The Fairy Child

The Summer sun was sinking   With a mild light, calm and mellow; It shone on my little boy’s bonnie cheeks,   And his loose locks of yellow. The robin was singing sweetly,   And his song was sad and tender; And my little boy’s eyes, while he heard the song,   Smiled with a sweet, soft splendor. My little boy lay on my bosom   While his soul the song was quaffing; The joy of his soul had tinged his cheek,   And his heart and his eye were laughing. I sate alone in my cottage,   The midnight needle plying; I feared for my child, for the rush’s light   In the socket now was dying; There came a hand to my lonely latch,   Like the wind at midnight moaning; I knelt to pray, but rose again,   For I heard my little boy groaning. I crossed my brow and I crossed my breast,   But that night my child departed,— They left a weakling in his stead,   And I am broken-hearted! O, it cannot be my own sweet boy,   For his eyes are dim and hollow; My little boy is gone—is gone,   And his mother soon will follow. The dirge for the dead will be sung for me,   And the mass be chanted meetly, And I shall sleep with my little boy,   In the moonlight churchyard sweetly.