 Section 1 of Lullaby Land, Songs of Childhood. This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Lullaby Land, Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field. The Rockabye Lady. The Rockabye Lady from Hushabye Street comes stealing, comes creeping. The poppies they hang from her head to her feet, And each hath a dream that is tiny and fleet. She bringeth her poppies to you, my sweet, When she findeth you sleeping. There is one little dream of a beautiful drum, Rub-a-dub it goeth. There is one little dream of a big sugar plum, And lo, thick and fast the other dreams Come of pop-guns that bang and tin-tops that hum, In a trumpet that bloweth, and dollies Peep out of those wee little dreams With laughter and singing, and boats go afloating On silvery streams, and the stars peek-a-boo With their own misty gleams. And up, up, and up Where the mother-moon beams, the fairies go winging. Would you dream all these dreams that are tiny and fleet? They'll come to you sleeping. So shut the two eyes that are weary, my sweet, For the Rockabye Lady from Hushabye Street With poppies that hang from her head to her feet, Come stealing, comes creeping. Garden and cradle. When her babe he goeth walking in his garden, Around his tinkling feet the sun-been Games play. The posies they are good to him, And bow them as they should to him, as fareth He upon his kingly way. And birdlings of the wood to him Make music, gentle music, all the day, When our babe he goeth walking in his garden. When our babe he goeth swinging in his cradle, Then the night it looketh ever Sweetly down, the little stars are kind to him, The moon she hath a mind to him, And layeth on his head a golden crown, And singeth then the wind to him a song, The gentle song of Bethlehem town, When our babe he goeth swinging in his cradle. The night wind. Have you ever heard the wind go, Yew, tis a pitiful sound here, It seems to chill you through and through With a strange and speechless fear, Tis the voice of the night that broods outside When folks should be asleep, And many, and many's the time I've cried, To the darkness brooding far and wide Over the land and the deep, Whom do you want, oh lonely night, That you wail the long hours through? And the night would say in its ghostly way, Yew, yew, yew. My mother told me long ago, When I was a little tad, That when the night went wailing so somebody had been bad, And then when I was snug in bed, Wither I had been sent, With the blankets pulled up round my head, I think of what my mother'd said, And wonder what boy she meant, And who's been bad today, I'd ask, Of the wind that hoarsely blew, And the voice would say in its meaningful way, Yew, yew, yew. That this was true I must allow, You'll not believe it, though, Yes, though I'm quite a model now, I was not always so, And if you doubt what things I say, Suppose you make the test, Suppose when you've been bad some day, And up to bed are sent away From mother and the rest, Suppose you ask, who has been bad, And then you'll hear what's true, For the wind will moan In its ruthless tone, Yew, yew, yew. The dinky bird, in an ocean way out yonder, As all sapient people know, Is the land of wonder-wander, Wither children love to go. It's their playing, romping, swinging, That give great joy to me, While the dinky bird goes singing In the ant-falula tree. There the gumdrops grow like cherries And taffies thick as peas, Carmels you pick like berries, When and where and how you please, Big red sugar-plums are clinging To the cliffs beside that sea, Where the dinky bird is singing In the ant-falula tree. So when children shout and scamper And make merry all the day, When there's not to put a damper To the ardour of their play, When I hear their laughter ringing, Then I'm sure as sure can be That the dinky bird is singing In the ant-falula tree. For the dinky bird's bravuras And staccatos are so sweet, His roulades appoggiaturas And robustos so complete, That the youth of every nation, Be they near or far away, Have a special delectation In that gladsome round delay. Their eyes go bright and brighter, Their lungs begin to crow, Their hearts get lighter and lighter, And their cheeks are all aglow, For an echo cometh bringing The news to all and me, That the dinky bird is singing In the ant-falula tree. I'm sure you like to go there To see your feathered friend, And so many goodies grow there, You would like to comprehend, Speed little dreams you're winging, To that land across the sea, Where the dinky bird is singing In the ant-falula tree. So, so, rock-a-by-so. So, so, rock-a-by-so, Off to the garden where dreamikins grow, And here is a kiss On your winky-blink eyes, And here is a kiss On your dimple-down cheek, And here is a kiss For