The Lass O' Newsholme Dean

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Title:     The Lass O' Newsholme Dean
Author: Bill o'th' Hoylus End [More Titles by Bill o'th' Hoylus End]

[Having spent the whole of the afternoon in this romantic little glen, indulging in pleasant meditations, I began to wend my way down the craggy pass that leads to the bonny little hamlet of Goose Eye, and turning round to take a last glance at this enchanting vale--with its running whimpering stream--I beheld the "Lass o' Newsholme Dean." She was engaged in driving home a Cochin China hen and her chickens. Instantaneously I was seized with a poetic fit, and gazing upon her as did Robert Tannyhill upon his imaginary beauty, "The Flower of Dumblane," I struck my lyre, and, although the theme of my song turned out afterwards to be a respectable old woman of 70 winters, yet there is still a charm in my "Lass o' Newsholme Dean."]

Thy kiss is sweet, thy words are kind,
Thy love is all to me;
Aw couldn't in a palace find
A lass more true ner thee:
An' if aw wor the Persian Shah,
An' thee mi Lovely Queen,
The grandest diamond i' mi Crown
Wor t' lass o' Newsholme Dean.

The lady gay may heed tha not,
An' passing by may sneer;
The upstart squire's dowters laugh,
When thou, my love, art near;
But if all ther shinin' soverins
War wared o' sattens green,
They mightn't be as handsome then
As t' Lass o' Newsholme Dean.

When yellow autumn's lustre shines,
An' hangs her golden ear,
An' nature's voice fra every bush
Is singing sweet and clear,
'Neath some white thorn to song unknown,
To mortal never seen,
'Tis there with thee I fain wad be,
Mi Lass o' Newsholme Dean.

Od drat, who cares fur kings or queens,
Mix'd in a nation's broil,
They nivver benefit the poor--
The poor mun ollas toil.
An' thou gilded spectre, royalty,
That dazzles folks's een,
Is nowt to me when I'm wi thee,
Sweet Lass o' Newsholme Dean.

High fra the summit o' yon' crag,
I view yon' smooky town,
Where forten she has deigned to smile
On monny a simple clown:
Though free fra want, they're free fra brains;
An' yet no happier I ween,
Than this old farmer's wife an' hens,
Aw saw i' Newsholme Dean.

[The end]
Bill o'th' Hoylus End's poem: Lass O' Newsholme Dean

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