Edwin Waugh
Edwin Waugh Poems
When life's glad day is gone,
And the sun goes down
When we muse all alone
As the sun goes down;
...
When stars begin to steal in sight
Above the moorland hill;
When dreamy dusk leads on the night,
And all the world grows still;
...
Oh, thou who dost these pointers see,
And hears't the chiming hour,
Say, do I tell the time to thee,
And tell thee nothing more;-
...
A merry little doffer lad
Coom down to Shapper's mill,
To see if he could get a shop;
He said his name wur 'Bill.'
...
There're mony a gate eawt of eaw teawnend,—
But nobbut one for me
It winds by a rindlin' wayter side,
An' o'er a posied lea;
...
I've worn my bits o' shoon away,
Wi' Rovin' up an' deawn,
To see yon moorlan' valleys, an'
Yon little country teawn:
...
OWD PINDER were a rackless foo,
An’ spent his days i’ spreein’;
At th’ end ov every drinkin’-do,
He ’re sure to crack o’ deein’;
...
Todlin' whoam fro' th' market rant
Todlin' whoam content an' cant
Wi' mi' yed I' mi hat
an' mi feet i' mi shoon
...
What makes your leaves fall down
Ye drooping autumn flow'rs
What makes your green go brown
Ye fading autumn bow'rs
...
Th' wynt blows keen through th' shiverin' thorns,
An' th' leet looks wild i'th sky;
Come, Tet, stir up that fire;
...
Bill o' Sheepsheawter's;
Robin o'th Dree
Rondle o' Scouter's
Twilter, an' me;
...
When thy heart 'neath its trouble sinks down,
And the joys that misled it are gone,—
When the hopes that inspired it are flown,
...
When thy heart 'neath its trouble sinks down,
And the joys that misled it are gone,—
...
OH, there ’s mony a gate eawt ov eawr teawn-end,
But nobbut one for me;
It winds by a rindlin’ wayter side,
...
Twas when the dawn of momin' began to stir i'th sky,
I donned mysel' to wander Afore the dew wur dry;
...
Edwin Waugh Biography
Edwin Waugh (1817 – 1890), poet, son of a shoemaker, was born in Rochdale, Lancashire, and, after a little schooling, apprenticed to a printer. Waugh read eagerly, and became assistant secretary to the Lancashire Public School Association. He first attracted attention by his sketches of Lancashire life and character in the Manchester Examiner. He wrote also in prose Factory Folk, Besom Ben Stories, and The Chimney Corner. His best work was, perhaps, his Lancashire dialect songs, collected as Poems and Songs (1859), which brought him great local fame. He was possessed of considerable literary gift, and has been called "the Lancashire Burns." Waugh's Well was built in 1866 to commemorate him at the now derelict Fo' Farm, where he spent much time writing, on the moors above Waterfoot, Rossendale.Waugh died at his home in New Brighton, near Liverpool, in 1890 and was buried in St. Paul's churchyard on Kersal Moor.)
The Best Poem Of Edwin Waugh
When The Sun Goes Down
When life's glad day is gone,
And the sun goes down
When we muse all alone
As the sun goes down;
Oh, the heart is not so light,
When the day is taking flight,
And we feel the coming night,
As the sun goes down.
Oh, the flowers fall asleep
When the sun goes down;
And the silence is deep,
When the sun goes down;
But the skies of night grow fine,
And the stars begin to shine,
With a radiance divine,
When the sun goes down.
Oh, the curfew bell's tolled,
When the sun goes down;
And the sheep seek the fold,
When the sun goes down;
And the churchyard tower grey
Calls life's children home from play,
At the closing of the day,
When the sun goes down.
Ere the lark sinks to rest,
When the sun goes down,
In his grass-shaded nest,
When the sun goes down;
While the world begins to dream,
Then his evening carols stream
From the gathering starlight's gleam,
When the sun goes down.
So, remote from the throng,
When the sun goes down,
Life's quiet shades among,
When the sun goes down;
In the twilight's deepening grey,
At the waning of the day,
Let me sing my little lay,
As the sun goes down.
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