O JAŸ betide the dear wold mill, joy, old

My naïghbour plaÿmeätes’ happy hwome,

Wi’ rollèn wheel, an’ leäpèn foam,

Below the overhangèn hill,

Where, wide an’ slow,

The stream did flow,

An’ flags did grow, an’ lightly vlee fly

Below the grey-leav'd withy tree, willow

While clack, clack, clack, vrom hour to hour,

Wi’ whirlèn stwone, an’ streamèn flour,

Did goo the mill by cloty Stour. yellow water-lilied

An’ there in geämes by evenèn skies,

When Meäry zot her down to rest, sat

The broach upon her pankèn breast, panting

Did quickly vall an’ lightly rise,

While swans did zwim

In steätely trim.

An’ swifts did skim the water, bright

Wi’ whirlèn froth, in western light;

An’ clack, clack, clack, that happy hour,

Wi’ whirlèn stwone, an’ streamèn flour,

Did goo the mill by cloty Stour.

Now mortery jeints, in streaks o’ white, joints

Along the geärden wall do show

In Maÿ, an’ cherry boughs do blow, bloom

Wi’ bloomèn tutties, snowy white, bunches of blossom

Where rollèn round,

Wi’ rumblèn sound,

The wheel woonce drown'd the vaïce so dear once

To me. I faïn would goo to hear

The clack, clack, clack, vor woone short hour, one

Wi’ whirlèn stwone, an’ streamèn flour,

Bezide the mill on cloty Stour.

But should I vind a-heavèn now

Her breast wi’ aïr o’ thik dear pleäce? that

Or zee dark locks by such a brow,

Or het o’ plaÿ on such a feäce? heat

No! She's now staïd, grown up

An’ where she plaÿ'd,

There's noo such maïd that now ha’ took

The pleäce that she ha’ long vorsook,

Though clack, clack, clack, vrom hour to hour,

Wi’ whirlèn stwone an’ streamèn flour,

Do goo the mill by cloty Stour.

An’ still the pulley rwope do heist hoist

The wheat vrom red-wheeled waggon beds.

An’ ho'ses there wi’ lwoads of grist,

Do stand an’ toss their heavy heads;

But on the vloor,

Or at the door,

Do show noo mwore the kindly feäce

Her father show'd about the pleäce,

As clack, clack, clack, vrom hour to hour,

Wi’ whirlèn stwone, an’ streamèn flour,

Did goo his mill by cloty Stour.