An’ “Sees t’e, Mary Ray,” I says, “That lang low line o’ leet;— It cūms to say oor leàter days May yit be fair an’ breet, An’ t’ cloods ’at darken owre us noo May rive like yon we see, An’ t’ sūn o’ love cūm glentin through, To shine on thee an’ me.” But Mary lean’t her sinkin heid Ageàn my heavin’ breist “Tūrn roond,” she said, “an’ say asteed, What reads t’e here i’ t’ East; For t’ East’s mair sure to guide us reet, If dark an’ coald it be; It’s liker life—nor that reid leet— To Mary Ray an’ thee.” I turn’t an’ leùk’t wid bodeful glooar, Whoar o’ was coald an’ gray, An’ like a ghost reàse t’ white church tooar, To freeten whope away; An’ Woker’s shadow heap’t a gloom Owre beck, an’ field, an’ tree, ’At said far darker days mud cūm To Mary Ray an’ me. An’ niver mair on Woker Broo I strowl’t wid Mary Ray; They partit us that winter through— An’ than I went away. An’ Mary in her grave they’d laid When I com’ back frae t’ sea;— ’Twas true what Woker’s shadow said To Mary Ray an’ me. THE BANNASYDE “CAIRNS.” (IN THE DIALECT OF HIGH FURNESS.) I’ yer jornas ooer Wa’na Scar to Seeathet ye’ll offen aneeuf ha nooatish’t a lot o’ round heeaps o’ steeans strinklet heear an’ theear ooer t’ feeace o’ Bannasyde mooer: an’ if ye leuk inta them fine maps ’at t’ gūverment’s putten owt ye’ll see ’at t’ pleeace ’at’s meeant for Bannasyde has _cairns, cairns, cairns_ dottit o’ ooer ’t. They wor sharp fellows wor t’ surveyors ’at went ooer t’ grund ùt meeak thor maps. Yā lot o’ them com’ efter anudder for iver so many years, sūm wi’ reed cooats an’ sūm wi’out; an’ they teeuk for iver o’ pains wi’ the’r wark. Why, when t’ doctor gat a lile lūmp off àld Geoordie Flimming’ field ùt meeak his-sel’ a bit of a gardin, efter they’d survey’t an’ mizzer’t it, they went o’ ooer t’ grūnd a-fresh, just ùt put it in; an’ theear it is i’ t’ maps, as plain as t’ field its-sel’. Bit about thor cairns. I mun tell yé ’at when I furst hard o’ them, I cùdn’t meeak end nor side o’ what they cud be, an’ I went tull Rodger Forness ut ex about them. Rodger kna’s meear about sike things nor a deeal o’ fooak; sooa I went tull him, an’ he telt mé ’at cairns was heeaps o’ lilely steeans ’at hed been rais’t ooer t’ graves o’ girt men lang sen, afooer ther was any kirk-garths ut bury t’em in—’at Dunmal Raise is t’ biggest cairn i’ t’ country, an’ ’at it was pilet up ooer a king ’at was kil’t theear. Rodger an’ me hed a gūd laugh togidder ooer t’ Bannasyde cairns, for we beeath kna’t gaily weel how _they_ com to be theear, but we said t’ yan til’ t’ tudder, “Let’s hear, an’ see, an’ say nowte.”