William Barnes

William Barnes was an English writer, poet, minister, and philologist best known for his dialect poems. Born on February 22, 1801, in Dorset, Barnes had a significant impact on the preservation and celebration of the Dorset dialect, incorporating it extensively in his works. Beyond his poetry, Barnes was a champion of linguistic purism and advocated for the use of Anglo-Saxon vocabulary over Latin-derived terms. He passed away on October 7, 1886. His literary contributions are often associated with the rural and pastoral life.

February 22, 1801

October 7, 1886

English

William Barnes

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Blackmwore Maidens

The primrwose in the shade do blow,
The cowslip in the zun,
The thyme upon the down do grow,
The clote where streams do run;
An where do pretty maidens grow
An blow, but where the towr
Do rise among the bricken tuns,
In Blackmwore by the Stour.

If you could zee their comely gait,
An pretty faces smiles,
A-trippen on so light o waight,
An steppen off the stiles;
A-gwain to church, as bells do swing
An ring ithin the towr,
Youd own the pretty maidens place
Is Blackmwore by the Stour.

If you vrom Wimborne took your road,
To Stower or Paladore,
An all the farmers housen showd
Their daughters at the door;
Youd cry to bachelors at hwome
Here, come: ithin an hour
You ll vind ten maidens to your mind,
I...

William Barnes

Easter Zunday

Last Easter Jim put on his blue
Frock cwoat, the vust time-vier new;
Wi yollow buttons all o brass,
That glitterd in the zun lik glass;
An pokd ithin the button-hole
A tutty hed a-beggd or stole.
A span-new wes-cot, too, he wore,
Wi yellow stripes all down avore;
An tied his breeches lags below
The knee, wi ribbon in a bow;
An drowd his kitty-boots azide,
An put his laggens on, an tied
His shoes wi strings two vingers wide,
Because twer Easter Zunday.

An after mornen church wer out
He come back hwome, an strolld about
All down the vields, an drough the leane,
Wi sister Kit an cousin Jeane,
A-turnen proudly to their view
His yollow breast an back o blue.
The lambs did play, the grounds wer green,
The t...

William Barnes

Evenen In The Village

Now the light o the west is a-turnd to gloom,
An the men be at hwome vrom ground;
An the bells be a-zendén all down the Coombe
From tower, their mwoansome sound.
An the wind is still,
An the house-dogs do bark,
An the rooks be a-vled to the elems high an dark,
An the water do roar at mill.

An the flickerén light drough the window-peäne
Vrom the candles dull fleäme do shoot,
An young Jemmy the smith is a-gone down leäne,
A-plaÿén his shrill-vaiced flute.
An the millers man,
Do zit down at his ease
On the seat that is under the cluster o trees,
Wi his pipe an his cider can.

William Barnes

Evening, And Maidens

Now the shiades o the elems da stratch muore an muore,
Vrom the low-zinkàn zun in the west o the sky;
An the mâidens da stan out in clusters avore
The doors, var to chatty an zee voke goo by.

An ther cuombs be a-zet in ther bunches o hiair,
An ther curdles1 da hang roun ther necks lily-white,
An ther cheëaks tha be ruosy, ther shoulders be biare,
Ther looks tha be merry, ther lims tha be light.

An the times have a been but tha cëant be noo muore
When I, too, had my jây under evemens dim sky,
When my Fanny did stan out wi others avore
Her door, var to chatty an zee voke goo by.

An up there, in the green, is her own honey-zuck,
That her brother trâind up roun her winder; an there
Is the ruose an the jessamy, where she did pluck
...

William Barnes

Hay-Carren

'Tis merry ov a zummer's day,
When vo'k be out a-haulèn hay,
Where boughs, a-spread upon the ground,
Do meäke the staddle big an' round;
An' grass do stand in pook, or lie
In long-backed weäles or parsels, dry.
There I do vind it stir my heart
To hear the frothèn hosses snort,
A-haulèn on, wi' sleek heäir'd hides,
The red-wheel'd waggon's deep-blue zides.
Aye; let me have woone cup o' drink,
An' hear the linky harness clink,
An' then my blood do run so warm,
An' put sich strangth 'ithin my eärm,
That I do long to toss a pick,
A-pitchèn or a-meäkèn rick.

The bwoy is at the hosse's head,
An' up upon the waggon bed
The lwoaders, strong o' eärm do stan',
At head, an' back at taïl, a man,
Wi' skill to build the lwoad upright
An' bind ...

