WILLIAM BARNES

Of my little lad, Gone to leave me sad, Ay, the child I had, But was not to keep.

As in heaven high

I my child did seek, There in tram came by

Children fair and meek, Each in lily white, With a lamp alight; Each was clear to sight,

But they did not speak.

Then, a little sad,

Came my child in turn,

But the lamp he had, O it did not burn'

He, to clear my doubt,

Said, half turn'd about,

'Your tears put it out; Mother, never mourn.'

668 The Wife a-lost

JINCE I noo mwore do zee your feace,

Up steurs or down below, I'll zit me in the Iwonesome plea'ce,

Where flat-bough 'd beech do grow; Below the beeches' bough, my love,

Where you did never come, An' I don't look to meet ye now, As I do look at hwome.

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