Note 39 — INDEX

Sleep, my child, my little darling, sleep, I sing to thee; Silently the soft white moonbeams fall on thee and me. I will tell thee fairy stories in my lullaby; Sleep, my child, my pretty darling, sleep, I sing to thee. Lo, I see the day approaching when the warriors meet; Then wilt thou grasp thy rifle and mount thy charger fleet. I will broider in thy saddle colors fair to see, Sleep, my child, my little darling, sleep, I sing to thee. Then my Cossack boy, my hero brave and proud and gay, Waves one farewell to his mother and rides far away. Oh, what sorrow, pain and anguish then my soul shall fill, As I pray by day and night that God will keep thee still! Thou shalt take a saint's pure image to the battlefield, Look upon it when thou prayest, may it be thy shield. And when battles fierce are raging, give one thought to me; Sleep, my darling, calmly, sweetly, sleep, I sing to thee. —Westminster Gazette.