William Barnes

Hay-Meaken. Nunchen Time

A.
Back here, but now, the jobber John
Come by, an' cried, "Well done, zing on,
I thought as I come down the hill,
An' heärd your zongs a-ringèn sh'ill,
Who woudden like to come, an' fling
A peäir o' prongs where you did zing?"
J.
Aye, aye, he woudden vind it plaÿ,
To work all day a-meäkèn hay,
Or pitchèn o't, to eärms a-spread
By lwoaders, yards above his head,
'T'ud meäke en wipe his drippèn brow.
A.
Or else a-reäkèn a'ter plow.
J.
Or workèn, wi' his nimble pick,
A-stiffled wi' the hay, at rick.
A.
Our Company would suit en best,
When we do teäke our bit o' rest,
At nunch, a-gather'd here below
The sheäde theäse wide-bough'd woak do drow,
Where hissèn froth mid rise, an' float
In horns o' eäle, to wet his droat.
J...

William Barnes

In Praise Of Dorset

We Doset, though we mid be hwomely,
Bent asheamed to own our pleace;
An weve zome women not uncomely;
Nor asheamed to show their feace;
Weve a mead or two woth mowen,
Weve a ox or two woth showen,
In the village,
At the tillage.
Come along an you shall vind
That Doset men dont sheame their kind.
Friend an wife,
Fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers,
Happy, happy, be their life!
Vor Doset dear,
Then gie woone cheer;
Dye hear? woone cheer!
If you in Doset be a roamen,
An ha business on a farm,
Then woont ye zee your eale a foamen!
Or your cider down to warm?
Woont yo have brown bread a-put ye,
An some vinney cheese a-cut ye?
Butter?Rolls ot!
Cream?why bowls ot!
Woont ye have, in short, your vill,
...

William Barnes

Mater Dolorosa

Id a dream to-night
As I fell asleep,
O! the touching sight
Makes me still to weep:
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 train 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 turnd about,
Your tears put it out;
Mother, never mourn.

William Barnes

My Orcha'd In Linden Lea

Ithin the woodlands, flowry gleaded,
By the woak trees mossy moot,
The sheenen grass-bleades, timber-sheaded,
Now do quiver under voot;
An birds do whissle over head,
An waters bubblen in its bed,
An there vor me the apple tree
Do lean down low in Linden Lea.
When leaves that leately wer a-springen
Now do feade ithin the copse,
An painted birds do hush their zingen
Up upon the timbers tops;
An brown-leavd fruits a-turnen red,
In cloudless zunsheen, over head,
Wi fruit vor me, the apple tree
Do lean down low in Linden Lea.

Let other vok meake money vaster
In the air o dark-roomd towns,
I dont dread a peevish measter;
Though noo man do heed my frowns,
I be free to goo abrode,
Or teake agean my hwomeward road
...

William Barnes

The Blackbird

Ov all the birds upon the wing
Between the zunny showers o' spring,
Vor all the lark, a-swingen high,
Mid zing below a cloudless sky,
An' sparrows, clust'ren roun' the bough,
Mid chatter to the men at plough,
The blackbird, whisslen in among
The boughs, do zing the gayest zong.

Vor we do hear the blackbird zing
His sweetest ditties in the spring,
When nippen win's noo mwore do blow
Vrom northern skies, wi' sleet or snow,
But dreve light doust along between
The leane-zide hedges, thick an' green;
An' zoo the blackbird in among
The boughs do zing the gayest zong.

'Tis blithe, wi' newly-opened eyes,
To zee the mornen's ruddy skies;
Or, out a-haulen frith or lops
Vrom new-pleshed hedge or new-velled copse,
To rest at noon in primrwo...

William Barnes

The Broken Heart

News o' grief had overteaken
Dark-eyed Fanny, now vorseaken;
There she zot, wi' breast a-heaven,
While vrom zide to zide, wi' grieven,
Vell her head, wi' tears a-creepen
Down her cheaks, in bitter weepen.
There wer still the ribbon-bow
She tied avore her hour ov woe,
An' there wer still the hans that tied it
Hangen white,
Or wringen tight,
In ceare that drowned all ceare bezide it.

When a man, wi' heartless slighten,
Mid become a maiden's blighten,
He mid cearelessly vorseake her,
But must answer to her Meaker;
He mid slight, wi' selfish blindness,
All her deeds o' loven-kindness,
God wull waigh 'em wi' the slighten
That mid be her love's requiten;
He do look on each deceiver,
He do know
What weight o' woe
Do break the ...

William Barnes

The Castle Ruins

A happy day at Whitsuntide,
As soon s the zun begun to vall,
We all strolld up the steep hill-zide
To Meldon, gret an small;
Out where the Castle wall stood high
A-mwoldren to the zunny sky.

An there wi Jenny took a stroll
Her youngest sister, Poll, so gay,
Bezide John Hind, ah! merry soul,
An mid her wedlock fay;
An at our zides did play an run
My little maid an smaller son.

Above the baten mwold upsprung
The driven doust, a-spreaden light,
An on the new-leavd thorn, a-hung,
Wer wool a-quivren white;
An corn, a-sheenen bright, did bow,
On slopen Meldons zunny brow.

