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24 September 2014
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William Barnes
Dorset poet William Barnes

The Dorsetshire Poet

Writing in the time of Thomas Hardy, Dorset school master William Barnes was revered as one of the finest pastoral poets of the day.

Listen to a William Barnes Poem.


Herrenston

Zoo then the leady an' the squire,
At Christmas, gather'd girt an' small,
Vor me'th, avore their roaren vire,
An' roun' their bwoard, 'ithin the hall;
An' there, in glitt'ren rows, between
The roun'- rimm'd pleates, our knives did sheen,
Wi' frothy eale, an' cup an' can,
Vor maid an' man, at Herrenston.

An' there the jeints o' beef did stand,
Lik' cliffs o' rock, in goodly row;
Where woone mid quarry till his hand
Did tire, an meake but little show;
An' after we'd a-took our seat,
An' greace had been a-zaid vor meat,
We zet to work, an' zoo begun
Our feast an' fun at Herrenston.

An' mothers there, beside the boards,
Wi' little childern in their laps,
Did stoop, wi' loven looks an' words,
An' veed em up wi' bits an' draps;
An' smilen husbands went in quest
O' what their wives did like the best;
An' you'd ha' zeed a happy zight,
Thik merry night, at Herrenston.

A' then the band, wi' each his leaf
O' notes, above us at the zide,
Play'd up the praise ov England's beef
An' villed our hearts wi' English pride;
An' leafy chains o' garlands hung,
Wi' dazzlen stripes o' flags, that swung
Above us, in a bleaze o' light,
Thik happy night, at Herrenston.

An' then the clerk, avore the vier,
Begun to lead, wi' smilen feace,
A carol, wi, the Monkton quire,
That rung drough all the crowded pleace.
An' dins' o' words an' laughter broke
In merry peals drough clouds o' smoke;
Vor hardly wer there woone that spoke,
But passed a joke, at Herrenston.

Then man an' maid stood up by twos,
In rows, drough passage, out to door,
An' gaily beat, wi, nimble shoes,
A dance upon the stwonen floor.
But who is worthy vor to tell,
If she that then did hear the bell,
Wer woone o' Monkton, or o, Ceame,
Or zome sweet neame ov Herrenston.

Zoo peace betide the girt vo'k's land,
When they can stoop, wi' kindly smile,
An' teake a poor man by the hand,
An' cheer en in his daily tweil.
An' oh! Mid He that's vur above
The highest here, reward their love,
An' gi'e their happy souls, drough greace,
A higher pleace than Herrenston.


William Barnes


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