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See him in the corners hidin' frae the licht, See him at the window gloomin' at the nicht; Turn up the gas licht, close the shutters a', An' Auld Daddy Darkness will flee far awa'.
Awa' to hide the birdie within its cosy nest, Awa' to lap the wee flooers on their mither's breast, Awa' to loosen Gaffer Toil frae his daily ca', For Auld Daddy Darkness is kindly to a'.
He comes when we're weary to wean's frae oor waes, He comes when the bairnies are getting aff their claes; To cover them sae cosy, an' bring bonnie dreams, So Auld Daddy Darkness is better than he seems.
Steek yer een, my wee tot, ye'll see Daddy then; He's in below the bed claes, to cuddle ye he's fain; Noo nestle to his bosie, sleep and dream yer fill, Till Wee Davie Daylicht comes keekin' owre the hill.
James Ferguson [18--?]
WILLIE WINKIE
Wee Willie Winkie rins through the town, Upstairs and doon stairs, in his nicht-gown, Tirlin' at the window, cryin' at the lock, "Are the weans in their bed?--for it's noo ten o'clock."
Hey, Willie Winkie! are ye comin' ben?
The cat's singin' gay thrums to the sleepin' hen, The doug's speldered on the floor, and disna gie a cheep; But here's a waukrife laddie, that winna fa' asleep.
Onything but sleep, ye rogue!--glowrin' like the moon, Rattlin' in an airn jug wi' an airn spoon, Rumblin', tumblin' roun' about, crawin' like a c.o.c.k, Skirlin' like a kenna-what--wauknin' sleepin' folk!
Hey, Willie Winkie! the wean's in a creel!
Waumblin' aff a bodie's knee like a vera eel, Ruggin' at the cat's lug, and ravellin' a' her thrums: Hey, Willie Winkie!--See, there he comes!
William Miller [1810-1872]
THE SANDMAN
The rosy clouds float overhead, The sun is going down; And now the sandman's gentle tread Comes stealing through the town.
"White sand, white sand," he softly cries, And as he shakes his hand, Straightway there lies on babies' eyes His gift of s.h.i.+ning sand.
Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown, As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.
From sunny beaches far away-- Yes, in another land-- He gathers up at break of day His stone of s.h.i.+ning sand.
No tempests beat that sh.o.r.e remote, No s.h.i.+ps may sail that way; His little boat alone may float Within that lovely bay.
Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown, As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.
He smiles to see the eyelids close Above the happy eyes; And every child right well he knows,-- Oh, he is very wise!
But if, as he goes through the land, A naughty baby cries, His other hand takes dull gray sand To close the wakeful eyes.
Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown, As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.
So when you hear the sandman's song Sound through the twilight sweet, Be sure you do not keep him long A-waiting in the street.
Lie softly down, dear little head, Rest quiet, busy hands, Till, by your bed his good-night said, He strews the s.h.i.+ning sands.
Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown, As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town.
Margaret Thomson Janvier [1845-1913]
THE DUSTMAN
When the toys are growing weary, And the twilight gathers in; When the nursery still echoes With the children's merry din; Then unseen, unheard, unnoticed Comes an old man up the stair, Lightly to the children pa.s.ses, Lays his hand upon their hair.
Softly smiles the good old Dustman; In their eyes the dust he throws, Till their little heads are falling, And their weary eyes must close.
Then the Dustman very gently Takes each little dimpled hand Leads them through the sweet green shadows, Far away in slumberland.
Frederic Edward Weatherly [1848-1929]
SEPHESTIA'S LULLABY From "Menaphon"
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee; When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.
Mother's wag, pretty boy, Father's sorrow, father's joy; When thy father first did see Such a boy by him and me, He was glad, I was woe; Fortune changed made him so, When he left his pretty boy, Last his sorrow, first his joy.
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee; When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.
Streaming tears that never stint, Like pearl-drops from a flint, Fell by course from his eyes, That one another's place supplies; Thus he grieved in every part, Tears of blood fell from his heart, When he left his pretty boy, Father's sorrow, father's joy.
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee; When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.
The wanton smiled, father wept, Mother cried, baby leapt; More he crowed, more we cried, Nature could not sorrow hide: He must go, he must kiss Child and mother, baby bliss, For he left his pretty boy, Father's sorrow, father's joy.
Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee, When thou art old there's grief enough for thee.
Robert Greene [1560?-1592]
"GOLDEN SLUMBERS KISS YOUR EYES"
From "Patient Grissel"
Golden slumbers kiss your eyes, Smiles awake you when you rise.
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry, And I will sing a lullaby.
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.
Care is heavy, therefore sleep you, You are care, and care must keep you.
Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry, And I will sing a lullaby.
Rock them, rock them, lullaby.
Thomas Dekker [1570?-1641?]
"SLEEP, BABY, SLEEP"
