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AN INVITATION TO SLEEP

Little eyelids, cease your winking;
Little orbs, forget to beam;
Little soul, to slumber sinking,
Let the fairies rule your dream.
Breezes, through the lattice sweeping,
Sing their lullabies the while–
And a star-ray, softly creeping
To thy bedside, woos thy smile.
But no song nor ray entrancing
Can allure thee from the spell
Of the tiny fairies dancing
O’er the eyes they love so well.
See, we come in countless number–
I, their queen, and all my court–
Haste, my precious one, to slumber
Which invites our fairy sport.

“At the conclusion of this song Prince Whimwham, a tidy little gentleman fairy in pink silk small-clothes, approaching Queen Taffie and bowing graciously, would say:

Pray, lady, may I have the pleasure
Of leading you this stately measure?

To which her majesty would reply with equal graciousness in the affirmative. Then Prince Whimwham and Queen Taffie would take their places on one of my master’s eyelids, and the other gentleman fairies and lady fairies would follow their example, till at last my master’s face would seem to be alive with these delightful little beings. The mosquitos would blow a shrill blast on their trumpets, the orchestra would strike up, and then the festivities would begin in earnest. How the bumblebees would drone, how the wasps would buzz, and how the mosquitos would blare! It was a delightful harmony of weird sounds. The strange little dancers floated hither and thither over my master’s baby face, as light as thistledowns, and as graceful as the slender plumes they wore in their hats and bonnets. Presently they would weary of dancing, and then the minstrels would be commanded to entertain them. Invariably the flea, who was a rattle-headed fellow, would discourse some such incoherent song as this:

COQUETRY

Tiddle-de-dumpty, tiddle-de-dee–
The spider courted the frisky flea;
Tiddle-de-dumpty, tiddle-de-doo–
The flea ran off with the bugaboo!
“Oh, tiddle-de-dee!”
Said the frisky flea–
For what cared she
For the miseree
The spider knew,
When, tiddle-de-doo,
The flea ran off with the bugaboo!

Rumpty-tumpty, pimplety-pan–
The flubdub courted a catamaran
But timplety-topplety, timpity-tare–
The flubdub wedded the big blue bear!
The fun began
With a pimplety-pan
When the catamaran,
Tore up a man
And streaked the air
With his gore and hair
Because the flubdub wedded the bear!

“I remember with what dignity the fairy queen used to reprove the flea for his inane levity:

Nay, futile flea; these verses you are making
Disturb the child–for, see, he is awaking!
Come, little cricket, sing your quaintest numbers,
And they, perchance, shall lull him back to slumbers.

“Upon this invitation the cricket, who is justly one of the most famous songsters in the world, would get his pretty voice in tune and sing as follows:

THE CRICKET’S SONG

When all around from out the ground
The little flowers are peeping,
And from the hills the merry rills
With vernal songs are leaping,
I sing my song the whole day long
In woodland, hedge, and thicket–
And sing it, too, the whole night through,
For I ‘m a merry cricket.

The children hear my chirrup clear
As, in the woodland straying,
They gather flow’rs through summer hours–
And then I hear them saying:
“Sing, sing away the livelong day,
Glad songster of the thicket–
With your shrill mirth you gladden earth,
You merry little cricket!”

When summer goes, and Christmas snows
Are from the north returning,
I quit my lair and hasten where
The old yule-log is burning.
And where at night the ruddy light
Of that old log is flinging
A genial joy o’er girl and boy,
There I resume my singing.