C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
Blackmwore Maidens
By William Barnes (18011886)
T
The cowslip in the zun,
The thyme upon the down do grow,
The clote where streams do run;
An’ where do pretty maidens grow
An’ blow, but where the tow’r
Do rise among the bricken tuns,
In Blackmwore by the Stour?
An’ pretty feäces’ smiles,
A-trippèn on so light o’ waïght,
An’ steppèn off the stiles;
A-gwaïn to church, as bells do swing
An’ ring ’ithin the tow’r,
You’d own the pretty maïdens’ pleäce
Is Blackmwore by the Stour?
To Stower or Paladore,
An’ all the farmers’ housen show’d
Their daughters at the door;
You’d cry to bachelors at hwome—
“Here, come: ’ithin an hour
You’ll vind ten maïdens to your mind,
In Blackmwore by the Stour.”
To zee em in their pleäce,
A-doèn housework up avore
Their smilèn mother’s feäce;
You’d cry,—“Why, if a man would wive
An’ thrive, ’ithout a dow’r,
Then let en look en out a wife
In Blackmwore by the Stour.”
A school-house back in May,
There out upon the beäten grass
Wer maïdens at their play;
An’ as the pretty souls did tweil
An’ smile, I cried, “The flow’r
O’ beauty, then, is still in bud
In Blackmwore by the Stour.”