Lilliput Levee [by W. B. Rands]: With illustrations by J. E. Millais and G. J. Pinwell |
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WHEN THE WIND BLOWS, THE CRADLE WILL ROCK! |
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 | Lilliput Levee |  |
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WHEN THE WIND BLOWS, THE CRADLE WILL ROCK!
A miserly couple lived by the sea-shore;
Their motto was Much, their motto was More;
They had gold in a gallipot under the floor.
Their motto was Much, their motto was More;
They had gold in a gallipot under the floor.
The place where the house stood was wild; it was lone,
It was cold, it was grey, it was thistle and stone;
This miserly couple were all skin and bone.
It was cold, it was grey, it was thistle and stone;
This miserly couple were all skin and bone.
A traveller came tapping; they showed him to bed;
They crept up at midnight, they smashed in his head,
They stole all his guineas with hands gory-red.
They crept up at midnight, they smashed in his head,
They stole all his guineas with hands gory-red.
They murdered a pedlar, with only a pack;
The bodies they threw down a well at the back;
Splash, gurgle; the thistles closed over, all black.
The bodies they threw down a well at the back;
Splash, gurgle; the thistles closed over, all black.
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There once was a ship wrecked in sight of this shore;
They heard the wind rave, they heard the sea roar,
They heard guns of distress, this old pair at their door.
They heard the wind rave, they heard the sea roar,
They heard guns of distress, this old pair at their door.
What is it the waves bear along to the land?
A babe in a cradle! Oh, who can withstand
Its little blue eye, and its lily-white hand?
A babe in a cradle! Oh, who can withstand
Its little blue eye, and its lily-white hand?
A beautiful cradle; and what have we here?
A diamonded brooch on a shawl of Cashmere;
The pillows are costly, and all the babe-gear!
A diamonded brooch on a shawl of Cashmere;
The pillows are costly, and all the babe-gear!
This miserly couple, the man and his hag,
Took up the drenched babe, and stripped off every rag,
And put all the cradle-gear into a bag.
Took up the drenched babe, and stripped off every rag,
And put all the cradle-gear into a bag.
They flung the child into the water away;
They took up the cradle; you hear the hag say,
“Oh ho, here is firewood for many a day!”
They took up the cradle; you hear the hag say,
“Oh ho, here is firewood for many a day!”
“Nay, dame,” says the husband, “for fuel is cheap;
Perhaps it may pay us, the cradle to keep;
We can swear that the child had been drowned in its sleep!
Perhaps it may pay us, the cradle to keep;
We can swear that the child had been drowned in its sleep!
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Some uncle, some lawyer, may give us a pound,
For saying the cradle was all that we found”—
“Ah ha!” says the hag, “you are wrong, I'll be bound!”
For saying the cradle was all that we found”—
“Ah ha!” says the hag, “you are wrong, I'll be bound!”
They emptied the cradle, they hid it away;
But that very night, was a-year-and-a-day,
The sailor at sea could not hear himself pray,
But that very night, was a-year-and-a-day,
The sailor at sea could not hear himself pray,
The storm blew so loud! What, what do they hear,
This couple, that makes their bones rattle with fear?
The rock of a cradle, a child crying near!
This couple, that makes their bones rattle with fear?
The rock of a cradle, a child crying near!
“But how can it be, dame? our wits are beguiled!”
—The rock of the cradle, the voice of the child,
They hear them again, though the wind is so wild!
—The rock of the cradle, the voice of the child,
They hear them again, though the wind is so wild!
Rock, rock, 'tis the cradle! Loud thunders the storm!
“Oh, hush-thee-by-baby, lie still, and lie warm!”
Who sings to the child, then? what name, and what form?
“Oh, hush-thee-by-baby, lie still, and lie warm!”
Who sings to the child, then? what name, and what form?
Rock, rock; hark, the babe cries! What thoughts are this hag's?
She curses her husband; he clutches his bags:
Without, the red storm rends the rain-cloud to rags!
She curses her husband; he clutches his bags:
Without, the red storm rends the rain-cloud to rags!
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She threw up her arms, he fell down on his knee;
They went raving-mad, they rushed into the sea!
—By the Murder-Hole still the black thistles grow free!
They went raving-mad, they rushed into the sea!
—By the Murder-Hole still the black thistles grow free!
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