Sweet babe, in thy face As thy softest limbs I feel O the cunning wiles that creep 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 re pose; 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. 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 |