Chinchopper.
Of more intrinsic interest than this ubiquitous old nurse's nonsense are the Sicilian cradle songs, in some of which there may also be traced a family likeness with the corresponding songs of other nations. As soon as the little Sicilian gets up in the morning he is made to say—
While I lay in my bed five saints stood by;
Three at the head, two at the foot—in the midst was Jesus Christ.
The Greek-speaking peasants of Terra d'Otranto have a song somewhat after the same plan:
I lay me down to sleep in my little bed; I lay me down to sleep with my Mamma Mary: the Mamma Mary goes hence and leaves me Christ to keep me company.
Very tender is the four-line Sicilian hushaby, in which the proud mother says—
How beautiful my son is in his swaddling clothes; just think what he will be when he is big! Sleep, my babe, for the angel passes: he takes from thee heaviness, and he leaves thee slumber.
There is in Vigo's collection a lullaby so exquisite in its blended echoes from the cradle and the grave that it makes one wish for two great masters in the pathos of childish things, such as Blake and Schumann, to translate and set it to music. It is called "The Widow."
Sweet, my child, in slumber lie,