 Dutch Lullaby by Eugene Field RedForLibervox.org by Becky Crackle November 16, 2006, Canal Winchester, Ohio Winking blinkin' and nod one night, sailed off in a wooden shoe, sailed on a river of misty light into a sea of dew. Where 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 we, said Winking, blinkin' and nod. The old moon laughed and sung 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 the beautiful sea. Now cast your nets wherever you wish, but never afeard are we. So cried the stars to the fishermen three, Winking, blinkin' and nod. All night long their nets they threw for the fish in the twinkling foam. Then down from the sky came the wooden shoe, bringing the fishermen home. It was all so pretty a sail, it seemed, as if it could not be. And some folk thought, it was a dream they dreamed of sailing that beautiful sea. But I shall name you the fishermen three, Winking, blinkin' and nod. Winking 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 on the misty sea, where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three, Winking, blinkin' and nod. End of Dutch Lullaby. This recording is in the public domain. Cornish Lullaby by Eugene Field. Read for LibriVox.org by Becky Crackle. November 16, 2006, Canal Winchester, Ohio. Out on the mountain over the town, all night long, all night long, the trolls go up and the trolls go down, bearing their packs and crooning a song. And this is the song the hill folk croon, as they trudge in the light of the misty moon. This is ever their dolerous tune, gold, gold, evermore gold, bright red gold for Deary. Deep in the hill the yeoman delves all night long, all night long, none but the peering furtive elves see his toil and hear his song, merrily ever the cavern rings as merrily ever his pick he swings, and merrily ever this song he sings, gold, gold, evermore gold, bright red gold for Deary. Mother is rocking thy lowly bed, all night long, all night long, happy to smooth thy curly head and to hold thy hand and to sing her song. Tis not of the hill folk, dwarfed and old, nor the song of the yeoman, staunch and bold, and the burden it beareth is not of gold, but its love, love, nothing but love, mother's love for Deary. End of Cornish Lullaby. Sleep little pigeon and fold your wings, little blue pigeon with velvet eyes, sleep to the singing of mother bird swinging, swinging the nest where her little one lies. Away out yonder I see a star, silvery star with a tinkling song, to the soft dew falling I hear it calling, calling and tinkling the night along. In through 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? Up 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, bemoaning the ship that shall come no more. Let 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. End of Japanese Lullaby. This recording is in the public domain. Lullaby. By the Sea. By Eugene Field. Read for LibriVox.org by Becky Crackle, November 16, 2006, Canal Winchester, Ohio. Fair is the castle up on the hill, Hushabye, sweet my own. The night is fair and the waves are still, and the wind is singing to you and to me in this lowly home beside the sea. Hushabye, sweet my own. On Yonder Hill is store of wealth, Hushabye, sweet my own. And revelers drink to a little one's health, but you and I, by night and day, for the other, love that has sailed away, Hushabye, sweet my own. See not, dear eyes, the forms that creep, ghosts like, oh my own, out of the mists of the murmuring deep, oh, see them not, and make no cry, till the angels of death have passed us by. Hushabye, sweet my own. Ah, little they wreck of you and me, Hushabye, sweet my own. And our lonely home beside the sea, they seek the castle up on the hill, and there they will do their ghostly will. Hushabye, oh my own. Here by the sea a mother croons, Hushabye, sweet my own. In Yonder Castle a mother swoons, while the angels go down to the misty deep, bearing a little one fast asleep. Hushabye, sweet my own. And of Lullaby by the sea. This recording is in the public domain. Norse Lullaby by Eugene Field, read for LibriVox.org by Becky Crackle, November 16, 2006, Canal Winchester, Ohio. The sky is dark, and the hills are white, as the storm king speeds from the north to night. And this is the song the storm king sings, as over the world his cloak he flings. Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep. He rustles his wings and gruffly sings, sleep, little one, sleep. On Yonder Mountainside a vine clings at the foot of a mother pine. The tree bends over the trembling thing, and only the vine can hear her sing. Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep. What shall you fear when I am here? Sleep, little one, sleep. The king may sing in his bitter flight. The tree may croon to the vine to-night. But the little snowflake at my breast liketh the song I sing the best. Sleep, sleep, little one, sleep. Weary thou art, annexed my heart. Sleep, little one, sleep. End of Norse Lullaby. This recording is in the public domain. Orkney Lullaby by Eugene Field. Read for LibriVox.org by Becky Crackle, November 16, 2006, Canal Winchester, Ohio. A moonbeam floateth from the skies, whispering, High home, 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 lambkins are at play. High home, my dearie. A brownie stealeth from the vine, singing, High home, my dearie. And will you hear this song of mine? A song of the land of murk and mist, where byteth 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. High home, my dearie. The night wind speedeth from the sea, murmuring, High home, my dearie. I bring a mariners' prayer for thee, so let the moonbeam veil thine eyes, and the brownie 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. High home, my dearie. Land of Orkney, lullaby. Hush, little one, and fold your hands. The sun hath set, the moon is high, the sea is singing to the sands, and wakeful posies are beguiled by many a fairy lullaby. Hush, little child, my little child. Dream, little one, and in your dreams float upward from this lowly place, float out on mellow, misty streams to lands where byteth Mary mild. And let her kiss thy little face, you little child, my little child. Sleep, little one, and take thy rest, with angels bending over thee. Sleep sweetly on that father's breast, whom our dear Christ hath reconciled. But stay not there. Come back to me, oh little child, my little child. And of Sicilian lullaby. This recording is in the public domain. The Divine Lullaby by Eugene Field, redforlibrivox.org, by Becky Crackle, November 16, 2006, Canal Winchester, Ohio. I hear thy voice, dear Lord. I hear it by the stormy sea, when winter nights are black and wild. And when a fright I call to thee, it calms my fears and whispers me. Sleep well, my child. I hear thy voice, dear Lord, in singing winds, in falling snow, the curfew chimes, the midnight bell. Sleep well, my child, it murmurs low. The guardian angels come and go, oh child, sleep well. I hear thy voice, dear Lord, I, though the singing winds be stilled, though hushed the tumult of the deep. My fainting heart, with anguish chilled, by thy assuring tone, is thrilled. Fear not, and sleep. Speak on, speak on, dear Lord. And when the last dread night is near, with doubts and fears and terrors wild, oh, let my soul expiring here, only these words of heavenly cheer. Sleep well, my child. My shepherd is the Lord, my God. There is no want, I know. His flock he leads, in verdant meads, where tranquil waters flow. He doth restore my fainting soul with his divine caress, and when I stray he points the way to paths of righteousness. Yea, though I walk the veil of death, what evil shall I fear? Thy staff and rod are mine, oh God, and thou my shepherd near. Mine enemies behold the feast which my dear Lord hath spread, and lo my cup he filleth up, with oil anoints my head. Goodness and mercy shall be mine unto my dying day. Then will I bide at his dear side, for ever, and for a. I once knew all the birds that came and nested in our orchard trees. For every flower I had a name, my friends were woodchucks, toads, and bees. I knew where thrived in yonder-glen what plants would soothe a stone-brew's toe. Oh, I was very learned then, but that was very long ago. I knew the spot upon the hill where the checkerberries could be found. I knew the rushes near the mill where pickerel lay that weighed a pound. I knew the wood, the very tree where lived the poaching saucy crow, and all the woods and crows knew me, but that was very long ago. And pining for the joys of youth I tread the old familiar spot, only to learn this solemn truth. I have forgotten, am forgot. Yet here's this youngster at my knee knows all the things I used to know, to think I once was wise as he, but that was very long ago. I know it's folly to complain of what's where the fates decree, yet we're not wishes all in vain I tell you what my wish should be. I'd wish to be a boy again, back with the friends I used to know, for I was, oh, so happy then. But that was very long ago. And of long ago this recording is in the public domain. Field and Mother by Eugene Field. Read for LibriVox.org by Becky Crackle, November 16, 2006, Canal Winchester, Ohio. Oh, 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. We'll walk in a sweet posigarden out there, where moonlight and starlight are streaming, and the flowers and the birds are filling the air with the fragrance and music of dreaming. There will be no little tired-out boy to undress, no questions or cares to perplex you, there will 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 a way through the starlight will wander, a way through the mist to the beautiful land, the dreamland that's waiting out yonder. End of Child and Mother This recording is in the public domain, SOMETIME by Eugene Field, read for LibriVox.org by Becky Crackle, November 16, 2006, Canal Winchester, Ohio. Last night, my darling, as you slept, I thought I heard you sigh, and to your little crib I crept, and watched a space thereby. And then I stooped and kissed your brow, for, oh, I love you so. You are too young to know it now, but sometime you shall know. Sometime when, in a darkened place where others come to weep, your eyes shall look upon a face calm in eternal sleep. The voiceless lips, the wrinkled brow, the patient's smile shall show. You are too young to know it now, but sometime you may know. Look backward then into the years, and see me here tonight. See, oh, my darling, how my tears are falling as I write, and feel once more upon your brow the kiss of long ago. You are too young to know it now, but sometime you shall know. End of some time.