Hush, my little one! Hush! Lie down. Mamma will sing-- Sing of a boy in a wee white gown, Sing of a king with a golden crown, A crown of curls on a sweet, small head, And a throne as high as a trundle-bed, Dear little king! Hush, my baby! a song I know Softer than all,-- A song as soft as the falling snow, And I will sing it so light and low, Baby must listen and lie as still As the snowflakes lie on the quiet hill, Where they fall. Does baby know, when the day grows late, Chilly and dim. The slumber fairies who stand and wait Out in the lane and beyond the gate, Pass over the lawn and open the door And steal across the nursery floor, Looking for him? Such tiny fairies, with slippers white Over their feet. Their cloaks are gray as the early night, But their caps are lit with a silver light, As if a moonbeam were caught, perhaps, And cut up small into fairy caps Dainty and neat. Up the side of the trundle-bed Softly they go, And over the pillow with gentle tread They come to the golden baby head. Under his lashes he tries to peep, But before he knows, he is fast asleep. Isn't it so? For they bind the baby with fairy charms Wondrous to tell. They loose the clasp of the dimpled arms, And smooth his forehead with soft, small palms, And draw their cloaks o'er his drowsy ears, Till a fairy music is all he hears Pleasing him well. They shade his eyes with a little dream. Where did it grow? It grew by the side of the fairy stream, Where baby wandereth now, I deem. With the slumber-fairies to guide his feet, Good-night, dear laddie! Your rest be sweet! Mamma must go. |