Comen Hwome
As
clouds
did
ride
wi'
heästy
flight.
An'
woods
did
swäy
upon
the
height,
An'
bleädes
o'
grass
did
sheäke,
below
The
hedge-row
bremble's
swingèn
bow,
I
come
back
hwome
where
winds
did
zwell,
In
whirls
along
the
woody
gleädes,
On
primrwose
beds,
in
windy
sheädes,
To
Burnley's
dark-tree'd
dell.
There
hills
do
screen
the
timber's
bough,
The
trees
do
screen
the
leäze's
brow,
The
timber-sheäded
leäze
do
bear
A
beäten
path
that
we
do
wear.
The
path
do
stripe
the
leäze's
zide,
To
willows
at
the
river's
edge.
Where
hufflèn
winds
did
sheäke
the
zedge
An'
sparklèn
weäves
did
glide.
An'
where
the
river,
bend
by
bend,
Do
dräin
our
meäd,
an'
mark
its
end,
The
hangèn
leäze
do
teäke
our
cows,
An'
trees
do
sheäde
em
wi'
their
boughs,
An'
I
the
quicker
beät
the
road,
To
zee
a-comèn
into
view,
Still
greener
vrom
the
sky-line's
blue,
Wold
Burnley
our
abode.
