The Fairy Child

John Anster (1793–1867)

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.