Lass o'th Haley Hill.

A poem by John Hartley

O winds 'at blow, an flaars 'at grow,
O sun, an stars an mooin!
Aw've loved yo long, as weel yo know,
An watched yo neet an nooin.
But nah, yor paars to charm all flee,
Altho' yor bonny still,
But th' only beauty i' mi e'e,
Is th' lass o'th Haley Hill.

Her een's my stars, - her smile's my sun,
Her cheeks are rooases bonny;
Her teeth like pearls all even run,
Her brow's as fair as onny.
Her swan-like neck, - her snowy breast, -
Her hands, soa seldom still;
Awm fain to own aw love her best, -
Sweet lass o'th' Haley Hill.

Aw axt her i' mi kindest tone,
To grant mi heart's desire;
A tear upon her eyelid shone, -
It set mi heart o' foir.
Wi' whispers low aw told mi love,
Shoo'd raised her droopin heead;
Says shoo, "Awm sooary for thi lad,
But awm already wed;
An if awr Isaac finds thee here, -
As like enuff he will, -
Tha'll wish 'at tha wor onnywhear,
Away throo th' Haley Hill.

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