Yorkshire Dialect Poems (1673-1915) and traditional poems

Owd England

     From Tykes Abrooad (W. Nicholson, Wakefield, 1911).

     Walter Hampson.

     Tha'rt welcome, thrice welcome, Owd England;
        It maks my een sparkle wi' glee,
     An' does mi heart gooid to behold thee,
        For I know tha's a welcome for me.
     Let others recaant all thi failin's,
        Let traitors upbraid as they will,
     I know at thy virtues are many,
        An' my heart's beeatin' true to thee still.

     There's a gladness i' t' sky at bends ower thee,
        There's a sweetness i' t' green o' thy grass,
     There's a glory i' t' waves at embrace thee,
        An' thy beauty there's naan can surpass.
     Thy childer enrich iv'ry valley,
        An' add beauty to iv'ry glen,
     For tha's mothered a race o' fair women,
        An' true-hearted, practical men.

     There's one little spot up i' Yorkshire,
         It's net mich to crack on at t' best,
     But to me it's a kingdom most lovely,
        An' it holds t' warmest place i' my breast.
     Compared wi' that kingdom, all others
        Are worthless as bubbles o' fooam,
     For one thing my rovin' has towt me,
        An' that is, there's no place like hooam.

     I know there'll be one theer to greet me
        At's proved faithful through many dark days,
     An' little feet runnin' to meet me,
        An' een at(1) howd love i' their gaze.
     An' there's neighbours both hooamly an' kindly,
        An' mates at are wor'thy to trust,
     An' friends my adversity's tested,
        At proved to be generous an' just.

     An' net far away there's green valleys,
        An' greeat craggy, towerin' hills,
     An' breezes at mingle their sweetness
        Wi' t' music o' sparklin' rills;
     An' meadows all decked wi' wild-flaars,
        An' hedges wi' blossom all white,
     An' a blue sky wheer t' skylark is singin',
        Just to mak known his joy an' delight.

     Aye, England, Owd England! I love thee
        Wi' a love at each day grows more strong;
     In my heart tha sinks deeper an' deeper,
        As year after year rolls along;
     An' spite o' thy faults an' thy follies,
        Whativer thy fortune may be,
     I' storm or i' sunshine, i' weal or i' woe,
        Tha'll allus be lovely to me.

     May thy sons an' thy dowters live happy,
        An' niver know t' woes o' distress;
     May thy friends be for iver increeasin',
        An' thy enemies each day grow less.
     May tha niver let selfish ambition
        Dishonour or tarnish thy swoord,
     But use it alooan agean despots
        Whether reignin' at hooam or abrooad.

     1.  That.