It smooth vor showers vrom the sky;
The bird-bwoy's cry, a-risèn sh'ill,
An' clacker, had a-left the hill,
All bright but still, vor time alwone
To speed the work that we'd a-done.
Down drough the wind, a-blowèn keen,
Did gleäre the nearly cloudless sky,
An' corn in bleäde, up ancle-high,
'lthin the geäte did quiver green;
An' in the geäte a-lock'd there stood