Oh, who is so merry, so merry, heigh ho! As the light-hearted fairy? heigh ho, Heigh ho! He dances and sings To the sound of his wings With a hey and a heigh and a ho. Oh, who is so merry, so airy, heigh ho! As the light-headed fairy? heigh ho, Heigh ho! His nectar he sips From the primroses' lips With a hey and a heigh and a ho. Oh, who is so merry, so merry, heigh ho! As the light-footed fairy? heigh ho, Heigh ho! The night is his noon And his sun is the moon, With a hey and a heigh and a ho. —Unknown.

The Land of Counterpane

When I was sick and lay a-bed, I had two pillows for my head, And all my toys beside me lay To keep me happy all the day. And sometimes for an hour or so I watched my leaden soldiers go, With different uniforms and drills, Among the bed-clothes through the hills; And sometimes sent my ships in fleets All up and down among the sheets; Or brought my trees and houses out, And planted cities all about. I was the giant great and still That sits upon the pillow-hill, And sees before him, dale and plain, The pleasant land of counterpane. —Robert Louis Stevenson.

My Shadow

I have a little shadow that goes in and out with me,

And what can be the use of him is more than I can see.

He is very, very like me from the heels up to the head;

And I see him jump before me when I jump into my bed.

The funniest thing about him is the way he likes to grow—

Not at all like proper children, which is always very slow;

For he sometimes shoots up taller like an india-rubber ball,

And he sometimes gets so little that there's none of him at all.

He hasn't got a notion of how children ought to play,

And can only make a fool of me in every sort of way.

He stays so close beside me, he's a coward you can see;

I'd think shame to stick to nursie as that shadow sticks to me.

One morning, very early, before the sun was up,

I rose and found the shining dew on every buttercup;

But my lazy little shadow, like an arrant sleepy-head,

Had stayed at home behind me and was fast asleep in bed.

—Robert Louis Stevenson.

Sweet and Low

Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea; Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea. Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me; While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps. Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon; Rest, rest on mother's breast, Father will come to thee soon; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west Under the silver moon; Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep. —Alfred Lord Tennyson.

LULLABY FOR TITANIA

First Fairy

You spotted snakes with double tongue, Thorny hedgehogs, be not seen; Newts and blind-worms, do no wrong; Come not near our fairy queen.

Chorus

Philomel, with melody Sing in our sweet lullaby; Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby: Never harm, Nor spell, nor charm, Come our lovely lady nigh; So, good night, with lullaby.

Second Fairy

Weaving spiders, come not here; Hence, you long-legg'd spinners, hence; Beetles black, approach not near; Worm nor snail, do no offence.

Chorus

Philomel, with melody Sing in our sweet lullaby; Lulla, lulla, lullaby; lulla, lulla, lullaby: Never harm, Nor spell, nor charm, Come our lovely lady nigh; So, good night, with lullaby. —William Shakespeare.

An Old Gaelic Cradle Song

Hush! the waves are rolling in, White with foam, white with foam! Father toils amid the din; But baby sleeps at home. Hush! the winds roar hoarse and deep. On they come, on they come! Brother seeks the lazy sheep; But baby sleeps at home. Hush! the rain sweeps o'er the knowes, Where they roam, where they roam; Sister goes to seek the cows; But baby sleeps at home. —Unknown.

CHILD-SONGS

I The City Child

Dainty little maiden, whither would you wander? Whither from this pretty home, the home where mother dwells? "Far, and far away," said the dainty little maiden, "All among the gardens, auriculas, anemones, Roses and lilies and Canterbury-bells." Dainty little maiden, whither would you wander? Whither from this pretty house, this city-house of ours? "Far and far away," said the dainty little maiden, "All among the meadows, the clover and the clematis, Daisies and kingcups, and honeysuckle-flowers."

II Minnie and Winnie

Minnie and Winnie Slept in a shell. Sleep, little ladies! And they slept well. Pink was the shell within, Silver without; Sounds of the great sea Wander'd about. Sleep, little ladies! Wake not soon! Echo on echo Dies to the moon. Two bright stars Peep'd into the shell. "What are they dreaming of? Who can tell?" Started a green linnet Out of the croft; Wake, little ladies, The sun is aloft! —Alfred Lord Tennyson.

The Lamb

Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Gave thee life, and bade thee feed By the stream and o'er the mead; Softest clothing, woolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice; Little Lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Little Lamb, I'll tell thee. Little Lamb, I'll tell thee. He is calléd by thy name, For He calls Himself a Lamb:— He is meek, and He is mild; He became a little child: I, a child, and thou, a lamb, We are calléd by His name. Little Lamb, God bless thee; Little Lamb, God bless thee. —William Blake.

The Fairies

Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a-hunting For fear of little men; Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together; Green jacket, red cap, And white owl's feather! Down along the rocky shore Some make their home: They live on crispy pancakes Of yellow tide-foam; Some in the reeds Of the black mountain lake, With frogs for their watch-dogs, All night awake. By the craggy hill-side, Through the mosses bare, They have planted thorn-trees For pleasure here and there. Is any man so daring As dig them up in spite, He shall find their sharpest thorns In his bed at night. Up the airy mountain, Down the rushy glen, We daren't go a-hunting For fear of little men; Wee folk, good folk, Trooping all together; Green jacket, red cap, And white owl's feather! —William Allingham.

Spring

Spring, the sweet spring, is the year's pleasant king; Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! The palm and may make country houses gay, Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet, Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit, In every street these tunes our ears do greet, Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo! Spring, the sweet Spring! —Thomas Nash.

Lady Moon

"I love the moon and the moon loves me; God bless the moon and God bless me."—Old Song. "Lady Moon, Lady Moon, where are you roving?" "Over the sea." "Lady Moon, Lady Moon, whom are you loving?" "All that love me." "Are you not tired with rolling, and never Resting to sleep? Why look so pale and so sad as forever Wishing to weep?" "Ask me not this, little child, if you love me; You are too bold. I must obey the great Father above me, And do as I'm told." —Lord Houghton.

Song To Naomi

Entreat me not to leave thee, Or to return from following after thee; For whither thou goest, I will go; And where thou lodgest, I will lodge; Thy people shall be my people, And thy God my God; Where thou diest, will I die, And there will I be buried; The Lord do so to me, And more also, If aught but death part thee and me. —Ruth the Moabitess.