O hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight,
Thy mother a lady both gentle and bright;
The woods and the glens from the tow’rs which we see,
They are all belonging, dear babie, to thee.
O fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows;
It calls but the warders that guard thy repose;
Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red,
E’er the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed.
O hush thee, my babie, the time will soon come,
When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum,
Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may,
For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day.
When little birdie bye-bye goes,
Quiet as mice in churches,
He puts his head where nobody knows,
And on one leg he perches.
When little baby bye-bye goes,
On mother’s arm reposing,
Soon he lies beneath the clothes,
Safe in cradle dozing.
When little pussy goes to sleep,
Tail and nose together,
Then little mice around her creep,
Lightly as a feather.
When little baby goes to sleep,
And he is very near us,
Then on tiptoe softly creep,
That baby may not hear us.