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_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 store 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 on 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 Vandegrift.
_The Cottager to Her Infant_
The days are cold, the nights are long, The north-wind sings a doleful song; Then hush again upon my breast; All merry things are now at rest, Save thee, my pretty Love!
The kitten sleeps upon the hearth, The crickets long have ceased their mirth; There's nothing stirring in the house Save one wee, hungry nibbling mouse, Then why so busy thou?
Nay! start not at that sparkling light, 'Tis but the moon that s.h.i.+nes so bright On the window-pane bedropped with rain; There, little darling! sleep again, And wake when it is day.
Dorothy Wordsworth.
_A Charm to Call Sleep_
Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep, Come to my blankets and come to my bed, Come to my legs and my arms and my head, Over me, under me, into me creep.
Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep, Blow on my face like a soft breath of air, Lay your cool hand on my forehead and hair, Carry me down through the dream-waters deep.
Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep, Tell me the secrets that you alone know, Show me the wonders none other can show, Open the box where your treasures you keep.
Sleep, Sleep, come to me, Sleep: Softly I call you; as soft and as slow Come to me, cuddle me, stay with me so, Stay till the dawn is beginning to peep.
Henry Johnstone.
_Night_
The snow is white, the wind is cold-- The king has sent for my three-year-old.
Bring the pony and shoe him fast With silver shoes that were made to last.
Bring the saddle trimmed with gold; Put foot in stirrup, my three-year-old; Jump in the saddle, away, away!
And hurry back by the break of day; By break of day, through dale and down, And bring me the news from Slumbertown.
Mary F. b.u.t.ts.
_Bed-Time_
'Tis bed-time; say your hymn, and bid "Good night, "G.o.d bless mamma, papa, and dear ones all."
Your half-shut eyes beneath your eye-lids fall; Another minute you will shut them quite.
Yes, I will carry you, put out the light, And tuck you up, although you are so tall.
What will you give me, Sleepy One, and call My wages, if I settle you all right?
I laid her golden curls upon my arm, I drew her little feet within my hand; Her rosy palms were joined in trustful bliss, Her heart next mine, beat gently, soft and warm; She nestled to me, and, by Love's command, Paid me my precious wages,--Baby's kiss.
Lord Rosslyn.
_Nightfall in Dordrecht_[A]
The mill goes toiling slowly around With steady and solemn creak, And my little one hears in the kindly sound The voice of the old mill speak.
While round and round those big white wings Grimly and ghostlike creep, My little one hears that the old mill sings: "Sleep, little tulip, sleep!"
The sails are reefed and the nets are drawn, And, over his pot of beer, The fisher, against the morrow's dawn, l.u.s.tily maketh cheer; He mocks at the winds that caper along From the far-off clamorous deep-- But we--we love their lullaby song Of "Sleep, little tulip, sleep!"
Old dog Fritz in slumber sound Groans of the stony mart-- To-morrow how proudly he'll trot you round, Hitched to our new milk-cart!
And you shall help me blanket the kine And fold the gentle sheep And set the herring a-soak in brine-- But now, little tulip, sleep!
A Dream-One comes to b.u.t.ton the eyes That wearily droop and blink, While the old mill buffets the frowning skies And scolds at the stars that wink; Over your face the misty wings Of that beautiful Dream-One sweep, And rocking your cradle she softly sings: "Sleep, little tulip, sleep!"
Eugene Field.
FOOTNOTE:
[A] _From "With Trumpet and Drum," by Eugene Field. Copyright, 1892, by Charles Scribner's Sons._
