Poems by Frederic William Moorman

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From Hull, Halifax, and Hell, good Lord deliver us.
A song I sing o' t' Yorkshire dales,
Cambodunum is the name of a Roman station, situated on a farm at Slack, on the hills above Huddersfield.
Fieldfares, bonny fieldfares, feedin' 'mang the bent,
GRANDFATHER
The Lord's bin hard on me, Sir,
These verses were written soon after the Old Age Pensions Bill came into operation.
What would you do wi' a doughter--
Mary Mecca,(1) Mary Mecca,
One yeer owder, one yeer dearer:
I niver heerd its name; we call it just "Our beck."
On many Yorkshire farms it was perhaps still is the custom to tell the bees when a death had taken place in the family. The hive had to be put into mourning, and when the arval, or funeral feast, was held, after the return from the grave, small porti
Lang-haired gauvies(1) coom my way, drawin' t' owd abbey an' brig,
Draw back my curtains, Mary,
A weddin', a woo,
There's dew upon the meadows,
She leaned o'er her latticed casement,
But now they are moaning, on ilka green loaning
Why! Bobbie, so thou's coom agean!
Thou wants my vote, young man wi' t' carpet-bags,
Ay, I'm a ranter, so at least fowks say;
The miller by the shore am I,
I've lived all my life i' Keighley,
I niver thowt when I grew owd

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