The Spectre's Cradle-song.
Hush, my bonny babe! hush and be still!
Thy mother's arms shall shield thee from ill.
Far have I borne thee in sorrow and pain,
To drink the breeze of the world again.
The dew shall moisten thy brow so meek,
And the breeze of midnight fan thy cheek,
And soon shall we rest in the bow of the hill;
Hush, my bonny babe! hush, and be still!
For thee have I travelled, in weakness and woe,
The world above and the world below.
My heart was soft and it fell in the snare;
Thy father was cruel, but thou wert fair.
I sinned, I sorrowed, I died for thee;
Smile, my bonny babe! smile on me!
See yon thick clouds of murky hue;
Yon star that peeps from its window blue;
Above yon clouds that wander far,
Away, above yon little star,
There's a home of peace that shall soon be thine,
And there shalt thou see thy Father and mine.
The flowers of the world shall bud and decay,
The trees of the forest be weeded away;
But there shalt thou bloom for ever and aye.
The time will come, I shall follow thee;
But long, long hence that time shall be:
Oh, weep not thou for thy mother's ill:
Hush, my bonny babe! hush and be still!
Slow moved she on with dignity,
Nor bush, nor brake, nor rock, nor tree,
Her footsteps staid—o'er cliff so bold,
Where scarce the roe her foot could hold,
Stately she wandered firm and free,
Singing her softened lullaby.
Three naked phantoms next came on:
They beckoned low, passed, and were gone.
Then came a troop of sheeted dead,
With shade of chieftain at their head:
And with our bard, in brake forlorn,
Held converse till the break of morn.
Their ghostly rites, their looks, their mould,
Or words, to man he never told:
But much he learned of mystery,
Of what was past, and what should be.
Thenceforth he troubles oft divined,
And scarcely held his perfect mind:
Yet still the song, admired when young,
He loved, and that in Court he sung.