the treasure that lies In the beautiful garden Way up in the skies which you seek. Now mind these three kisses Wherever you go, So, so, rock-a-by-so. There's one little thumb-fay Who lives there, I know, For he dances all night Where the dreamikins grow. I send him this kiss On your droopy draw-byes, I send him this kiss On your rosy red cheek, And here is a kiss For the dream that shall rise, When the thumb-fay shall dance In those faraway skies which you seek. Be sure that you pay those three Kisses you owe, So, so, rock-a-by-so. And, by low, as you rock-a-by-go, Don't forget mother who loveth you so, And here is her kiss On your weepy-deep eyes, And here is her kiss On your peachy-pink cheek, And here is her kiss For the dreamland that lies, Like a babe On the breast of those faraway skies which you seek. The blinky-wink garden Where dreamikins grow. So, so, rock-a-by-so. The duel. The gingham dog And the calico cat Side by side On the table sat. T'was half past twelve, and what do you think? Nor one nor tether Had slept a wink. The old Dutch clock And the Chinese plate Appeared to know as sure as fate There was going to be a terrible spat. I wasn't there, I simply state What was told me by the Chinese plate. The gingham dog went bow, wow, wow, And the calico cat replied, Me, yow! The air was littered an hour or so With bits of gingham and calico. While the old Dutch clock in the chimney plays Up with its hands before its face, For it always dreaded a family row. Now, mind, I'm only telling you What the old Dutch clock declares is true. The Chinese plate looked very blue And wailed, Oh, dear, what shall we do? But the gingham dog and the calico cat Wallowed this way and tumbled that, Employing every tooth and claw In the awfulest way you ever saw, And, oh, how the gingham and calico flew. Don't fancy I exaggerate, I got my news from the Chinese plate. The next morning, where the two had sat, They found no trace of dog or cat, And some folks think until this day That burglars stole that pair away. But the truth about the cat and pup Is this, they ate each other up. Now, what do you think of that? The old Dutch clock, it told me so. And that is how I came to know. Good Children's Street There's a dear little home in Good Children's Street, My heart turned fondly today, Where tinkle of tongues and patter of feet Make sweetest of music at play, Where the sunshine of love illuminates Each face and warms every heart In that old-fashioned place. For dear little children go romping about, With dollies and tin tops and drums, And, my, how they frolic and scamper and shout, Till bedtime to speedily comes. Oh, days they are golden, and days they are fleet, With little folk living in Good Children's Street. See, here comes an army with guns painted red, And swords, caps and plumes of all sorts. The captain rides gaily and proudly ahead On a stick horse that prances and snorts. Oh, legions of soldiers, you're certain to meet, Nice, make-believe soldiers in Good Children's Street. And yonder Odette wheels her dolly about, Poor dolly, I'm sure she is ill, For one of her blue china eyes has dropped out, And her voice is asthmatically shrill. Then, too, I observe she is minus her feet, Which causes much sorrow in Good Children's Street. Tis so the dear children go romping about, With dollies and banners and drums, And I venture to say they are sadly put out When an end to their jubilee comes. Oh, days they are golden, and days they are fleet, With little folk living in Good Children's Street. The Bottle Tree. A bottle tree bloometh in winky wayland, High-ho for a bottle, I say, A snug little berth in that ship I demand, That rocketh the bottle tree babies away, Where the bottle tree bloometh by night and by day, And reacheth its fruit to each wee dimpled hand, You take of that fruit as much as you list, For colleagues and nuisance that doesn't exist, So cuddle me close and cuddle me fast, And cuddle me snug in my cradle away, For I hunger and thirst for that precious repast, High-ho for a bottle, I say. The Bottle Tree bloometh by night and by day, High-ho for winky wayland, And Bottle Tree fruit, as I've heard people say, Makes bellies of Bottle Tree babies expand, And that is a trick I would feign understand, And High-ho for a bottle to-day, And High-ho for a bottle to-night, A bottle of milk that is creamy and white, So cuddle me close and cuddle me fast, And cuddle me snug in my cradle away, For I hunger and thirst for that precious repast, High-ho for a bottle, I say. And a section one. Section two of Lullaby Land, Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field. This lever box recording is in the public domain. Lady Button Eyes. When the busy day is done, And my weary little