MEDIEVAL EVENTIDE SONG

There'll be no little tired-out boy to undress,
No questions or cares to perplex you;
There'll be no little bruises or bumps to caress,
Nor patching of stockings to vex you.

For I'll rock you away on a silver-dew stream,
And sing you asleep when you 're weary,
And no one shall know of our beautiful dream
But you and your own little dearie.

And when I am tired I'll nestle my head

In the bosom that's soothed me so often,
And the wide-awake stars shall sing in my stead
A song which our dreaming shall soften.
So, Mother-My-Love, let me take your dear hand,
And away through the starlight we 'll wander-
Away through the mist to the beautiful land-
The Dreamland that's waiting out yonder!

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MEDIEVAL EVENTIDE SONG

COME hither, lyttel childe, and lie upon my breast to-night,
For yonder fares an angell yclad in raimaunt white,

And yonder sings ye angell as onely angells may,

And his songe ben of a garden that bloometh farre awaye.

To them that have no lyttel childe Godde sometimes sendeth down A lyttel childe that ben a lyttel angell of his owne;

And if so bee they love that childe, he willeth it to staye,

But elsewise, in his mercie, he taketh it awaye.

And sometimes, though they love it, Godde yearneth for ye childe,
And sendeth angells singing, whereby it ben beguiled;
They fold their arms about ye lamb that croodleth at his play,
And beare him to ye garden that bloometh farre awaye.

I wolde not lose ye lyttel lamb that Godde hath sent to me; If I colde sing that angell songe, how joysome I sholde be! For, with mine arms about him, and my musick in his eare, What angell songe of paradize soever sholde I feare?

Soe come, my lyttel childe, and lie upon my breast to-night,
For yonder fares an angell yclad in raimaunt white,
And yonder sings that angell, as onely angells may,
And his songe ben of a garden that bloometh farre awaye.

ARMENIAN LULLABY

If thou wilt shut thy drowsy eyes,
My mulberry one, my golden sun!
The rose shall sing thee lullabies,
My pretty cosset lambkin!

And thou shalt swing in an almond-tree,
With a flood of moonbeams rocking thee—
A silver boat in a golden sea,

My velvet love, my nestling dove,
My own pomegranate blossom!

The stork shall guard thee passing well
All night, my sweet! my dimple-feet!
And bring thee myrrh and asphodel,
My gentle rain-of-springtime!
And for thy slumbrous play shall twine
The diamond stars with an emerald vine
To trail in the waves of ruby wine,

My myrtle bloom, my heart's perfume,
My little chirping sparrow!

And when the morn wakes up to see
My apple bright, my soul's delight!
The partridge shall come calling thee,
My jar of milk-and-honey!

CHRISTMAS TREASURES

Yes, thou shalt know what mystery lies

In the amethyst deep of the curtained skies,
If thou wilt fold thy onyx eyes,

You wakeful one, you naughty son,
You cooing little turtle!

CHRISTMAS TREASURES

I COUNT my treasures o'er with care,-
The little toy my darling knew,
A little sock of faded hue,
A little lock of golden hair.

Long years ago this holy time,

My little one-my all to me―
Sat robed in white upon my knee,
And heard the merry Christmas chime.

"Tell me, my little golden-head,

If Santa Claus should come to-night, What shall he bring my baby bright,What treasure for my boy?" I said.

And then he named this little toy,
While in his round and mournful eyes
There came a look of sweet surprise,

That spake his quiet, trustful joy.

And as he lisped his evening prayer

He asked the boon with childish grace;
Then, toddling to the chimney-place,

He hung this little stocking there.

That night, while lengthening shadows crept,
I saw the white-winged angels come
With singing to our lowly home
And kiss my darling as he slept.

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They must have heard his little prayer,
For in the morn, with rapturous face,
He toddled to the chimney-place,
And found this little treasure there.

They came again one Christmas-tide,That angel host, so fair and white; And, singing all that glorious night, They lured my darling from my side.

A little sock, a little toy,

A little lock of golden hair,

The Christmas music on the air, A watching for my baby boy!

But if again that angel train

And golden-head come back for me,

To bear me to Eternity,
My watching will not be in vain.

OH, LITTLE CHILD

(SICILIAN LULLABY)

HUSH, little one, and fold your handsThe sun hath set, the moon is high;

The sea is singing to the sands,

And wakeful posies are beguiled
By many a fairy lullaby-

Hush, little child-my little child!

Dream, little one, and in your dreams
Float upward from this lowly place-
Float out on mellow, misty streams

To lands where bideth Mary mild,
And let her kiss thy little face,
You little child-my little child!

GANDERFEATHER'S GIFT

Sleep, little one, and take thy rest-
With angels bending over thee,
Sleep sweetly on that Father's breast

Whom our dear Christ hath reconciled-
But stay not there-come back to me,

Oh, little child—my little child!

GANDERFEATHER'S GIFT

I WAS just a little thing

When a fairy came and kissed me; Floating in upon the light

Of a haunted summer night,

Lo, the fairies came to sing

Pretty slumber songs and bring

Certain boons that else had missed me.

From a dream I turned to see

What those strangers brought for me,
When that fairy up and kissed me—
Here, upon this cheek, he kissed me!

Simmerdew was there, but she
Did not like me altogether;
Daisybright and Turtledove,
Pilfercurds and Honeylove,

Thistleblow and Amberglee

On that gleaming, ghostly sea

Floated from the misty heather,
And around my trundle-bed

Frisked, and looked, and whispering said—
Solemnlike and all together:

"You shall kiss him, Ganderfeather!"

Ganderfeather kissed me then

Ganderfeather, quaint and merry!

No attenuate sprite was he,

-But as buxom as could be;

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