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| THE GIRT woak tree that ’s in the dell! | |
| Ther ’s noo tree I da love so well; | |
| Var in thik tree, when I wer young, | |
| I of’en climb’d an’ of’en zwung, | |
| An’ pick’d the green-rin’d yacors, shed | 5 |
| In wrestlèn storm-winds vrom his head. | |
| An’ down below ’s the cloty 1 brook | |
| Wher I did vish wi’ line an’ hook, | |
| An’ beät, in plâysome dips an’ zwims, | |
| The foamy stream wi’ white-skinn’d lims. | 10 |
| An’ there my mother nimbly shot | |
| Her knittèn-needles, as she zot | |
| At evemen down below the wide | |
Woak’s head, wi’ f ther at her zide. | |
| An’ I’ve a-plây’d wi’ many a buoy, | 15 |
| That ’s now a man an’ gone awoy; | |
| Zoo I da like noo tree so well | |
| ’S the girt woak tree that ’s in the dell. | |
| |
| An’ there, in liater years, I roved | |
| Wi’ thik poor mâid I fondly lov’d,— | 20 |
| The mâid too fiair to die so soon,— | |
| When evemen twilight, ar the moon, | |
| Drow’d light enough ’ithin the pliace | |
| To show the smiles upon her fiace, | |
| Wi’ eyes so clear ’s the glassy pool, | 25 |
| An’ lips an’ cheäks so soft as wool. | |
| There han’ in han’, wi’ bosoms warm, | |
| Wi’ love that burn’d but thought noo harm, | |
| Below thik wide-bough’d tree we past | |
| The happy hours that went too vast: | 30 |
| An’ though she’ll never be my wife, | |
| She ’s still my leäden star o’ life. | |
| She ’s gone: an’ she ’ve a-left to me | |
| Her token o’ the girt woak tree; | |
| Zoo I da love noo tree so well | 35 |
| ’S the girt woak tree that ’s in the dell. | |
| |
| An’ O! mid never ax nar hook | |
| Be brote to spwile his stiately look; | |
| Nar ever roun’ his white-rin’d zides | |
| Mid cattle rub ther hiary hides; | 40 |
| Nar pigs plow up his turf, but keep | |
| His luonesome shiade var harmless sheep; | |
| An’ let en grow, an’ let en spread, | |
| An’ let en live when I be dead. | |
| But O! ef th shou’d come an’ vell | 45 |
| The girt woak tree that ’s in the dell, | |
| An’ build his planks ’ithin the zide | |
| O’ zome girt ship to plow the tide, | |
| Then, life ar death! I’d goo to sea, | |
| A-sâilèn wi’ the girt woak tree: | 50 |
| An’ I upon th planks wou’d stand, | |
| An’ die a-fightèn var the land,— | |
| The land so dear,—the land so free,— | |
| The land that bore the girt woak tree; | |
| Var I da love noo tree so well | 55 |
| ’S the girt woak tree that ’s in the dell. | |
