, wi' all the sheäpes an' sounds
O' life, among the timber'd grounds,