one Rocketh gently to and fro, When the night winds softly blow, And the crickets in the glen Chirp and chirp and chirp again, When upon the haunted green fairies Dance around their queen, Then from yonder misty skies Comeeth Lady Button Eyes. Through the murk and mist and gloam To our quiet cozy home, Where to singing sweet and low Rocks a cradle to and fro, Where the clocks dull monotone Telleth of the day that's done, Where the moonbeams hover o'er Placing sleeping on the floor, Where my weary wee one lies, Comeeth Lady Button Eyes. Comeeth like a fleeting ghost From some distant eerie coast, Never footfall can you hear As that spirit fareth near. Never whisper, never word, From that shadow queen is heard. In ethereal raiment-dite From the realm of fey and sprite, In the depth of yonder skies Comeeth Lady Button Eyes. Lath she her hands upon My dear weary little one, And those white hands overspread Like a veil, the curly head, Seems to fondle and caress Every little silken truss. Then she smooths the eyelids down Over those two eyes of brown, In such soothing tender wise Comeeth Lady Button Eyes. Dearest, feel upon your brow That caressing magic now, For the crickets in the glen Turp and chirp and chirp again, While upon the haunted green Fairies dance around their queen, And the moonbeams hover over, Placing, sleeping on the floor. Hush, my sweet, from yonder skies, Comeeth Lady Button Eyes. The ride to Bumpville Play that my knee was a calico mare, Saddled and bridled for Bumpville, Leap to the back of this steed, If you dare, and gallop away to Bumpville. I hope you'll be sure to sit fast in your seat, For this calico mare is prodigiously fleet, And many adventures you're likely to meet As you journey along to Bumpville. This calico mare both gallops and trots While whisking you off to Bumpville. She paces, she shies, And she stumbles in spots, In the tortuous road to Bumpville. And sometimes a strangely mercurial steed Will suddenly stop and refuse to proceed, Which all will admit is vexatious indeed When one is en route to Bumpville. She's scared of the cars When the engine goes toot, Down by the crossing at Bumpville. You'd better look out For that treacherous brute Bearing you off to Bumpville. With a snort she rears up On her hindermost heels And execute jigs and Virginia reels, Words fail to explain how embarrassed One feels Dancing so wildly to Bumpville. It's a bumpity bump And it's jiggity jog Journeying on to Bumpville. It's over the hilltop And down through the bog You ride on your way to Bumpville. It's rattledy bang Over boulder and stump There are rivers to forward And are fences to jump And the corduroy road It goes bumpity bump Mile after mile to Bumpville. Perhaps you'll observe It's no easy thing Making the journey to Bumpville. So I think on the whole It were prudent to bring An end to this ride to Bumpville. For though she has uttered no protest Or plaint, The calico mare must be blowing and faint. What's more to the point I'm blow'd if I ain't So play we have got to Bumpville. Shuffle shoo'n and amber locks. Shuffle shoo'n and amber locks Sit together building blocks. Shuffle shoo'n is old and gray, Amber locks a little child, But together at their play Age and youth are reconciled, And with sympathetic glee Build their castles fair to see. When I grow to be a man, So the wee ones prattle ran, I shall build a castle so With a gateway broad and grand. Here a pretty vine shall grow, There a soldier guard shall stand, And the tower shall be so high, Folks will wonder, buy and buy. Shuffle shoo'n, quote, Yes, I know, Thus I build it long ago. Here a gate and there a wall, Here a window, there a door. Here a steeple wondrous tall, Riseeth ever more and more. But the years have leveled low, What I builded long ago. So they gossip at their play Heedless of the fleeting day. One speaks of long ago Where his dead hopes buried lie, One with chubby cheeks aglow Prattleeth of the buy and buy. Side by side they build their blocks, Shuffle shoo'n and amber locks. The shut-eye train, Come my little one with me, There are wondrous sights to see As the evening shadows fall In your pretty cap and gown, Don't detain the shut-eye train. Dingling the bell it goeth, Toot toot, The whistle bloweth, And we hear the warning call, All aboard for shut-eye town. Over hill and over plane Soon will speed the shut-eye train, Through the blue where bloom the stars, And the mother moon looks down, Will away to land of fay. Oh, the sights that we shall see there, Come my little one with me there, Tis a goodly train of cars All aboard for shut-eye town. Swifter than a wild bird's flight Through the realms of fleecy light, We shall speed and speed away, Let the night and envy frown. What