O, hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight
Thy mother a lady, both gentle and bright;
The woods and the glens, from the towers which we see
They are all belonging, dear babie, 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 babie, the time soon will come
When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum;
Then hush thee, my [darling]1, take rest while you may
For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day
Thy mother a lady, both gentle and bright;
The woods and the glens, from the towers which we see
They are all belonging, dear babie, 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 babie, the time soon will come
When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum;
Then hush thee, my [darling]1, take rest while you may
For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day
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