Now The Light O' The West Is A-Turn'D To Gloom, An' The Men Be At Hwome Vrom Ground; An' The Bells Be A-Zend'N All Down The Coombe From Tower, Their Mwoansome Sound. An' The Wind Is Still, An' The House-Dogs Do Bark, An' The Rooks Be A-Vled To The Elems High An' Dark, An' The Water Do Roar At Mill. An' The Flicker'N Light Drough The Window-Pe'Ne Vrom The Candle'S Dull Fle'Me Do Shoot, An' Young Jemmy The Smith Is A-Gone Down Le'Ne, A-Pla''N His Shrill-Vaiced Flute. An' The Miller'S Man, Do Zit Down At His Ease On The Seat That Is Under The Cluster O' Trees, Wi' His Pipe An' His Cider Can.