care we? How wroth she be? To the bellow land above us, To the bellow folk who love us, Let us hasten while we may, All aboard for shut-eye town. Shut-eye town is passing fair, Golden dreams await us there, We shall dream those dreams, my dear, Till the mother moon goes down, See unfold, delights untold, And in those mysterious places We shall see beloved faces, And beloved voices here, In the grace of shut-eye town. Heavy are your eyes, my sweet weary, Are your little feet, Nestle closer up to me In your pretty cap and gown, Don't detain the shut-eye train, Tingling the bell it goeth, The whistle bloweth, O the sights that we shall see, All aboard for shut-eye town. Little O dear, See what a wonderful garden is here, Planted and trimmed for my little O dear, Poses so gaudy and grass of such brown, Search ye the country and hunt ye the town, And never you'll meet With a garden so queer, As this one I've made for my little O dear. Miracles white and buttercups blue, Lilies all dabbled with honey and dew, The cactus that trails over trellis and wall, Roses and pansies and violets all, Make proper obeisance and reverent cheer, When into her garden steps little O dear. And up at the top of that lavender tree, A silver bird singeth as only can she, For ever and only she singeth the song, I love you, I love you, the happy day long. Then the echo, the echo, That smitheth me here, I love you, I love you, My little O dear. The garden may wither, the silver bird fly, But what careth my little precious or I, From her pathway of flowers that in springtime upstart, She walketh the tenderer way in my heart, And oh it is always the summer time here, With that song of I love you, my little O dear. The flyaway horse. Oh, a wonderful horse is the flyaway horse. Perhaps you have seen him before, Perhaps while you slept his shadow has swept Through the moonlight that floats on the floor, For it's only at night when the stars twinkle Bright that the flyaway horse with a nay, And a pull at his reign and a toss of his main Is up on his heels in a way. The moon in the sky, as he gallopeth by, Cries, oh what a marvelous sight! And the stars in dismay hide their faces away In the lap of old grandmother night. It is yonder, out yonder, the flyaway horse Speedeth ever and ever away, Over meadows and lanes, over mountain and plains, Over streamlets that sing at their play, And over the sea like a ghost sweepeth he, While the ships they go sailing below, And he speedeth so fast that the men at the mast Adjudge him some portent of woe, What hoe there they cry, as he flourishes by, With the whisk of his beautiful tail, And the fish in the sea are as scared as can be From the nautilus up to the whale, And the flyaway horse seeks those faraway lands You little folk dream of at night, Where candy trees grow and honeybrooks flow And corn fields with popcorn are white, And the beasts in the wood are ever so good, To children who visit them there, Would glory a stride of a lion to ride, Or to wrestle round with a bear, The monkeys they say, come on, let us play, And they frisk in the coconut trees, While the parrots that cling to the peanut vine sing, Or converse with comparative ease. Off, scamper to bed, You shall ride him to night, For as soon as you fall in asleep, With a jubilant nay he shall bear you away Over forest and hillside and deep. But tell us, my dear, All you see and you hear In those beautiful lands over there, Where the flyaway horse wings his faraway course With the wee one consigned to his care. Then grandma will cry in amazement, Oh, my, and she'll think it could never be so, And only we too shall know it is true, You and I, little precious, shall know. There once was a bird that lived up in a tree, And all he could whistle was fiddly-dee, A very provoking, un-musical song, For one to be whistling the summer day long, Yet always contented, And busy was he With that vocal recurrence of fiddly-dee. Hard by lived a brave little soldier of four, That weird iteration repented him soar. I prithee, dear mother-mind, Fetch me my gun, for by our saint-ditty, That deed must be done, That shall presently rid all creation and me Of that ominous bird and his fiddle-dee-dee. Then out came, dear mother-mind, Bringing her son his awfully truculent little red gun. The stalk was of pine and the barrel of tin, The bang it came out where the bullet went in. The right kind of weapon, I think you'll agree, For slaying all foul that go fiddly-dee-dee. The brave little soldier quoth never a word, But he up and he drew a straight beat on that bird, And while that vain creature provokingly sang, The gun it went off with a terrible bang. Then loud laughed the youth, By my bottle cried he, I've put a quietess on fiddly-dee-dee. Then