Mother

Sweet slumber now creeps o’er thee slow,

Sweet breezes rock thee to and fro:

My baby sleeps, so soft and low

With sweetest songs I’ll sing oror.1

Baby

O Mother dear, thou art unkind

My sleepless eyes so long to bind.2

Anon I’ll rest, and sleep resigned;—

Release me now, sing not oror.

Mother

Why dost thou shed those tears that flow

Down thy sad cheeks with pearly glow?

Thou’lt break thy heart with sobbing so,—

Whom wilt thou have to sing oror?

Baby

At least my hands and feet unbind—

My tender limbs are all confined;

That gentle sleep my eyes may find,

Then tie me in, and sing oror.

Mother

That tongue of thine is passing sweet,

Yet with thy yards I cannot mete.

Thou wilt not sleep, but at thy feet

Wouldst have me sit, and sing oror.

Baby

All piteously I raise my prayer,

I sob and cry, thou dost not hear.

Thy sweet voice seems to charm thine ear—

I weep, thou singest still oror.

Mother

Hush, hush, and sleep, my baby dear.

My love shall guard thee, year by year,

Until my rose-tree blossoms fair,

Then ‘neath his shade I’ll sing oror.

Baby

Thy heart is made of stone, I see.

I wept and wept, all uselessly.

Now I shall sleep, I can’t be free,

All night, all night sing me oror!