A Book of Songs , opus 20

A fair good morn to thee, my love,
A fair good morn to thee;
And happy be thy path, my love,
Though it end not with me, though it end not with me.

No vows were ever spoken,
We've no farewell to say:
Gay were we when we met, love,
We're parting just as gay, we're parting just as gay.

So fare thee well, awhile, my love,
So fare thee well, awhile,
We have no parting sign to give,
So part we with a smile, so part we with a smile.

The mill goes toiling slowly around
  With steady and solemn creak,
And my little one hears in the kindly sound
  The voice of the old mill speak.
While round and round those big white wings
  Grimly and ghostlike creep,
My little one hears that the old mill sings
  "Sleep, little tulip, sleep!"
 
The sails are reefed and the nets are drawn,
  And, over his pot of beer,
The fisher, against the morrow's dawn,
  Lustily maketh cheer.
He mocks at the winds that caper along
  From the far-off clamorous deep, -- 
But we -- we love their lullaby song
  Of "Sleep, little tulip, sleep!"
 
Old dog Fritz in slumber sound
  Groans of the stony mart:
To-morrow how proudly he 'll trot you round,
  Hitched to our new milk-cart!
And you shall help me blanket the kine
  And fold the gentle sheep,
And set the herring a-soak in brine, -- 
  But now, little tulip, sleep!
 
A Dream-One comes to button the eyes
  That wearily droop and blink,
While the old mill buffets the frowning skies
  And scolds at the stars that wink;
Over your face the misty wings
  Of that beautiful Dream-One sweep,
And rocking your cradle she softly sings
  "Sleep, little tulip, sleep!"

Every night my prayers I say,
and learn my lessons every day.
And every day that I am good
I have an orange after food.

The boy that is not clean and neat,
With lots of toys and things to eat,
He is a naughty boy, I'm sure,
Or else his dear papa is poor.

Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon; 
O the pleasant sight to see 
Shires and towns from Airly Beacon, 
While my love climb'd up to me! 

Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon; 
O the happy hours we lay 
Deep in fern on Airly Beacon, 
Courting through the summer's day! 

Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon; 
O the weary haunt for me, 
All alone on Airly Beacon, 
With his baby on my knee!

When the land was white with moonlight
And the air was sweet with May,
I was so glad that Love would last
For ever and a day,
When the land was white with moonlight,
And the air was sweet with May.
 
Now the land is white with Winter,
And the dead Love laid away,
I am so glad Life cannot last
For ever and a day.

I saw a weeping maiden
A-searching in the morn
For Love, that's half a rose-bud,
For Love, that's half a thorn.

She sought him on the hill-top,
And o'er the dewy lea;
But he was standing in the shade,
Was waiting, waiting there with me!

He sang not in the meadow,
He piped not near the stream,
Nor hid in ferny forest,
The darling of her dream.

He lurked not in the poppies,
He shone not in the sky;
But called to her from out my heart,
And yet she passed him by!

Up to her chamber window,
A slight wire trellis goes,
And up this Romeo's ladder
Clambers a bold white rose.

I lounge in the ilex shadows,
I see the lady lean,
Unclasping her silken girdle,
The curtain's folds between.

She smiles on her white-rose lover,
She reaches out her hand
And helps him in at the window --
I see it where I stand!

To her scarlet lip she holds him,
And kisses him many a time.
Ah me! it was he that won her
Because he dared to climb!

Dites-moi, belle enchanteresse,
Qui vous a donné vos yeux ?
Vos deux yeux, si plein de tendresse,
Astres divin tombé des cieux !

Quelle est la fée aux doigts de rose,
Qui prit dans son écrin pour vous ;
Charmante fleur à peine éclose,
Les deux admirables bijoux ?

 ... 

Chantez ! la nuit sera brève.
Il était une fois un vieil homme tout noir;
Il avait un manteau fait de rêve,
Un chapeau fait de brume du soir.
Chantez ! la nuit sera brève.

Chantez ! la nuit sera douce.
Le vieil homme tout noir en silence est venu;
On eût dit qu'il marchait sur la mousse
A pas lents et furtifs et pied nu.
Chantez ! la nuit sera douce.

Chantez ! la nuit sera belle.
Le vieil homme sourit à l'enfant qui s'endort;
Vient fermer sa paupière rebelle,
Sable fin du sommeil, sable d'or !
Chantez ! la nuit sera belle.

Chantez ! la nuit sera brève.
Le vieil homme tout noir en silence a passé;
Et voilà sur les ailes du rêve
Que l'enfant dans l'azur est bercé !
Chantez ! la nuit sera brève.

Wie rafft' ich mich auf in der Nacht, in der Nacht,
Und fühlte mich fürder gezogen,
Die Gassen verließ ich vom Wächter bewacht,
Durchwandelte sacht
In der Nacht, in der Nacht,
Das Tor mit dem gotischen Bogen.

Der Mühlbach rauschte durch felsigen Schacht,
Ich lehnte mich über die Brücke,
Tief unter mir nahm ich der Wogen in Acht,
Die wallten so sacht,
In der Nacht, in der Nacht,
Doch wallte nicht eine zurücke.

Es drehte sich oben, unzählig entfacht,
Melodischer Wandel der Sterne,
Mit ihnen der Mond in beruhigter Pracht,
Sie funkelten sacht
In der Nacht, in der Nacht,
Durch täuschend entlegene Ferne.

Ich blickte hinauf in der Nacht, in der Nacht,
[Und]1 blickte hinunter aufs neue:
O wehe, wie hast du die Tage verbracht,
Nun stille du sacht
In der Nacht, in der Nacht,
Im pochenden Herzen die Reue!