Ammon Wrigley - "On the Stanedge Moors"

The following is a transcription of a work by Saddleworth poet Ammon Wrigley (1861-1946).

On the Stanedge Moors

When the Stanedge moors are August brown,
Away to the heights I go,
Up old hill roads where the ruts are deep,
To a hollow that few men know.
And there I lie in the windblown grass,
Away from a world of strife;
And I take mine ease where all things go
In the simple ways of life.
I seek the bed where the plover sleeps
And the wild red grouse are born,
Where the white hares sit among the ling
And wait for the hunting morn.
And all fair sights that dreams can give,
And sounds that enchant the ear,
Come to my sleep on the dear old hills,
And bring me the heavens near.
When the stars come out, I seek an inn,
And sing with the moormen there
Of the stream worn cloughs and birds that live
Their life in the moorland air;
And I drink good ale from flagons deep,
Where the barley fairies play;
And I thank my God I’ve found on earth
The joy of a restful day.