Sleep, my child! for the rustling trees,
Stirr'd by the breath of summer breeze,
And fairy songs of sweetest note,
Around us gently float.
Sleep! for the weeping flowers have shed
Their fragrant tears upon thy head,
The voice of love hath sooth'd thy rest,
And thy pillow is a mother's breast.
Sleep, my child!
Weary hath pass'd the time forlorn,
Since to your mansion I was borne,
Tho' bright the feast of its airy halls,
And the voice of mirth resounds from it walls.
Sleep, my child!
Full many a maid and blooming bride
Within that splendid dome abide,--
And many a hoar and shrivell'd sage,
And many a matron bow'd with age
Sleep, my child!
Oh! thou who hearest this song of fear,
To the mourner's home these tidings bear.
Bid him bring the knife of the magic blade,
At whose lightning-flash the charm will fade.
Sleep, my child!
Haste! for to-morrow's sun will see
The hateful spell renewed for me;
Nor can I from that home depart,
Till life shall leave my withering heart.
Sleep, my child!
Sleep, my child! for the rustling trees,
Stirr'd by the breath of summer breeze,
And fairy songs of sweetest note,
Around us gently float.
The above published source is public domain under the terms of
Title 17, United States Code, Section 304(b).
The transcriber does not claim to know the copyright status of this
publication outside of the United States.
Published in 1999 by Dennis McCarthy
No Rights Reserved! I release this file to the public domain.
E-Mail
This text carries no warranty of any kind.
This text may be copied freely, local laws permitting. Please credit the above source.