« ПредыдущаяПродолжить »
To thee I know, too much I owc;
I cannot work thee any woe,
“ A fire was once within my brain;
And in my head a dull, dull pain;
And fiendishi faces one, two, three,
Hung at my breasts, and pulled at me:
But then there came a sight of joy i
It came at once to do me good;
I waked, and saw my little boy,
My little boy of flesh and blood;
Oh joy for me that sight to see!
For he was here and only he.
“ Suck little babe, oh suck again!
It cools my blood, it cools my brain;
Thy lips I feel them, baby! they
Draw from my heart the pain away.
Oh! press me with thy little hand;
It loosens something at my chest;
About that tight and deadly band
I feel thy little fingers pressid.
The breeze I see is in the tree;
It comes to cool my babe and me.
• Oh! love me, love me, little boy!
Thou art thy mother's only joy ;
And do not dread the waves below,
When o'er the sea-rock's edge we go;
The high crag cannot work me harmondo Nor leaping torrents when they howl pan80 The babe I carry on my arm, He saves for me my precious soul; st A Then happy lie, for blest am Izad yah Without me my sweet babe would die, a to
bollug baseasond “ Then do not fear, my boy! for thee Bold as a lion I will be And I will always be thy guide, foster Through hollow snows and rivers wide I'll build an Indian bower; I know The leaves that make the softest bed; And if from me thou wilt not gossa But still be true 'till I am dead, My pretty thing! then thou shalt sing, As'inerry as the birds in spring.
“ Thy father cares not for my breast,
'Tis thine, sweet baby, there to rest :
'Tis all thine own! and if its hue
Be changed, that was so fair to view, i.
"Tis fair enough for thee, my dove!
My beauty, little child, is flown;
But thou wilt live with me in love,
And what if my poor cheek be brown?:
'Tis well for me thou canst not see :
How pale and wanit else would be,
“ Dread not their taunts, my little life!
I am thy father's wedded wife;
And underneath the spreading tree
We two will live in honesty.
If his sweet boy he could forsake,
With me he never would have stayed:
From him no harm my babe can take,
But he poor man! is wretched made,
And every day we two will pray
For him that's gone and far away.
" I'll teach my boy the sweetest things;
I'll teach him how the owlet sings.
My little babe! thy lips are still,
And thou hast almost suck'd thy fill.
-Where art thou gone my own dear child?
What wicked looks are those I see!
Alas! alas! that look so wild,
It never, never came from me:
If thou art mad, my pretty lad,
Then I must be for ever sad.
" ()! smile on me, my little lamb!
For I thy own dear mother am.
My love for thee has well been tried:
I've sought thy father far and wide,
I know the poišons of the shade,
I know the earth-nuts fit for food
Then, pretty dear, be not afraid ;
We'll find thy father in the wood." (17!!
Now laugh and be gay, to the woods away:
And there, my babe, we'll live for aye.
'TIS eight o'clock, a clear March night,
The moon is up—the sky is blue,
The owlet in the moonlight air,
He shouts from nobody knows where;
He lengthens, out his lonely shout,
Halloo! halloo ! a long halloo:!.
-Why bustle thus about your door,
What means this bustle, Betty Foy?
Why are you in this mighty fret ?
And why on horseback have you set
Him whom you love, your Idiot boy?
Beneath the moon that shines so bright,
Till she is tired, let Betty Foy
With girt and stirrup fiddle-faddle;
But wherefore set upon a saddle
Him whom she loves, her Idiot boy?