THE MAD MOTHER.
Without me my sweet babe would die.
Now laugh and be gay, to the woods away!
The sun has burnt her coal-black hair,
It never, never came from me:
Tis well for me; thou canst not see
If his sweet boy he could forsake,
My lovely baby! thou shalt be,
But, safe as in a cradle, here
THE MAD MOTHER.
The babe I carry on my arm,
The breeze I see is in the tree;
Tis all thine own! and if its hue
And if from me thou wilt not go,
I am thy fathers wedded wife;
Ill teach him how the owlet sings.
Be changed, that was so fair to view,
When oer the sea-rocks edge we go;
Full many a sad and doleful thing:
She has a baby on her arm,
And ?endish faces one, two, three,
And she came far from over the main.
It comes to cool my babe and me.
As merry as the birds in spring.
And underneath the spreading tree
I know the earth-nuts ?t for food;
I cannot work thee any woe.
Oh! press me with thy little hand;
Ill teach my boy the sweetest things;
She talked and sung the woods among;
From him no harm my babe can take,
--Where art thou gone my own dear child?
Then do not fear, my boy! for thee
For him thats gone and far awa
九九藏书网
y.With me he never would have stayd:
I know the poisons of the shade,
Suck, little babe, oh suck again!
It loosens something at my chest;
A ?re was once within my brain;
Tis thine, sweet baby, there to rest:
Then, pretty dear, be not afraid;
And there, my babe; well live for aye.
And it was in the English tongue.
But then there came a sight of joy;
Dread not their taunts, my little life!
Oh! love me, love me, little boy!
To thee I know too much I owe;
How pale and wan it else would be.
Her eyes are wild, her head is bare,
But he, poor man! is wretched made,
He 九九藏书saves for me my precious soul;
But still be true till I am dead,
I feel thy little ?ngers pressd.
The leaves that make the softest bed:
Or else she were alone;
For he was here, and only he.
And on the green-wood stone,
And what if my poor cheek be brown?
My little babe! thy lips are still,
If thou art mad, my pretty lad,
Thy lips I feel them, baby! they
Nor leaping torrents when they howl;
But nay, my heart is far too glad;
Hung at my breasts, and pulled at me.
What wicked looks are those I see?
My pretty thing! then thou shalt sing,
Through hollow snows and rivers wide.
Oh! smile on me, my little lamb!
And I will always be thy guide,
For I thy own dear mother am.
I waked, and saw my little boy,
And do not dread the waves below,
It cools my blood; it cools my brain;
And in my head a dull, dull pain;
"Sweet babe! they say that I am mad,
Thy father cares not for my breast,
Alas! alas! that look so wild,
Tis fair enough for thee, my dove!
We two will live in honesty.
My little boy of ?esh and blood;
But thou wilt live with me in love,
About that tight and deadly band
The high crag cannot work me harm,
Then, lovely baby, do not fea99lib•netr!
Oh joy for me that sight to see!
Ill build an Indian bower; I know
Her eye-brows have a rusty stain,
Ive sought thy father far and wide.
And every day we two will pray
My beauty, little child, is ?own;
Draw from my heart the pain away.
Well ?nd thy father in the wood.
Then I must be for ever sad.
It came at once to do me good;
Bold as a lion I will be;
Then happy lie, for blest am I;
And I am happy when I sing
Thou art thy mothers only joy;
And thou hast almost suckd thy ?ll.
I pray thee have no fear of me,
My love for thee has well been tried:
And underneath the hay-stack warm,