OH! aye! the spring 'ithin the leäne,

A-leäden down to Lyddan Brook;

An’ still a-nesslèn in his nook,

As weeks do pass, an’ moons do weäne. wane

Nwone the drier,

Nwone the higher,

Nwone the nigher to the door

Where we did live so long avore.

An’ oh! what vo'k his mossy brim folk

Ha’ gathered in the run o’ time!

The wife a-blushèn in her prime;

The widow wi’ her eyezight dim;

Maïdens dippèn,

Childern sippèn,

Water drippèn, at the cool

Dark wallèn ov the little pool. walls

Behind the spring do lie the lands

My father till'd, vrom Spring to Spring,

Awäitèn on vor time to bring

The crops to paÿ his weary hands.

Wheat a-growèn,

Beäns a-blowèn,

Grass vor mowèn, where the bridge

Do leäd to Ryall's on the ridge.

But who do know when liv'd an’ died

The squier o’ the mwoldrèn hall; mouldering

That lined en wi’ a stwonèn wall, it, stone

An’ steän'd so cleän his wat'ry zide? paved with stone

We behind en, him

Now can't vind en, it

But do mind en, an’ do thank remember

His meäker vor his little tank.