NIGHTFALL IN DORDRECHT.

THE mill goes toiling slowly around

With steady and solemn creak,

And my little one hears in the kindly sound

The voice of the old mill speak;

While round and round those big white wings

Grimly and ghostlike creep,

My little one hears that the old mill sings,

“Sleep, little tulip, sleep!”

The sails are reefed and the nets are drawn,

And over his pot of beer

The fisher, against the morrow's dawn,

Lustily maketh cheer;

He mocks at the winds that caper along

From the far-off, clamorous deep,

But we — we love their lullaby-song

Of “Sleep, little tulip, sleep!”

Old dog Fritz, in slumber sound,

Groans of the stony mart;

To-morrow how proudly he'll trot you around,

Hitched to our new milk-cart!

And you shall help me blanket the kine,

And fold the gentle sheep,

And set the herring a-soak in brine,—

But now, little tulip, sleep!

A Dream-One comes to button the eyes

That wearily droop and blink,

While the old mill buffets the frowning skies,

And scolds at the stars that wink;

Over your face the misty wings

Of that beautiful Dream-One sweep,

And, rocking your cradle, she softly sings,

“Sleep, little tulip, sleep!”