When evenèn sheädes o' trees do hide
A body by the hedge's zide,
An' twitt'rèn birds, wi' plaÿsome flight,
Do vlee to roost at comèn night,
Then I do saunter out o' zight
In orcha'd, where the pleäce woonce rung
Wi' laughs a-laugh'd an' zongs a-zung
By vaïces that be gone.
There's still the tree that bore our swing,
An' others where the birds did zing;
But long-leav'd docks do overgrow
The groun' we trampled heäre below,
Wi' merry skippèns to an' fro
Bezide the banks, where Jim did zit
A-plaÿèn o' the clarinit
To vaïces that be gone.
How mother, when we us'd to stun
Her head wi' all our naïsy fun,
Did wish us all a-gone vrom hwome:
An' now that zome be dead, an' zome
A-gone, an' all the pleäce is dum',
How she do wish, wi' useless tears,
To have ageän about her ears
The vaïces that be gone.
Vor all the maïdens an' the bwoys
But I, be marri'd off all woys,
Or dead an' gone; but I do bide
At hwome, alwone, at mother's zide,
An' often, at the evenèn-tide,
I still do saunter out, wi' tears,
Down drough the orcha'd, where my ears
Do miss the vaïces gone.