WILLIAM Dewy, Tranter Reuben, Farmer Ledlow late at plough,
Robert's kin, and John's, and Ned's,
And the Squire, and Lady Susan, lie in Mellstock churchyard now!
"Gone," I call them, gone for good, that group of local hearts and
Yet at mothy curfew-tide,
And at midnight when the noon-heat breathes it back from walls and
They've a way of whispering to me