.

    t fear, my boy! for thee

    Bold as a lion I will be;

    And I hy guide,

    through hollow snows and rivers wide.

    Ill build an Indian bower; I know

    t make test bed:

    And if from me t not go,

    But still be true till I am dead,

    My pretty t sing,

    As merry as the birds in spring.

    t for my breast,

    tis t baby, to rest:

    tis all ts hue

    Be c o view,

    tis fair enoughee, my dove!

    My beauty, little child, is ?own;

    But t live h me in love,

    And w if my poor cheek be brown?

    tis  not see

    else would be.

    Dread not taunts, my little life!

    I am thers wedded wife;

    And underneatree

    e two will live in y.

    If  boy he could forsake,

    itayd:

    From ake,

    But ched made,

    And every day wo will pray

    For s gone and far away.

    Ill teacest things;

    Ill teac sings.

    My little babe! till,

    And t almost suckd thy ?ll.

    -- thou gone my own dear child?

    hose I see?

    Alas! alas! t look so wild,

    It never, never came from me:

    If t mad, my pretty lad,

    t be for ever sad.

    Otle lamb!

    For I ther am.

    My love for tried:

    Ive sougher far and wide.

    I knohe shade,

    I knos ?t for food;

    tty dear, be not afraid;

    ell ?nd the wood.

    Nohe woods away!

    And there, my babe; well live for aye.