Читать книгу The Child's Favorite - a gift for the young - Anonymous - Страница 6

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My pretty one, my pretty one,

I would not part with thee

For all the beauties of the land

Or treasures of the sea.

Thine eye is brighter than a star,

Thy fleece like driven snow;

Thy voice, oh! sweeter than the sound

Of rivers as they flow.

My pretty one, my pretty one,

I've sought through field and wood,

For honey-flowers and tender grass,

And clover for thy food;

I've some, like gold and silver cups,

All filled with dews for wine;

Come, show thee thankful, and this feast,

My favorite, shall be thine.

No other little girl, I'm sure,

Would love thee half so dear,

Would strive to know what best thou lik'st,

And seek it far and near;

Would bring thee water from the fount,

Clear, beautiful, and deep;

Or make, at night, a bed so soft,

For thee, sweet lamb, to sleep.

Besides, thou knowest, 'twas I that saved

Thine innocent young life;

The butcher-boy had tied thee down—

Had raised his cruel knife!

I wept!—my dear, my good mamma,

Could not behold me cry;

So for her fond, her grateful girl,

Thee, beauteous lamb, did buy.

Then come and love me very well;

And when thy dinner's o'er,

We'll dance and play along the green,

Or by the bright sea shore;

Now kiss me—kiss me prettily,

For very kind I am;

And proud of thee, my beautiful,

My own dear little lamb.

Swain.