Supplement to the Kentucky Harmony, 1825, pp. 72 and 61.
1. O sleep not my babe, for the morn of tomorrow
Shall soothe me to slumber more tranquil than thine;
The dark grave shall shield me from shame and from sorrow.
Though the deed and the doom of the guilty are mine.
Not long shall the arm of affection enfold thee;
Not long shalt thou hang on thy mother's fond breast;
And who with the eye of delight shall behold thee,
And watch thee and guard thee when I am at rest?
2. And yet it doth grieve me to wake thee, my dearest.
The pangs of thy desolate mother to see;
Thou wilt weep when the clank of my cold chains thou hearest;
And none but the guilty should weep over me.
And yet I must wake thee, and whilst thou art weeping,
To calm thee I'll stifle my tears for a while.
Thou smilest in thy dreams whilst thus placidly sleeping.
And O how it wounds me to gaze on thy smile.
3. Alas, my sweet babe, with what pride I had pressed thee
To the bosom that now throbs with terror and shame.
If the pure tie of virtue's affection had blessed thee,
And hailed thee the heir of thy father's high name.
But now with remorse that avails not I mourn thee.
Forsaken and friendless as soon thou wilt be.
In a world, if they cannot betray, that will scorn thee.
Avenging the guilt of thy mother on thee.
4. And when the dark thought of my fate shall awaken
The deep blush of shame on thy innocent cheek.
Then by all but the God of the orphan forsaken,
A home and a father in vain thou wilt seek.
1 know that the base world will seek to deceive thee
With falsehood like that which thy mother beguiled;
Deserted and helpless, with whom can I leave thee ?
O God of the fatherless, pity my child!
The National Recorder, Philadelphia, 2(24):377, 1819 (attributed to The Liverpool Mercury)
O sleep not, my babe, for the morn of tomorrow
Shall soothe me to slumber more tranquil than thine;
The dark grave shall shield me from shame and from sorrow,
Though the deeds and the doom of the guilty are mine.
Not long shall the arm of affection enfold thee,
Not long shalt thou hang on thy mother's fond breast;
And who with the eye of delight shall behold thee
And watch thee, and guard thee, when I am at rest!
And yet it doth grieve me to wake thee, my dearest,
The pangs of thy desolate mother to see;
Thou wilt weep when the clank of my cold chain thou hearest,
And none but the guilty should mourn over me.
And yet I must wake thee—for while thou art weeping,
To calm thee I stifle my tears for a while;
But thou smil’st in thy dreams while thus placidly sleeping,
And oh! how it wounds me to gaze on thy smile!
Alas! my sweet babe, with what pride had I press'd thee
To the bosom that now throbs with terror and shame,
If the pure tie of virtuous affection had blest thee,
And hail'd thee the heir of thy father's high name?
But now — with remorse that avails not — I mourn thee,
Forsaken and friendless, as soon thou wilt be,
In a world, if it cannot betray, that will scorn thee —
Avenging the guilt of thy mother on thee.
And when the dark thought of my fate shall awaken
The deep blush of shame on thy innocent cheek,
When by all, but the God of the orphan, forsaken,
A home and a father in vain thou shalt seek.
I know that the base world will seek to deceive thee,
With falsehood like that which thy mother beguiled;
Deserted and helpless — to whom can I leave thee
Oh! God of the fatherless! pity my child!
English text