Ailse-O'-Yeb's Last Wish Poem by William Baron

Owd Ailse-o'-Yeb's lee varra ill,
For weeks hoo'd kept hur bed;
' Hoo'll ne'er come eawt on't wick agen,'
Hur nayburs sadly sed.
' Hoo's getten too far on i'th' day
To ever hope to mend;
It connot be so long, at th' most,
Afore hoo meets hur end.'

But Ailse hursel ne'er gav' up hope,
Nor leet hur courage ebb,
But feebly cracked some playful joke
To cheer hur husband Yeb :
' Aw'm nooan for leeavin' this shop yet,
Unless aw'm ill mista'en;
Aw meean to last thee eawt, owd brid,
An', maybe, clog agen.'

' Aw nobbut wish thi words wur true,'
Yeb ventur'd to reply;
' Hev payshunce, then, an wait,' hoo sed,
' Theaw'll find aw've towd no lie.'
' Aw hope hoo hesno',' murmured Yeb,
When, later on, hoo slept;
An' hevin' tucked hur snug i'th' clooas,
Deawnstairs he softly crept.

That varra neet Owd Ailse grew worse,
An' thus spoke Doctor Squill:—
' Aw've done mi best, but neaw, aw'm feeart,
Hoo's getten past my skill.'
' Is ther no chonce at ? ' axed Yeb,
I' tears beside hur bed;
Th' owd doctor never answered him,
But sadly shook his yed.

' Oh, Ailse ! ' cried Yeb, when bi thersels,
' It seems we hev to part ;
An heaw aw dread that comin' time,
For it'll breyk mi heart!
But one thing, Ailse, aw'd like to know,
Ere it's too late, mi lass:—
Tell me wheer aw mun bury tha,
If th' worst should come to pass.

' Wilta be laid i' th' owd churchyard,
Wheer o yor folks sleep seawnd?—
Or would ta rayther lie at rest
I' th' cemetery greawnd ?
Dunnot be feeart to mek thi choice,
Becose, aw'll promise this:
Thi wish shall be respected, Ailse,
No matter what it is.'

'Theaw'rt varra kind, Yeb,—that theaw art-
Ailse answered, faint an' low;
' An' mi choice aw'll mek witheawt delay,
For it's reet 'at theaw should know.
Theaw's promised to respect mi wish,
Whatever it may be ;
Sooa if aw con choose mi berrin-place,

AW’LL LIE ON TH' TOP O' THEE ! '


' Confeawnd it, Ailse !' he cried aleawd,
'This is no time for mirth! '
' Nor time to talk o'er graves,' hoo sed,
' While aw'm still wick on earth.'
An,' strange to say, fro' that same heawr,
Owd Ailse begun to mend,
An' it's mooar nor likely ' at hur words
May yet come true i’ th' end.