Читать книгу The Cambridge Book of Poetry for Children - Various - Страница 64

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O hush thee, my baby, thy sire was a knight,

Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright;

The woods and the glens, from the towers which we see,

They all are belonging, dear baby, 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,

Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed.

O hush thee, my baby, 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.

Sir Walter Scott.