Rejected.

Gooid bye, lass, aw dunnot blame,     Tho' mi loss is hard to bide!     For it wod ha' been a shame,     Had tha ivver been the bride     Of a workin chap like me;     One 'ats nowt but love to gie.     Hard hoof'd neives like thease o' mine.     Surely ne'er wor made to press     Hands so lily-white as thine;     Nor should arms like thease caress     One so slender, fair, an' pure,     'Twor unlikely, lass, aw'm sure.     But thease tears aw cannot stay, -     Drops o' sorrow fallin fast,     Hopes once held aw've put away     As a dream, an think its past;     But mi poor heart loves thi still,     An' wol life is mine it will.     When aw'm seated, lone and sad,     Wi mi scanty, hard won meal,     One thowt still shall mak me glad,     Thankful that alone aw feel     What it is to tew an' strive     Just to keep a soul alive.     Th' whin-bush rears o'th' moor its form,     An' wild winds rush madly raand,     But it whistles to the storm,     In the barren home it's faand;     Natur fits it to be poor,     An 'twor vain to strive for moor.     If it for a lily sighed,     An' a lily chonced to grow,     When it found the fair one died,     Powerless to brave the blow     Of the first rude gust o' wind,     Which had left its wreck behind.     Then 'twod own 'twor better fate     Niver to ha' held the prize;     Whins an' lilies connot mate,     Sich is not ther destinies;     Then 'twor wrang for one like me,     One soa poor, to sigh for thee.     Then gooid bye, aw dunnot blame,     Tho' mi loss it's hard to bide,     For it wod ha' been a shame     Had tha iver been mi bride;     Content aw'll wear mi lonely lot,     Tho' mi poor heart forgets thee not.