WILLIE WINKIE WEE Willie Winkie rins through the town, Upstairs and doon stairs, in his nicht-gown, "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, Rumblin', tumblin' roun' about, crawin' like a cock, Hey, Willie Winkie! the wean's in a creel! 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 shining 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 shining sand. The Dustman 73 No tempests beat that shore remote, No ships 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 Lie softly down, dear little head, Rest quiet, busy hands, Till, by your bed his good-night said, He strews the shining sands. Blue eyes, gray eyes, black eyes, and brown, As shuts the rose, they softly close, when he goes through the town. 1 Margaret Thomson Janvier (1845-1913] THE DUSTMAN WHEN the toys are growing weary, When the nursery still echoes With the children's merry din; Then unseen, unheard, unnoticed Softly smiles the good old Dustman; And their weary eyes must close. Takes each little dimpled hand Leads them through the sweet green shadows, Far away in slumberland. Frederic Edward Weatherly [1848 SEPHESTIA'S LULLABY From "Menaphon" WEEP not, my wanton, smile upon my knee; Father's sorrow, father's joy; 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, Thus he grieved in every part, Tears of blood fell from his heart, Sleep, Baby, Sleep"," Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee; Mother cried, baby leapt; More he crowed, more we cried, Nature could not sorrow hide: 1 # He must go, he must kiss Child and mother, baby bliss, For he left his pretty boy, Father's sorrow, father's joy. 75 Weep not, my wanton, smile upon my knee, "GOLDEN SLUMBERS KISS YOUR EYES From "Patient Grissel " GOLDEN slumbers kiss your eyes, 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" 98 SLEEP, baby, sleep! what ails my dear, My pretty lamb, forbear to weep; Thou blessed soul, what canst thou fear? What thing to thee can mischief do? Thy God is now thy father dear, His holy Spouse thy mother too. Though thy conception was in sin, While thus thy lullaby I sing, For thee great blessings ripening be; Thine Eldest Brother is a king, And hath a kingdom bought for thee. Sweet baby, sleep, and nothing fear; And God and angels are thy friends. When God with us was dwelling here, A little infant once was He; And strength in weakness then was laid Upon His Virgin Mother's knee, That power to thee might be conveyed. Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep. |