WHEN Pentridge House wer still the nest

O’ souls that now ha’ better rest,

Avore the viër burnt to ground fire

His beams an’ walls, that then wer sound,

'Ithin a naïl-bestudded door,

An’ passage wi’ a stwonèn vloor, stone

There spread the hall, where zun-light shone

In drough a window freäm'd wi’ stwone. through

A clavy-beam o’ sheenèn woak mantlepiece, shining oak

Did span the he'th wi’ twistèn smoke, hearth

Where fleämes did shoot in yollow streaks,

Above the brands, their flashèn peaks;

An’ aunt did pull, as she did stand

O’-tip-tooe, wi’ her lifted hand,

A curtain feäded wi’ the zun,

Avore the window freäm'd wi’ stwone.

When Hwome-ground grass, below the moon, home-field

Wer damp wi’ evenèn dew in June,

An’ aunt did call the maïdens in

Vrom walkèn, wi’ their shoes too thin,

They zot to rest their litty veet sat, light

Upon the window's woaken seat, oak

An’ chatted there, in light that shone

In drough the window freäm'd wi’ stwone.

An’ as the seasons, in a ring,

Roll'd slowly roun’ vrom Spring to Spring,

An’ brought em on zome holy-tide,

When they did cast their tools azide;

How glad it meäde em all to spy

In Stwonylands their friends draw nigh,

As they did know em all by neäme

Out drough the window's stwonèn freäme. stone

O evenèn zun, a-ridèn drough

The sky, vrom Sh'oton Hill o’ blue,

To leäve the night a-broodèn dark

At Stalbridge, wi’ its grey-wall'd park;

Small jaÿ to me the vields do bring, joy

Vor all their zummer birds do zing,

Since now thy beams noo mwore do fleäme

In drough the window's stwonèn freäme.