The MAD MOTHER. Her eyes are wild, her head is bare, The sun has burnt her coal-black hair, Her eye-brows have a rusty stain, And she came far from over the main. She has a baby on her arm, Or else she were alone; And underneath the hay-stack warm, And on the green-wood stone, She talked and sung the woods among; And it was in the English tongue. K "Sweet babe! they say that I am mad, But nay, my heart is far too glad ; Full many a sad and doleful thing: Then, lovely baby, do not fear! I pray thee have no fear of me, But, safe as in a cradle, here A fire was once within my brain; Suck, little babe, oh suck again! brain ; It cools my blood; it cools my Oh! love me, love me, little boy! He saves for me my precious soul; Without me my sweet babe would die. Then do not fear, my boy! for thee And I will always be thy guide, My pretty thing! then thou shalt sing, Thy father cares not for my breast, 'Tis thine, sweet baby, there to rest : 'Tis all thine own! and if its hue Be changed, that was so fair to view, 'Tis fair enough for thee, my dove ! My beauty, little child, is flown; But thou wilt live with me in love, And what if my poor cheek be brown? 'Tis well for me, thou canst not see How pale and wan it else would be. Dread not their taunts, my little life! If his sweet boy he could forsake, I'll teaah my boy the sweetest things; And thou hast almost suck'd 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: |