 | Fantasy and Passion |  |
75
CRADLE-SONG.
I.
Windily over the rocking sea and windily over the damp dim grasses.
Hark how the lowering Autumn night sweeps down on the lonely world!
Sombrely from the silver sunset hurry the storm's cloud-masses;
Out on the black and perilous water, cavernous waves are curled!
Hark how the lowering Autumn night sweeps down on the lonely world!
Sombrely from the silver sunset hurry the storm's cloud-masses;
Out on the black and perilous water, cavernous waves are curled!
Go to sleep, darling; go to sleep, dear one;
Heed not the tempest gathering o'er thee!
Slumber well, though the night be a drear one,
Watched, my babe, by the mother that bore thee!
Heed not the tempest gathering o'er thee!
Slumber well, though the night be a drear one,
Watched, my babe, by the mother that bore thee!
II.
While in my desolate home I listen, compassed about with the deepening darkness,
Memory brings me her woful phantom, haunting the chilly gloom.
Oh, but the skies were bleak, that dawn, when he lay in his fearful starkness,
Flung by the stern defiant waves where the dumb gray boulders loom!
Memory brings me her woful phantom, haunting the chilly gloom.
Oh, but the skies were bleak, that dawn, when he lay in his fearful starkness,
Flung by the stern defiant waves where the dumb gray boulders loom!
76
Go to sleep, darling; go to sleep, dear one;
Heed not the tempest gathering o'er thee!
Slumber well, though the night be a drear one,
Wild and drear to the mother that bore thee!
Heed not the tempest gathering o'er thee!
Slumber well, though the night be a drear one,
Wild and drear to the mother that bore thee!
III.
Cruelly in his dying face was flung the scorn of your moanful surges,
Haughty sea, that hast left to love me this poor babe alone!
Hear not the voices, O my Sweet, that are singing thy father's dirges!
Find in the Paradise of thy dreams the angel that he is grown!
Haughty sea, that hast left to love me this poor babe alone!
Hear not the voices, O my Sweet, that are singing thy father's dirges!
Find in the Paradise of thy dreams the angel that he is grown!
Go to sleep, darling; go to sleep, dear one;
Heed not the tempest gathering o'er thee.
Slumber well, though the night be a drear one,
Watched by God and the mother that bore thee!
Heed not the tempest gathering o'er thee.
Slumber well, though the night be a drear one,
Watched by God and the mother that bore thee!
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