All night long their nets they threw To the stars in the twinkling foam-- Then down from the skies came the wooden shoe, Bringing the fishermen home; 'Twas all so pretty a sail it seemed As if it could not be, And some folks thought 'twas a dream they'd dreamed Of sailing that beautiful sea-- But I shall name you the fishermen three: Wynken, Blynken, And Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes, And Nod is a little head, And the wooden shoe that sailed the skies Is a wee one's trundle-bed.

So shut your eyes while mother sings Of wonderful sights that be, And you shall see the beautiful things As you rock in the misty sea, Where the old shoe rocked the fishermen three, Wynken, Blynken, And Nod.

Eugene Field.

FOOTNOTE:

[A] _From "With Trumpet and Drum," by Eugene Field. Copyright, 1892, by Charles Scribner's Sons._

_Rockaby, Lullaby_[A]

Rockaby, lullaby, bees on the clover!-- Crooning so drowsily, crying so low-- Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover!

Down into wonderland-- Down to the under-land-- Go, oh go!

Down into wonderland go!

Rockaby, lullaby, rain on the clover!

Tears on the eyelids that struggle and weep!

Rockaby, lullaby--bending it over!

Down on the mother world, Down on the other world!

Sleep, oh sleep!

Down on the mother-world sleep!

Rockaby, lullaby, dew on the clover!

Dew on the eyes that will sparkle at dawn!

Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover!

Into the stilly world!

Into the lily world, Gone! oh gone!

Into the lily world, gone!

Josiah Gilbert Holland.

FOOTNOTE:

[A] _From "The Poetical Works of J. G. Holland." Copyright, 1881, by Charles Scribner's Sons._

_Sleep, My Treasure_

Sleep, sleep, my treasure, The long day's pleasure Has tired the birds, to their nests they creep; The garden still is Alight with lilies, But all the daisies are fast asleep.

Sleep, sleep, my darling, Dawn wakes the starling, The sparrow stirs when he sees day break; But all the meadow Is wrapped in shadow, And you must sleep till the daisies wake!

E. Nesbit.

_Lullaby of an Infant Chief_

Oh, hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight, Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright; The woods and the glens from the tower which we see, They all are belonging, dear babie, to thee.

Oh, 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.

Oh, 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.

Sir Walter Scott.

_Sweet and Low_

Sweet and low, sweet and low, Wind of the western sea, Low, low, breathe and blow, Wind of the western sea!

Over the rolling waters go, Come from the dying moon, and blow, Blow him again to me: While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest, Father will come to thee soon; Rest, rest, on mother's breast, Father will come to thee soon; Father will come to his babe in the nest, Silver sails all out of the west Under the silver moon: Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.

Alfred, Lord Tennyson.

_Old Gaelic Lullaby_

Hush! the waves are rolling in, White with foam, white with foam; Father toils amid the din; But baby sleeps at home.

Hush! the winds roar hoa.r.s.e and deep,-- On they come, on they come!

Brother seeks the wandering sheep: But baby sleeps at home.

Hush! the rain sweeps o'er the knowes, Where they roam, where they roam; Sister goes to seek the cows; But baby sleeps at home.

Unknown.