WHEN mornèn winds, a-blowèn high,

Do zweep the clouds vrom all the sky,

An’ laurel-leaves do glitter bright,

The while the newly broken light

Do brighten up, avore our view,

The vields wi’ green, an’ hills wi’ blue;

What then can highten to my eyes

The cheerful feäce ov e'th an’ skies, earth

But Meäry's smile, o’ Morey's Mill,

My rwose o’ Mowy Lea.

An’ when, at last, the evenèn dews

Do now begin to wet our shoes;

An’ night's a-ridèn to the west,

To stop our work, an’ gi'e us rest, give

Oh! let the candle's ruddy gleäre

But brighten up her sheenèn heäir; shining

Or else, as she do walk abroad, outside

Let moonlight show, upon the road,

My Meäry's smile, o’ Morey's Mill,

My rwose o’ Mowy Lea.

An’ O! mid never tears come on, may

To wash her feäce's blushes wan,

Nor kill her smiles that now do plaÿ

Like sparklèn weäves in zunny Maÿ;

But mid she still, vor all she's gone

Vrom souls she now do smile upon,

Show others they can vind woone jaÿ one

To turn the hardest work to plaÿ:

My Meäry's smile, o’ Morey's Mill,

My rwose o’ Mowy Lea.