Suck, little Babe, oh suck again! It cools my blood; it cools my brain ; Oh! love me, love me, little Boy! He saves for me my precious soul: Then happy lie, for blest am I; Without me my sweet Babe would die. Then do not fear, my Boy! for thee And I will always be thy guide, Through hollow snows and rivers wide. I'll build an Indian bower; I know The leaves that make the softest bed: And, if from me thou wilt not go, But still be true till I am dead, My pretty thing! then thou shalt sing As merry as the birds in spring. Thy Father cares not for my breast, Be changed, that was so fair to view, Dread not their taunts, my little life! If his sweet Boy he could forsake, I'll teach my Boy the sweetest things; And thou hast almost sucked thy fill. -Where art thou gone, my own dear Child? What wicked looks are those I see? Alas! alas! that look so wild, It never, never came from me : Oh! smile on me, my little lamb ! My love for thee has well been tried: I know the earth-nuts fit for food; Now laugh and be gay, to the woods away! And there, my babe, we 'll live for aye." |