Between the night and morrow;

They thought that she was fast asleep,
But she was dead with sorrow.

They have kept her ever since
Deep within the lakes,

On a bed of flag leaves,

Watching till she wakes.

By the craggy hillside,

Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn-trees
For pleasure here and there.
Is any man so daring

As dig one up in spite?
He shall find the thornies set
In his bed at night.

Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We dare n't go a-hunting,
For fear of little men ;

Wee folk, good folk,

Trooping all together;

A wee thing makes us think,

A small thing makes us stare, There are more folks than him Building castles in the air.

Such a night in winter

May well make him cold; His chin upon his chubby hand Will soon make him old.

His brow is smooth and broad,

Oh pray that busy care Would let the wean alone

With his castles in the air!

He'll głower at the fire,

And he'll glance at the light!

But many sparkling stars

Are swallowed up in night;

Older eyes than his

Are dazzled by a glare

Hearts are broken-heads are turned

With castles in the air.

-James Ballantyne

Over the sea.

Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?
All that love me.

Are you not tired with rolling, and never
Resting to sleep?

Why look so pale and so sad, as forever
Wishing to weep?