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Suck, little Babe, oh suck again!
It cools my blood; it cools
Oh! love me, love me, little Boy!
He saves for me my precious soul:
Then happy lie, for blest am I;
Without me my sweet Babe would die.
Then do not fear, my Boy! for thee
And I will always be thy guide,
Through hollow snows and rivers wide. I'll build an Indian bower; I know
The leaves that make the softest bed:
And, if from me thou wilt not go,
My pretty thing! then thou shalt sing
Thy Father cares not for my
'Tis thine, sweet Baby, there to rest :
"Tis all thine own! and, if its hue
Be changed, that was so fair to view, 'Tis fair enough for thee, my dove! My beauty, little Child, is flown; But thou wilt live with me in love, And what if my poor cheek be brown? 'Tis well for me, thou canst not see
How pale and wan it else would be.
Dread not their taunts, my little life!
If his sweet Boy he could forsake,
I'll teach my Boy the sweetest things;
And thou hast almost sucked thy fill.
-Where art thou gone, my own dear Child?
What wicked looks are those I see?
Alas! alas! that look so wild,
It never, never came from me :
Oh! smile on me, my little lamb !
My love for thee has well been tried:
Now laugh and be gay, to the woods away!
And there, my babe, we'll live for aye."