There, down the roofless wall did glow
The zun upon the grassy vloor,
An weakly-wandren winds did blow,
Unhinderd by a door;
An smok...

William Barnes

The Child An' The Mowers

O aye! they had woone child bezide,
An' a finer your eyes never met,
Twer a dear little fellow that died
In the summer that come wi' such het;
By the mowers, too thoughtless in fun,
He wer then a-zent off vrom our eyes,
Vrom the light ov the dew-dryen zun,
Aye! vrom days under the blue-hollow'd skies.

He went out to the mowers in meade,
When the zun wer a-rose to his height,
An' the men wer a-swingen the snead,
Wi' their earms in white sleeves, left an' right;
An' out there, as they rested at noon,
O! they drench'd en vrom eale-horns too deep,
Till his thoughts wer a-drown'd in a swoon;
Aye! his life wer a-smother'd in sleep.

Then they laid en there-right on the ground,
On a grass-heap, a-zweltren wi'het,
Wi' his heair all a-wetted around...

William Barnes

The Geate A-vallen To

In the zunsheen of our zummers
Wi the hay time now a-come,
How busy wer we out a-vield
Wi vew a-left at hwome,
When waggons rumbled out ov yard
Red wheeled, wi body blue,
And back behind em loudly slammd
The geate avallen to.

Drough daysheen ov how many years
The geate ha now a-swung
Behind the veet o vull-grown men
And vootsteps of the young.
Drough years o days it swung to us
Behind each little shoe,
As we tripped lightly on avore
The geate a-vallen to.

In evenen time o starry night
How mother zot at hwome,
And kept her bleazen vier bright
Till father should ha? come,
An how she quickend up and smiled
An stirred her vier anew,
To hear the trampen hoses steps
An geate a-vallen to.

There...

William Barnes

The Girt Woak Tree That's In The Dell

The girt woak tree that's in the dell!
There's noo tree I do love so well;
Vor times an' times when I wer young,
I there've a-climbed, an' there've a-zwung,
An' picked the eacorns green, a-shed
In wrestlen storms vrom his broad head.
An' down below's the cloty brook
Where I did vish with line an' hook,
An' beat, in playsome dips and zwims,
The foamy stream, wi' white-skinned lim's.
An' there my mother nimbly shot
Her knitten-needles, as she zot
At evenen down below the wide
Woak's head, wi' father at her zide.
An' I've a-played wi' many a bwoy,
That's now a man an' gone awoy;
Zoo I do like noo tree so well
'S the girt woak tree that's in the dell.

An' there, in leater years, I roved
Wi' thik poor maid I fondly loved,
The maid too feai...

William Barnes

The Love Child

Where the bridge out at Woodley did stride,
Wi' his wide arches' cool sheäded bow,
Up above the clear brook that did slide
By the poppies, befoam'd white as snow;
As the gilcups did quiver among
The white deäsies, a-spread in a sheet.
There a quick-trippèn maïd come along,
Aye, a girl wi' her light-steppèn veet.


An' she cried "I do praÿ, is the road
Out to Lincham on here, by the meäd?"
An' "oh! ees," I meäde answer, an' show'd
Her the way it would turn an' would leäd:
"Goo along by the beech in the nook,
Where the children do plaÿ in the cool,
To the steppèn stwones over the brook,
Aye, the grey blocks o' rock at the pool."


"Then you don't seem a-born an' a-bred,"
I spoke up, "at a place here about;"
And she answer'd wi' cheä...

William Barnes

The Peasant's Return

And passing here through evening dew,
He hastened happy to her door,
But found the old folk only two
With no more footsteps on the floor
To walk again below the skies
Where beaten paths do fall and rise.

For she wer gone from earthly eyes
To be a-kept in darksome sleep
Until the good again do rise
A joy to souls they left to weep.
The rose were dust that bound her brow;
The moth did eat her Sunday cape;
Her frock were out of fashion now;
Her shoes were dried up out of shape.

William Barnes

The Spring

When wintry weather's all a-done,
An' brooks do sparkle in the zun,
An' naisy-builden rooks do vlee
Wi' sticks toward their elem tree;
When birds do zing, an' we can zee
Upon the boughs the buds o' spring,
Then I'm as happy as a king,
A-vield wi' health an' zunsheen.

Vor then the cowlsip's hangen flower
A-wetted in the zunny shower,
Do grow wi' vi'lets, sweet o' smell,
Bezide the wood-screened graegle's bell;
Where drushes' aggs, wi' sky-blue shell,
Do lie in mossy nest among
The thorns, while they do zing their zong
At evenen in the zunsheen.

An' God do meake his win' to blow
An' rain to vall vor high an' low,
An' bid his mornen zun to rise
Vor all alike, an' groun' an' skies
Ha' colors vor the poor man's eyes:
An' in our ...

William Barnes

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