The Home Book of Verse Volume I Part 21

Unwritten history!

Unfathomed mystery!

Yet he laughs and cries, and eats and drinks, And chuckles and crows, and nods and winks, As if his head were as full of kinks And curious riddles as any sphinx!

Warped by colic, and wet by tears, Punctured by pins, and tortured by fears, Our little nephew will lose two years; And he'll never know Where the summers go;-- He need not laugh, for he'll find it so!

Who can tell what a baby thinks?

Who can follow the gossamer links By which the mannikin feels his way Out from the sh.o.r.e of the great unknown, Blind, and wailing, and alone, Into the light of day?-- Out from the sh.o.r.e of the unknown sea, Tossing in pitiful agony;-- Of the unknown sea that reels and rolls, Specked with the barks of little souls,-- Barks that were launched on the other side, And slipped from Heaven on an ebbing tide!

What does he think of his mother's eyes?

What does he think of his mother's hair?

What of the cradle-roof, that flies Forward and backward through the air?

What does he think of his mother's breast, Bare and beautiful, smooth and white, Seeking it ever with fresh delight,-- Cup of his life, and couch of his rest?

What does he think when her quick embrace Presses his hand and buries his face Deep where the heart-throbs sink and swell With a tenderness she can never tell, Though she murmur the words Of all the birds,-- Words she has learned to murmur well?

Now he thinks he'll go to sleep!

I can see the shadow creep Over his eyes, in soft eclipse, Over his brow, and over his lips, Out to his little finger-tips!

Softly sinking, down he goes!

Down he goes! down he goes!

See! he is hushed in sweet repose!

Josiah Gilbert Holland [1819-1881]

AN IRISH LULLABY

I've found my bonny babe a nest On Slumber Tree, I'll rock you there to rosy rest, Asth.o.r.e Machree!

Oh, lulla lo! sing all the leaves On Slumber Tree, Till everything that hurts or grieves Afar must flee.

I've put my pretty child to float Away from me, Within the new moon's silver boat On Slumber Sea.

And when your starry sail is o'er From Slumber Sea, My precious one, you'll step to sh.o.r.e On Mother's knee.

Alfred Perceval Graves [1846-1931]

CRADLE SONG

I

Lord Gabriel, wilt thou not rejoice When at last a little boy's Cheek lies heavy as a rose, And his eyelids close?

Gabriel, when that hush may be, This sweet hand all heedfully I'll undo, for thee alone, From his mother's own.

Then the far blue highways paven With the burning stars of heaven, He shall gladden with the sweet Hasting of his feet--

Feet so brightly bare and cool, Leaping, as from pool to pool; From a little laughing boy Splas.h.i.+ng rainbow joy!

Gabriel, wilt thou understand How to keep his hovering hand-- Never shut, as in a bond, From the bright beyond?--

Nay, but though it cling and close Tightly as a climbing rose, Clasp it only so--aright, Lest his heart take fright.

(Dormi, dormi tu: The dusk is hung with blue.)

II

Lord Michael, wilt not thou rejoice When at last a little boy's Heart, a shut-in murmuring bee, Turns him unto thee?

Wilt thou heed thine armor well-- To take his hand from Gabriel, So his radiant cup of dream May not spill a gleam?

He will take thy heart in thrall, Telling o'er thy breastplate, all Colors, in his bubbling speech, With his hand to each.

(Dormi, dormi tu.

Sapphire is the blue: Pearl and beryl, they are called, Chrysoprase and emerald, Sard and amethyst.

Numbered so, and kissed.)

Ah, but find some angel word For thy sharp, subduing sword!

Yea, Lord Michael, make no doubt He will find it out:

(Dormi, dormi tu!

His eyes will look at you.)

III

Last, a little morning s.p.a.ce, Lead him to that leafy place Where Our Lady sits awake, For all mothers' sake.

Bosomed with the Blessed One, He shall mind her of her Son, Once so folded from all harms, In her shrining arms.

(In her veil of blue, Dormi, dormi tu.)

So;--and fare thee well.

Softly,--Gabriel...

When the first faint red shall come, Bid the Day-star lead him home, For the bright world's sake-- To my heart, awake.

Josephine Preston Peabody [1874-1922]

MOTHER-SONG FROM "PRINCE LUCIFER"

White little hands!

Pink little feet!

Dimpled all over, Sweet, sweet, sweet!

What dost thou wail for?

The unknown? the unseen?

The ills that are coming, The joys that have been?

Cling to me closer, Closer and closer, Till the pain that is purer Hath banished the grosser.

Drain, drain at the stream, love, Thy hunger is freeing, That was born in a dream, love, Along with thy being!