I weep, thou singest still oror.
Mother
Hush, hush, and sleep, my baby dear.
My love shall guard thee, year by year,
Until my rose-tree blossoms fair,
Then ‘neath his shade I’ll sing oror.
Baby
Thy heart is made of stone, I see.
I wept and wept, all uselessly.
Now I shall sleep, I can’t be free,