Victorian Songs: Lyrics of the Affections and Nature

by Unknown

SAMUEL LOVER.

1797-1868.

THE ANGEL’S WHISPER.[*] A baby was sleeping, Its mother was weeping, For the husband was far on the wild raging Sea; And the tempest was swelling Round the fisherman’s dwelling; And she cried, “Dermot darling, oh come back to me!” Her beads while she numbered, The baby still slumbered, And smiled in her face as she bended her knee; “O blest be that warning, My child thy sleep adorning, For I know that the angels are whispering with thee! “And while they are keeping Bright watch o’er thy sleeping, Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me! And say thou wouldst rather They ’d watch o’er thy father; For I know that the angels are whispering with thee!” The dawn of the morning Saw Dermot returning, And the wife wept with joy her babe’s father to see; And closely caressing Her child, with a blessing, Said, “I knew that the angels were whispering with thee!”

[* ] A superstition of great beauty prevails in Ireland that when a child smiles in its sleep it is “talking with angels.”

WHAT WILL YOU DO, LOVE? I. “W hat will you do, love, when I am going With white sail flowing, The seas beyond— What will you do, love, when waves divide us, And friends may chide us For being fond?” “Tho’ waves divide us—and friends be chiding, In faith abiding, I ’ll still be true! And I ’ll pray for thee on the stormy ocean, In deep devotion— That ’s what I ’ll do!” II. “What would you do, love, if distant tidings Thy fond confidings Should undermine?— And I abiding ’neath sultry skies, Should think other eyes Were as bright as thine?” “Oh, name it not:—tho’ guilt and shame Were on thy name I ’d still be true: But that heart of thine—should another share it— I could not bear it! What would I do?” III. “What would you do, love, when home returning With hopes high burning, With wealth for you, If my bark, which bounded o’er foreign foam, Should be lost near home— Ah! what would you do?”— “So thou wert spared—I ’d bless the morrow, In want and sorrow, That left me you; And I ’d welcome thee from the wasting billow, This heart thy pillow— That ’s what I ’d do!”