A friend o' mine - aw'll co him Tom-
To Woodhouses wur gooin' whoam
One dark neet along cut-side,
When near th' Crime Lake a leet he spide,
It moved abeawt on th' top o' th' broo,
Just over th' cut, an' Tom weel knew
'At nob'dy should bi theer at o,
Yet leet kept movin' to an' fro.
It wur, he seed, wi' some alarm
I' th' hen-pen near by Jackson's farm;
"By gum," thowt Tom, "ther's someone theer
Who's after stealin' th' hens, aw fear.
Aw connot get o'er th' cut i' th' dark
To put a stop to th' wicked wark;
An ' iv aw go reight reawnd on th' lone
Bi th' time aw get theer they'll 'av gone."
But suddenly, th' leet seemed to glide
Deawn th' broo an' stopped at th' wayterside,
Then whot it wur Tom saw quite clear,
-An' awmost fell i'th' cut wi' fear!
His yure rose stiffly on his yed,
While deawn his spine a shiver sped;
Damp wur his brow – weel might it be,
'At whot 'is startl't een could see!
Owd fashiont, strange, wi' pallid beam
A lantern shone, an' in its gleam
Tom seed an arm – an' that wur o
'At held this lamp wi' ghostly glow!
"What dus'ta want? Han yo a name?"
Tom said as th' boggart nearer came;
It moved o'er th' cut an' shone its leet
On th' cut – bank stooans deawn by his feet.
No seawnd at o came fro' this Thing,
Then swiftly, like a brid on th' wing,
It sped to th' lake, cowd, deep an' wide;
Crossed o'er, then vanished on th' far side.
When Tom geet whoam his missus said:
"Weh, mon, thi yure stonds on thi yed
Like spreawin' grass i' th' spring o' th' year;
Summat's feeort thee, that's clear!"
To his good wife Tom towd his tale,
O'th arm an' lamp wi leet so pale;