Poor Jenny wer her Robert's bride
Two happy years, an' then he died;
An' zoo the wold vo'k meäde her come,
Vorseäken, to her maïden hwome.
But Jenny's merry tongue wer dum';
An' round her comely neck she wore
A murnèn kerchif, where avore
The rwose did deck her breast.
She walk'd alwone, wi' eye-balls wet,
To zee the flow'rs that she'd a-zet;
The lilies, white's her maïden frocks,
The spike, to put 'ithin her box,
Wi' columbines an' hollyhocks;
The jilliflow'r an' noddèn pink,
An' rwose that touch'd her soul to think
Ov woone that deck'd her breast.
Vor at her weddèn, just avore
Her maïden hand had yet a-wore
A wife's goold ring, wi' hangèn head
She walk'd along thik flower-bed,
Where stocks did grow, a-staïned wi' red,
An' meärygoolds did skirt the walk,
An' gather'd vrom the rwose's stalk
A bud to deck her breast.
An' then her cheäk, wi' youthvul blood
Wer bloomèn as the rwoses bud;
But now, as she wi' grief do pine,
'Tis peäle's the milk-white jessamine.
But Robert have a-left behine
A little beäby wi' his feäce,
To smile, an' nessle in the pleäce
Where the rwose did deck her breast.
