Chapter 2
section two of lullaby land songs of childhood by eugene field this libravox recording is in the public domain lady button eyes when the busy day is done and my weary little one rocketh gently to and fro when the night winds softly blow and the crickets in the glen chirp and chirp and chirp again when upon the haunted green fairies dance around their queen then from yonder misty skies cometh lady button-eyes through the murk and mist and gloam to our quiet cosy home where to singing sweet and low rocks a cradle to and fro where the clock's dull monotone telleth of the day that's done where the moonbeams hover o'er playthings sleeping on the floor where my weary wee one lies cometh lady button-eyes
cometh like a fleeting ghost from some distant eerie coast never footfall can you hear as that spirit fareth near never whisper never word from that shadow queen is heard in ethereal raiment dight from the realm of fay and sprite in the depth of yonder skies cometh lady button-eyes layeth she her hands upon my dear weary little one and those white hands overspread like a veil the curly head seems to fondle and caress every little silken tress then she smooths the eyelids down over those two eyes of brown in such soothing tender wise cometh lady button eyes dearest feel upon your brow that caressing magic now for the crickets in the glen chirp and chirp and chirp again while upon the haunted green fairies dance around their queen
and the moonbeams hover o'er playthings sleeping on the floor hush my sweet from yonder skies cometh lady button eyes THE RIDE TO BUMPVILLE Play that my knee was a calico mare, saddled and bridled for Bumpville. Leap to the back of this steed if you dare, and gallop away to Bumpville. I hope you'll be sure to sit fast in your seat, for this calico mare is prodigiously fleet,
and many adventures you're likely to meet as you journey along to Bumpville. This calico mare both gallops and trots, while whisking you off to Bumpville. She paces, she shies, and she stumbles in spots in the tortuous road to Bumpville. And sometimes a strangely mercurial steed will suddenly stop and refuse to proceed, which all will admit is vexatious indeed when one is en route to Bumpville.
She's scared of the cars when the engine goes toot down by the crossing at Bumpville. You'd better look out for that treacherous brute bearing you off to Bumpville. With a snort she rears up on her hindermost heels, and execute jigs and Virginia reels, words fail to explain how embarrassed one feels
dancing so wildly to Bumpville. It's a bumpity bump, and it's jiggity jog, journeying on to Bumpville. It's over the hilltop and down through the bog. You ride on your way to Bumpville.
It's rattledy bang over boulder and stump. There are rivers to ford and are fences to jump, and the corduroy road it goes bumpity-bump, mile after mile to Bumpville. Perhaps you'll observe it's no easy thing making the journey to Bumpville, so I think on the whole it were prudent to bring an end to this ride to Bumpville, for though she has uttered no protest or plaint, the calical mare must be blowing and faint.
what's more to the point i'm blowed if i ain't so play we have got to bumpville shuffle shoon and amber locks shuffle shoon and amber locks sit together building blocks shuffle shoon is old and grey amber locks a little child but together at their play age and youth are reconciled and with sympathetic glee build their castles fair to see when i grow to be a man so the wee ones prattle ran i shall build a castle so with a gateway broad and grand here a pretty vine shall grow there a soldier guard shall stand and the tower shall be so high folks will wonder by and by shuffle shoon quoth yes i know thus i builded long ago here a gate and there a wall here a window there a door here a steeple wondrous tall riseth ever more and more but the years have leveled low what i builded long ago so they gossip at their play heedless of the fleeting day one speaks of long ago where his dead hopes buried lie
one with chubby cheeks aglow prattleth of the by and by side by side they build their blocks shuffle shoon and amber locks the shut-eye train come my little one with me there are wondrous sights to see as the evening shadows fall in your pretty cap and gown don't detain the shut-eye train ding-a-ling the bell it goeth toot toot the whistle bloweth and we hear the warning call all aboard for shut-eye town over hill and over plain soon will speed the shut-eye train through the blue where bloom the stars and the mother moon looks down will away to land of fey oh the sights that we shall see there come my little one with me there tis a goodly train of
cars all aboard for shut eye town swifter than a wild bird's flight through the realms of fleecy light. We shall speed and speed away. Let the night in envy frown. What care we? How wroth she be. To the below land above us, to the below folk who love us. Let us hasten while we may, all aboard for Shuteye Town. Shuteye Town is passing fair. Golden dreams await us there. We shall dream those dreams, my dear, till the mother moon goes down.
