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Show THE OLD CRADLE. Tm bni:bd to the garret now, My buy days are o'er; Within my shrftoring embrace The babies sleep no more. ' Ko more, as in tie bygone hours, . ' My drowsy beat keeps time In patient, sleepy monotone - With the old uunwry rhyme, 'v - Rook-a-by, baby, on the tree top; " V ' When the wind blows the cradle will rook." -.- a The last rays of the setting sun Slant through the windows small ; - ' They light the garret's dusky gloom, " "' And on my head they fall. v; .. Along their lerel bars of gold ..' Old pictures come and go ; Ajtain I hear the mother's toice 81nglng so soft and low, ; "Bock-a-by, baby, oa the tree top; 1 'When the wind blowa the cradle will rock." Ah me! where once the baby beads J . The downy pillows prest, , Within my ample oaken hood . . The spider has her nest Empty, forgotten and alone, A. useless thing I am. The last words of the quaint old song Fall like a parting sigh, ' "When ths bonjrh breaks the cradle will fall; Down will go baby and cradle and all. " E. JL Griffith In Harper's Bazar. |