Steek yer een, my wee tot, ye'll see Daddy

then;

He's in below the bed claes, to cuddle ye

he's fain; Noo nestle to his bosie, sleep and dream yer

fill, Till Wee Davie Daylicht comes keekin' owre the hill.

James Ferguson

MOTHER-SONG

(From “Prince Lucifer”)

WHITE little hands!

Pink little feet!
Dimpled all over,

Sweet, sweet, sweet!
What dost thou wail for?

The unknown? the unseen?
The ills that are coming,

The joys that have been?

Cling to me closer,

Closer and closer,
Till the pain that is purer
Hath banished the grosser.

.
Drain, drain at the stream, love,

Thy hunger is freeing,
That was born in a dream, love,
Along with thy being!

Little fingers that feel

For their home on my breast,
Little lips that appeal

For their nurture, their rest!
Why, why dost thou weep, dear?

Nay, stifle thy cries,
Till the dew of thy sleep, dear,
Lies soft on thine eyes.

Alfred Austin

WEEP not, my wanton, smile upon my knee;
When thou art old there's grief enough for

thee.
Mother's wag, pretty boy,
Father's sorrow, father's joy ;
When thy father first did see
Such a boy by him and me,
He was glad, I was woe;
Fortune changèd made him so,
When he left his pretty boy,
Last his sorrow, first his joy.

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee;
When thou art old there's grief enough for

thee.
Streaming tears that never stint,
Like pearl-drops from a flint,

Fell by course from his eyes,
That one another's place supplies ;
Thus he grieved in every part,
Tears of blood fell from his heart,
When he left his pretty boy,
Father's sorrow, father's joy.

Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my

knee; When thou art old there's grief enough for

thee.
The wanton smiled, father wept,
Mother cried, baby leapt;
More he crowed, more we cried,
Nature could not sorrow hide :
He must go, he must kiss
Child and mother, baby bliss,
For he left his pretty boy,

Father's sorrow, father's joy.
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee,
When thou art old there's grief enough for
thee.

Robert Greene

CRADLE SONG

SLEEP, sleep, beauty bright,
Dreaming in the joys of night;
Sleep, sleep; in thy sleep
Little sorrows sit and weep.

Sweet babe, in thy face
Soft desires I can trace,
Secret joys and secret smiles,
Little pretty infant wiles.

As thy softest limbs I feel
Smiles as of the morning steal
O’er thy cheek, and o'er thy breast
Where thy little heart doth rest.

O the cunning wiles that creep
In thy little heart asleep!
When thy little heart doth wake,
Then the dreadful night shall break.

William Blake

LULLABY OF AN INFANT CHIEF

O, HUSH thee, my babie, thy sire was a

knight, Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright; The woods and the glens, from the towers

which we see, They are all belonging, dear babie, to thee.

O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo.

O, fear not the bugle, though loudly it

blows, It calls but the warders that guard thy repose;

Their bows would be bended, their blades

would be red, Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy

bed.
O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul

gu

lo.

a

O, hush thee, my babie, the time soon will

come, When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet

and drum; Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while

you may, For strife comes with manhood, and waking

with day.
O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo.

Walter Scott