out came, dear mother-mind, saying, My son, right well have you wrought With your little red gun. Hereafter no evil at all need I fear, With such a brave soldier as you my love here. She kissed the dear boy, The bird in the tree, continued to whistle his fiddle-dee-dee. And a section two. Section three of Lullabyland, Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. The sugar-plum tree. Have you ever heard of the sugar-plum tree, Tis a marvel of great renown. It blooms on the shore of the lollipop-sea In the garden of shut-eye town. The fruit that it bears is so wondrously sweet, As those who have tasted it say, That good little children have only to eat Of that fruit to be happy next day. When you've got to the tree, You would have a hard time To capture the fruit which I sing. The tree is so tall, That no person could climb, To the boughs where the sugar-plums swing. But up in that tree sits a chocolate cat, And a gingerbread dog prowls below, And this is the way you contrive to get at Those sugar-plums tempting you so. You say but the word to the gingerbread dog, And he barks with such terrible zest, That the chocolate cat is at once all agog, As her swelling proportions attest. And the chocolate cat goes cavorting around From this leafy limb unto that, And the sugar-plums tumble, Of course to the ground, Hurrah for that chocolate cat. There are marshmallows, gumdrops, and peppermint canes With strippings of scarlet or gold, And you carry away of the treasure That reigns as much as your apron can hold. So come, little child, Cuddle closer to me In your dainty white nightcap and gown, And I'll rock you away To that sugar-plum tree In the garden of Shaddai town. Crinkin' Crinkin' was a little child, It was summer when he smiled, Off the hoary sea and grim, Stretched its white arms out to him, Calling, Sunchild, come to me, Let me warm my heart with thee. But the child heard not the sea. Crinkin' on the beach one day Saw maidenness at play. Fair and very fair was she. Just a little child was he. Crinkin' said the maidenness, Let me have a little kiss, Just a kiss and go with me, To the summer lands that beat down within the silver sea. Crinkin' was a little child, By the maidenness beguiled, Down into the calling sea With the maidenness went he. But the sea calls out no more, It is winter on the shore. Winter where that little child Made sweet summer when he smiled. Though to summer on the sea, Where with maidenness went he, Summer, summer, evermore, It is winter on the shore, Winter, winter, evermore. Of the summer on the deep Come sweet visions in my sleep, His fair face lifts from the sea, His dear voice calls out to me, These my dreams of summer be. Crinkin' was a little child, By the maidenness beguiled, Off to the hoary sea and grim, Reached its longing arms to him, Crying, Sunchild, come to me, Let me warm my heart with thee. But the sea calls out no more, It is winter on the shore. Winter cold and dark and wild, Crinkin' was a little child. It was summer when he smiled, Down he went into the sea, And the winter bides with me, Just a little child was he. Pity pat and tippy toe, All day long they come and go, Pity pat and tippy toe, Footprints up and down the hall, Plating scattered on the floor, Finger marks along the wall, Tell tales smudges on the door, By these presents you shall know, Pity pat and tippy toe, How they riot at their play, And a dozen times a day In they troop demanding bread, Only buttered bread will do, And the butter must be spread, In just thick with sugar too, And I never can say no, Pity pat and tippy toe, Sometimes there are griefs to soothe, Sometimes ruffled brows to smooth, For I much regret to say, To be toe and pity pat, Sometimes interrupt their play With an internessing spat, Five for shame to quarrel so, Pity pat and tippy toe, Oh the thousand worrying things Every day recurrent brings, Hands to scrub and hair to brush, Search for playthings gone amiss, Many a wee complaint to hush, Many a little bump to kiss, Light seems one vein fleeting show, To pity pat and tippy toe, And when day is at an end, There are little duds to mend, Little frocks are strangely torn, Little shoes great holes reveal, Little hose but one day worn, Roodly yawn at toe and heel, Who but you could work such Woe pity pat and tippy toe? On the floor and down the hall, Really smudged upon the wall, There are proofs in every kind Of the havoc they have wrought, And upon my heart you'd find Just such trademarks if you sought, Oh how glad I am to sow, Pity pat and tippy toe. Little blue pigeon, Sleep little pigeon and fold your wings, Little blue pigeon with velvet eyes, Sleep to the singing of Motherbird's swinging, Swinging the nest where her little one