See unfold, delights untold, and in those mysterious places we shall see beloved faces and beloved voices here in the grace of shut-eye town. Heavy are your eyes, my sweet, weary are your little feet. Nestle closer up to me in your pretty cap and gown. Don't detain the shut-eye train.
Tingling the bell it goeth, Toot toot the whistle bloweth, Oh the sights that we shall see. All aboard for shut-eye town. Little Odear
See what a wonderful garden is here, Planted and trimmed for my little Odear. Posey so gaudy and grass of such brown, Search ye the country and hunt ye the town, And never you'll meet with a garden so queer
As this one I've made for my little, oh dear Miracles white and buttercups blue Lilies all dabbled with honey and dew The cactus that trails over trellis and wall Roses and pansies and violets all
Make proper obeisance and reverent cheer When into her garden steps little, oh dear And up at the top of that lavender tree A silver bird singeth, as only can she For ever and only she singeth the song
I love you, I love you, the happy day long Then the echo, the echo, that smiteth me here I love you, I love you, my little O dear The garden may wither, the silver bird fly But what careth my little precious or I? From her pathway of flowers that in springtime upstart,
She walketh the tenderer way in my heart. And oh, it is always the summertime here, With that song of I love you, my little oh dear. The Flyaway Horse Oh, a wonderful horse is the flyaway horse. Perhaps you have seen him before. Perhaps while you slept his shadow has swept through the moonlight that floats on the floor. For it's only at night when the stars twinkle bright that the flyaway horse with a neigh, and a pull at his rein and a toss
of his mane is up on his heels and away. The moon in the sky, as he gallopeth by, cries, Oh, what a marvellous sight! And the stars in dismay hide their faces away in the lap of old grandmother night. It is yonder out yonder the flyaway horse speedeth ever and ever away, over meadows and lanes, over mountain and plains, over streamlets that sing at their play. And over this sea, like a ghost sweepeth he, while the ships they go sailing below.
And he speedeth so fast, that the men at the mast adjudge him some portent of woe. What ho there, they cry, as he flourishes by, with a whisk of his beautiful tail. And the fish in the sea are as scared as can be, from the nautilus up to the whale. And the flyaway horse seeks those faraway lands you little folk dream of at night, where candy trees grow and honey brooks flow and cornfields with popcorn are white.
And the beasts in the wood are ever so good to children who visit them there. What glory astride of a lion to ride, or to wrestle round with a bear. The monkeys, they say, come on, let us play. and they frisk in the coconut trees, while the parrots that cling to the peanut-vine sing, or converse with comparative ease. Off, scamper to bed, you shall ride him to-night,
for as soon as you've fallen asleep, with a jubilant neigh he shall bear you away over forest and hillside and deep. But tell us, my dear, all you see and you hear in those beautiful lands over there, where the flyaway horse wings his faraway course with the wee one consigned to his care. Then Grandma will cry in amazement, oh my, and she'll think it could never be so. And only we too shall know it is true. You and I, little precious, shall know.
Fiddle-dee-dee. There once was a bird that lived up in a tree, and all he could whistle was Fiddle-dee-dee, a very provoking, unmusical song, for one to be whistling the summer day long, yet always contented, and busy was he with that vocal recurrence of fiddle-dee-dee. Hard by lived a brave little soldier of four, that weird iteration repented him sore. I prithee, dear mother mine, fetch me my gun, for by our saint ditty the deed must be done,
that shall presently rid all creation and me of that ominous bird and his fiddle-deedee. Then out came dear mother mine, bringing her son his awfully truculent little red gun. The stalk was of pine and the barrel of tin The bang, it came out where the bullet went in The right kind of weapon, I think you'll agree
For slaying all fowl that go fiddle-dee-dee The brave little soldier quoth never a word But he up and he drew a straight bead on that bird And while that vain creature provokingly sang The gun it went off with a terrible bang
Then loud laughed the youth, By my bottle cried he, I've put a quietus on fiddle-dee-dee. Then out came dear mother mine, Saying, my son, Right well have you wrought With your little red gun. Hereafter no evil at all need I fear.
With such a brave soldier As you, my love, here, She kissed the dear boy, The bird in the tree, Continue to whistle his fiddle-dee-dee End of section two
