Volume I Part 20 (1/2)
Lullaby! O lullaby!
Baby, hush that little cry!
Light is dying, Bats are flying, Bees to-day with work have done; So, till comes the morrow's sun, Let sleep kiss those bright eyes dry!
Lullaby! O lullaby.
Lullaby! O lullaby!
Hushed are all things far and nigh; Flowers are closing, Birds reposing, All sweet things with life are done.
Sweet, till dawns the morning sun, Sleep, then kiss those blue eyes dry.
Lullaby! O lullaby!
William c.o.x Bennett [1820-1895]
LULLABY From ”The Princess”
Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea!
Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me; While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.
Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon; Rest, rest, on mother's breast, Father will come to thee soon; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west Under the silver moon: Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.
Alfred Tennyson [1809-1892]
THE COTTAGER TO HER INFANT
The days are cold, the nights are long, The north-wind sings a doleful song; Then hush again upon my breast; All merry things are now at rest, Save thee, my pretty love!
The kitten sleeps upon the hearth; The crickets long have ceased their mirth; There's nothing stirring in the house Save one wee, hungry, nibbling mouse; Then why so busy thou?
Nay! start not at that sparkling light; 'Tis but the moon that s.h.i.+nes so bright On the window-pane bedropped with rain: There, little darling! sleep again, And wake when it is day!
Dorothy Wordsworth [1804-1847]
TROT, TROT!
Every evening Baby goes Trot, trot, to town, Across the river, through the fields, Up hill and down.
Trot, trot, the Baby goes, Up hill and down, To buy a feather for her hat, To buy a woolen gown.
Trot, trot, the Baby goes; The birds fly down, alack!
”You cannot have our feathers, dear,”
They say, ”so please trot back.”
Trot, trot, the Baby goes; The lambs come bleating near.
”You cannot have our wool,” they say, ”But we are sorry, dear.”