lies. Away out yonder I see a star, A silvery star with a tinkling song, To the soft to falling I hear it calling, Calling and tinkling the night along. Into the window a moonbeam comes, Little gold moonbeam with misty wings, All silently creeping it asks, Is he sleeping, sleeping and dreaming While Mother sings? Off from the sea there floats the sob Of the waves that are breaking upon the shore, As though they were groaning in anguish and moaning, Be moaning the ship that shall come no more. But sleep little pigeon and fold your wings, Little blue pigeon with mournful eyes, Am I not singing? See I am swinging, Swinging the nest where my darling lies. Teeny weeny, Every evening after tea, Teeny weeny comes to me, And astride my willing knee, Plies his lash and rides away, Though that pulfry all to spare Finds his burden hard to bear, Teeny weeny doesn't care, He commands and I obey. First it's trot and gallop then, Now it's back to trot again, Teeny weeny likes it when He is riding fierce and fast, Then his dark eyes brighter glow, And his cheeks are all aglow, More he cries and never woe, Till the horse breaks down at last. Oh the strange and lovely sights, Teeny weeny sees of nights, As he makes those famous flights On that wondrous horse of his, Oftentimes before he knows, Weary like his eyelids close, And still smiling off he goes, Where the land of Bilo is. There he sees the folk of Faye, Hard at ring a rosy play, And hears those fairies say, Come let's chase him to and fro, But with a defiant shout, Teeny weeny puts that host to rout, Of this tale I make no doubt, Every night he tells it so. So I feel a tender pride In my boy who dares to ride, That fierce horse of his astride, Off into those misty lands, And as on my breast he lies, Dreaming in that wondrous wise, I caress his folded eyes, Pat his little dimpled hands. On at time he went away, Just a little while to stay, And I'm not ashamed to say I was very lonely then. Life without him was so sad, You can fancy I was glad, And made merry when I had Teeny weeny back again. So of evenings after tea, When he toddles up to me, And goes tugging at my knee, You should hear his pulphrene, You should see him prance and shy, When with an exulting cry, Teeny weeny vaulting high, Plies his lash and rides away. Buttercup, Poppy, forget me not. Buttercup, Poppy, forget me not. These three bloomed in a garden spot, And once I'll marry with song and play, A little one heard three voices say, Shine in shadow summer and spring, O thou child with a tangled hair, And laughing eyes we three shall bring Each an offering passing fair. The little one did not understand, But they bent and kissed the dimpled hand. Buttercup gambled all the day, Sharing the little one's mirth and song, Then stealing along on misty gleams, Poppy came bearing the sweetest dreams, Playing and dreaming, and that was all, Till once a sleeper would not awake. Kissing the little face under the paw, We thought of the words the third flower spake, And we found betimes in a hallowed spot The solace and peace of forget me not. Buttercup shareeth the joy of day, Glinting with gold the hours of play, Bringeth the Poppy sweet repose, When the hands would fold and the eyes would close, And after it all the play and the sleep Of a little life what cometh then, To the hearts that ache and the eyes that weep, A new flower bringeth God's peace again, Each one serveth its tender lot. Buttercup, Poppy, forget me not. Winkin' blinkin' and nod, Winkin' blinkin' and nod one night, Sailed off in a wooden shoe, Sailed on a river of crystal light, Into a sea of dew. Oh, are you going, and what do you wish? The old moon asked the three. We have come to fish for the herring fish That live in this beautiful sea. Nets of silver and gold have waved, Said Winkin' blinkin' and nod. The old moon laughed and sang a song As they rocked in the wooden shoe, And the wind that sped them all night long Ruffled the waves of dew. The little stars were the herring fish That lived in that beautiful sea. Now cast your nets wherever you wish, Never afeard are we. So cried the stars to the fishermen three, Winkin' blinkin' and nod. All night long their nets they threw To the stars in the twinkling foam. Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe, Bringing the fishermen home. Twas all so pretty a sail it seemed, As if it could not be. And some folks thought Twas a dream they dreamed Of sailing that beautiful sea. But I shall name you the fishermen three, Winkin' blinkin' and nod. Winkin' and blinkin' are two little eyes, And nod is a little head, And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies Is a wee one's trundle bed. So shut your eyes while mother sings Of wonderful sights that be, And you shall see the beautiful things. As you rock in the misty sea, Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three, Winkin' blinkin' and nod. Little Mistress Saint-Mercy, Little Mistress Saint-Mercy, Farith worldwide fancy free, Trotteth cooing to and fro, And her cooing is command, Never ruled there yet I trod Mightier despot in the land. And my heart it lieth where Mistress Saint-Mercy doth fare. Little Mistress Saint-Mercy, She hath made a slave of me, Go she bideth, and I go, Come, and I am fain to come, Never Mercy does she show, Be she wroth or frolicsome, Yet am I content to be Slave to Mistress Saint-Mercy. Little Mistress Saint-Mercy hath become so dear to me, That I count as passing sweet All the pain her moods impart, And I bless the little feet That go trampling on my heart. Ah, how lonely life would be But for a little Saint-Mercy! Little Mistress Saint-Mercy, Cuttle close this night to me, And the heart which all day long Ruthless thou hast trod upon Shall outpour a soothing song For its best beloved one. All this tenderness for thee, Little Mistress Saint-Mercy. And section three. Section four of Lullaby Land, Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field. This Libre Box recording is in the public domain. High spy. Strange that the city, thoroughfare, Noisy and bustling all the day, Should with the night renounce its care, And lend itself to children's play. O girls are girls and boys are boys, And have been so since Abel's birth, And shall be so till dolls and toys Are with the children swept from earth. The self-same sport that crowns the day Of many Assyrian shepherd's son Beguiles the little lads at play By night in stately Babylon. I hear their voices in the street, Yet tis so different now from then, Come, brother, from your winding sheet, And let us too be boys again. Little boy blue. The little toy dog is covered with dust, But sturdy and staunch he stands, And the little toy soldier is red with rust, And the musket molds in his hands. Time was when the little toy dog was new, And the soldier was passing fair. And that was the time when our little boy blew. Kissed them and put them there. Now don't you go till I come, he said, And don't you make any noise. So, toddling off to his trundle bed, He dreamt of the pretty toys. And as he was streaming an angel's song, Awakened our little boy blue, Oh, the years are many, the years are long, But the little toy friends are true. I faithful to little boy blue they stand, Each in the same old place, Awaiting the touch of a little hand, The smile of a little face. And they wonder, as waiting the long years through, In the dust of that little chair, What has become of our little boy blue, Since he kissed them and put them there. Hi-ho, my dearie! A moonbeam floated from the skies, Whispering, Hi-ho, my dearie! I would spin a web before your eyes, A beautiful web of silver light, Wherein is many a wondrous sight, Of a radiant garden leagues away, Where the softly tinkling lilies sway, And the snow-white lamkins are at play. Hi-ho, my dearie! A brownie steeleth from the vine, Singing, Hi-ho, my dearie! And will you hear this song of mine, A song of the land of merc and mist, Where bitith the bud, the dew hath kissed? Then let the moonbeam's web of light Be spun before thee, silvery white, And I shall sing the live long night, Hi-ho, my dearie! The night when speedeth from the sea, Murmuring, Hi-ho, my dearie! I bring a mariner's prayer for thee, So let the moonbeam veil thine eyes, And the brownies sing thee lullabies, But I shall rock thee to and fro, Kissing the brow he loveth so, And the prayer shall guard thy bed, I throw, Hi-ho, my dearie! Fairy and Child! O listen, little dear my soul, To the fairy voices calling, For the moon is high in the misty sky, And the honey-do is spalling. To the midnight feast in the clover bloom, The bluebells are a-ringing, And it's come away to the land of fay That the Katy did is singing. O slumber, little dear my soul, In hand-in-hand will wander, Hand-in-hand to the beautiful land Of bellow, away off yonder, Or will sail along in a lily leaf Into the white moon's halo, Over the stream of mist and dream Into the land of bellow. Or you shall have two beautiful wings, Two gossamer wings and airy, And all the while shall be Old moon's smile and think you a little fairy, And you shall dance in the velvet sky, And the silvery stars shall twinkle, And dream sweet dreams as over their beams Your footfalls softly tinkle. Child and mother, O mother my love, If you'll give me your hand, And go where I ask you to wander, I will lead you away to a beautiful land, The dreamland that's waiting out yonder Will walk in a sweet posy garden out there, Where moonlight and starlight are