Oh! lullaby, lullaby, Father dear,”
Thus sigh’d a young Moorish maid;
While a captive she love’d [sic]
To her bow’r came near,
And whisper’d this serenade.
“Oh list to me Abra, morning breaks,
‘Twill soon be too late for our flight.”
Hark, hark, Ben Helim suddenly speaks,
[“]Whose music is this to-night?”
“‘Tis my lullaby, lullaby, Father dear”
The trembling Abra said…
“I would sing you to rest
But my lute, I feel,
Was wrong in the sounds it play’d!
Oh lullaby, lullaby Father dear,
I ws [sic] wrong in the sounds I play’d.”
The lullaby sooth’d him, again he slept,
Again was the Serenade sung,
The Maiden for lover and father wept,
What eould [sic] she? so gentle and young!
One kiss on the old man’s slumbering eyes,
That waken’d his heart’s best tears,
One look at Heav’n in the Moorish skies,
And away from her land for years.
From her “lullaby, lullaby, Father dear!”
From all the fond ties of home
That are nothing or little when they are near,
But which we regret when we roam.
Her “lulllaby, lullaby, Father dear!”
Would oft to her fancy come.