Dar bon! but it were gude to hear
Oor Crosted bells ring oot beale,
That noo, at land last, peace war near,
And lads wad seun be back i’ t’ dale.
We slep that neet as barns mud sleap,
And nowder on us stirred till mworn,
For what! we kenned Death cud not reeap
Mair of oor Cumbrian lads like cworn.
Fower year we’d start’d in oor dreems,
We see’d them fwolk they ca’d the Huns;
Oor neets were fu’ o’ battle screams,
We heard girt thunner-claps o’ guns.
But noo, thank God, tho dreems we’ve hed,
We’ve nobbut seed our Willie’s feace
Coom smiling at us in oor bed,
Or sitting there in t’ auld hoose pleeace.
So peeace hes coom’d, and coom’d to stay;
Wi Willie back we’ll get along,
We’ll sing yance mair t’ auld clippin’ song.
Yet tho peeace cooms for a’ on earth,
There’s darkened dures by t’ dale and t’ fell,
Wor mony a lad war browt to birth,
To come to dust by shot or shell.
Eh, but it’s sad sec things sud be!
There’s nowt can mend a mudder’s smart,
But what, they died to keeup us free,
They’ll leev for evver in oor heart.
(Carlisle Journal, 31 December 1918, p. 8)