The primrose in the sheäde do blow,
The cowslip in the zun,
The thyme upon the down do grow,
The clote where streams do run;
An’ where do pretty maïdens grow
an’ blow, but where the tow’r
Do rise among the bricken tuns,
In Blackmwore by the Stour.

If you could see their comely gait
an’ pretty feäces’ smiles,
A-trippèn on so light of wäight
an’ steppen off the stiles!
A-gwaïn to church as bells do swing,
An’ ring ‘ithin the tow’r,
You’d own the pretty maïdens pleäce
is Blackmwore by the Stour.

If you from Wimborne took your road
to Stower or Paladore,
An’ all the farmers’ housèn shewed
their daëters at the door,
You’d cry to bachelors at hwome
“Here come, ‘ithin an hour
You’ll find ten maïdens to your mind,
in Blackmwore by the Stour.”

An’ if you look’d ‘ithin their door,
to see em in their pleäce,
A-doën housework up avore
their smilen mother’s feäce;
You’d cry “Why if a man would wive
an’ thrive ‘ithout a dow’r,
Then let en looken out a wife
in Blackmwore by the Stour.”

William Barnes (1801-1886)