Evenén In The Village

Now the light o' the west is a-turn'd to gloom, An' the men be at hwome vrom ground; An' the bells be a-zendén all down the Coombe From tower, their mwoansome sound. An' the wind is still, An' the house-dogs do bark, An' the rooks be a-vled to the elems high an' dark, An' the water do roar at mill. An' the flickerén light drough the window-peäne Vrom the candle's dull fleäme do shoot, An' young Jemmy the smith is a-gone down leäne, A-plaÿén his shrill-vaiced flute. An' the miller's man, Do zit down at his ease On the seat that is under the cluster o' trees, Wi' his pipe an' his cider can.