Anderson's Cumberland ballads, with a memoir of his life, written by himself, notes, glossary, &c. To which is added several other songs in the Cumberland dialect, by various authors1840 |
Häufige Begriffe und Wortgruppen
anudder aw maks bairns beath bonny brong Carel cawt cheerfu deame Deeth deleyte dowter duin duir e'en e'er Englan fadder fain feace feyne frae frien fuils furst fwok geane girt happy heame heart Heaste Hethersgill Jenny Jwohnny kens keynd kurk lasses lassie leeve leyfe leyfe's leyke leyle luik luive mair meade meynd meyne monie mudder munnet mworn ne'er neame neeght neet neist neybors niver nobbet nowt onie ov aw owre peer plishure preyde pruive queyte reet roun rwose rwosy Sally Gray says seegh smeyle suin sweet teake teyme thee theer thou thowt thro tnow Tom Linton Tou's tuik Twas twee varra wark warl weel weyfe weyld whee wheyle wheyte Whoar whop whope widout Wully yence young
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 119 - Ah happy hills, ah pleasing shade, Ah fields belov'd in vain, Where once my careless childhood stray'd, A stranger yet to pain! I feel the gales, that from ye blow, A momentary bliss bestow, As waving fresh their gladsome wing, My weary soul they seem to soothe, And redolent of joy and youth, To breathe a second spring.
Seite 117 - Ye noble few, who here unbending stand Beneath life's pressure ! yet bear up a while And what your bounded view, which only saw A little part, deem'd evil, is no more : The storms of Wintry Time will quickly pass, And one unbounded Spring encircle all.
Seite 5 - I forget to cheyde; My fadder, tui, how sweet he snwores, My mudder's fast asleep— He promis'd oft, but, oh ! I fear His word he wunnet keep. What can it be keeps him frae me ? The ways are nit sae lang, And sleet and snow are nought at aw If yen were fain to gang: Some udder lass, wi' bonnier feace, Has catch'd his wicked ee, And I'll be pointed at at kurk— Nay, suiner let me dee!
Seite 131 - And spang o'er my fields o' new wheat, Nought but ill words I get for my damage; Can ony man tell me that's reet? Why, there I mun own the shoe pinches, Just there to find faut is nae shame; Ne'er ak! there's nae hard laws in England, Except this bit thing about game: Man, were we aw equal at mwornin, We coudn't remain sae till neet; Some arms are far stranger than others, And some heads will tek in mair leet. Tou coudn't mend laws an' tou wad, man; Tis for other-guess noddles than thine; Lord help...
Seite 5 - Ay in a body's ear; It tells and tells the teyme is past When Jwohnny sud been here. Deuce tek the wheel! 'twill nit rin roun, Nae mair to-neet I'll spin, But count each minute wid a seegh Till Jwohnny he steals in.
Seite 41 - Compar'd wi' mey Black Nan ! When young, just leyke the deil she ran ; The car-gear at Durdar she wan ; That day seed me a happy man, Now tears gush frae my e'e : For she's geane ! — Mey weyfe's geane, Jwohn's a...
Seite 115 - ... of the weather. On reaching her habitation, he gives a gentle tap at the window of her chamber, at which signal she immediately rises, dresses herself, and proceeds with all possible silence to the door, which she gently opens, lest a creaking hinge, or a barking dog, should awaken the family. On his entrance into the kitchen, the luxuries of a Cumbrian cottage — cream and sugared curds — are placed before him.
Seite 125 - A Cumbrian girl, when her lover proves unfaithful to her, is, by way of consolation, rubbed with pease-straw by the neighbouring lads ; and when a Cumbrian youth loses his sweetheart, by her marriage with a rival, the same sort of comfort is administered to him by the lasses of the village. " Winter time for shoeing, peas-cod time for wooing,
Seite 131 - I'll tell you how aw things in Cummerland gang ; How we live — I mean starve — for, God bliss the king! His ministers — darr them ! — are nit quite the thing. Derry down, &c. Thur taxes ! thur taxes ! Lord help us, amen ! Out of every twel-pence I doubt they'll tek ten. We're tax'd when we're bworn, and we're tax'd when we dee ; Now countrymen these are hard laws, d'ye see. Derry down, &c, My honest plain neighbor...
Seite 5 - Com tremlin up to t' fire: At Carel market lads wad stare, An talk, an follow me; Wi' feyne shwort keakes, ay frae the fair, Baith pockets cramm'd wad be.