streaming, And the flowers and the birds are filling the air With the fragrance of music of dreaming. There'll be no little tired-out boy to undress, No questions or cares to perplex you, There'll be no little bruises or bumps to caress, Nor patching of stockings to vex you, For I'll rock you away on a silver-dew stream, And sing you asleep when you're weary, And no one shall know of our beautiful dream, But you and your own little dearie. And when I am tired I'll nestle my head In the bosom that soothed me so often, And the wide-awake stars shall sing in my stead A song which our dreaming shall soften. So, mother, my love, let me take your dear hand And away through the starlight we'll wander, Away through the mist to the beautiful land, The dreamland that's waiting out yonder. Gander Feather's Gift I was just a little thing when a fairy came and kissed me, Floating in upon the light of a haunted summer night. Lo the fairies came to sing, Pretty slumber songs and bring, Certain boons that else had missed me, From a dream I turned to see what those strangers brought for me. When that fairy up and kissed me, Here upon this cheek he kissed me. Simmerdew was there, but she did not like me altogether. Daisy Bright and Turtle Dove, Pilfer Curds and Honey Love. This'll blow an amber glee, On that gleaming ghostly sea, Floated from the misty heather, And around my trundled bed, Frisked and looked and whispering said, Solemn-like and altogether, You shall kiss him, Gander Feather. Gander Feather kissed me then, Gander Feather, quaint and merry. No attenuate sprite was he, But as buxom as could be. Kissed me twice and once again, And the others shouted when, On my cheek a brosa berry, Somewhat like a mole may have, But they kissmark of that chap. Gander Feather passing merry, Humorsome, but kindly, fairy. I was just a tiny thing, When that prankish Gander Feather Brought this curious gift to me. With his fairy kisses three, Yet with honest pride I sing, That same gift he chose to bring, Out of yonder haunted heather, Other charms and friendships fly, Constant friends this mole and I, Who have been so long together, Thank you, little Gander Feather. Telling the bees Out of the house where the slumber ear lay, Grandfather came one summer day, And under the pleasant orchard trees, He spake this wise to the murmuring bees. The clover bloom that kissed her feet, And the posy bed where she used to play, Have honey store but none so sweet, As ere our little one went away. O bees sing soft and bees sing low, For she is gone who loved you so. A wonder fell on the listening bees, Under those pleasant orchard trees, And in their toil that summer day, Ever their murmuring seemed to say, Child, oh child, the grass is cool, And the posies are waking to hear the song, Of the bird that swings by the shaded pool, Waiting for one that tarryeth long. T'was so they called to the little one then, As if to call her back again. O gentle bees, I have come to say, That grandfather fell asleep today, And we know, by the smile on grandfather's face, He has found his dear one's biding place. So bees sing soft and bees sing low, As over the honey fields you sweep, To the trees the bloom and the flowers the blow, Sing of grandfather fast asleep, And ever beneath these orchard trees, Find cheer and shelter, gentle bees. Contentment. Once on a time an old red hen Went strutting round with pompous clucks, For she had little babies ten, A part of which were tiny ducks. T'is very rare that hens, said she, Have baby ducks as well as chicks, But I possess, as you can see, Of chickens four and ducklings six. A season later this old hen appeared Still cackling of her luck, For though she boasted babies ten, Not one among them was a duck. T'is well, she murmured, brooding, Or the little chicks so fleecy down, My babies now will stay ashore, And consequently cannot drown. The following spring the old red hen Clucked just as proudly as of yore, But low her babies were ducklings ten, Instead of chickens as before. T'is better, said the old red hen, As she surveyed her waddling brood, A little water now and then, Will surely do my darlings good. But, oh, alas, how very sad, When gentle spring rolled round again, The eggs eventuated bad, And childless was the old red hen, Yet patiently she bore her woe, And still she wore a cheerful air, And said, T'is best these things are so, For babies are age-readful. Care. I have suspect that many men, And many, many women, too, Could learn a lesson from the hen, With foliage of vermilion hue, She narrow-presumed to take offence, At any fate that might befall, But meekly bowed to Providence. She was contented, that was all. End of section 4 End of Lullabyland, Songs of Childhood by Eugene Field