He heard the baby's weary plaint; He heard the mother's soothing words; And sitting in his hushed restraint, One voice was murmur of the birds, And one the hymning of a saint! And as he sat alone, immersed In the fond fancies of the time, Her voice in mellow music burst, And by a rhythmic stair of rhyme Led down to sleep the child she nursed. "Rockaby, lullaby, bees in the clover!-- Crooning so drowsily, crying so low-- Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover! Down into wonderland-- Down to the under-land-- Go, oh go! Down into wonderland go! "Rockaby, lullaby, rain on the clover! Tears on the eyelids that waver and weep! Rockaby, lullaby--bending it over! Down on the mother-world, Down on the other world! Sleep, oh sleep! Down on the mother-world sleep! "Rockaby, lullaby, dew on the clover! Dew on the eyes that will sparkle at dawn! Rockaby, lullaby, dear little rover! Into the stilly world-- Into the lily world, Gone! oh gone! Into the lily-world, gone!" VI. They sprouted like the prophet's gourd; They grew within a single night; So swift his busy years were scored That, ere he knew, his hope was white With harvest bending round his board! And eyes were black, and eyes were blue, And blood of mother and of sire, Each to its native humor true, Blent Northern force with Southern fire In strength and beauty, strange and new. The Gallic brown, the Saxon snow, The raven locks, the flaxen curls, Were so commingled in the now Of the new blood of boys and girls, That Puritan and Huguenot In love's alembic were advanced To higher types and finer forms; And ardent humors thrilled and danced Through veins, that tempered all their storms, Or held them in restraint entranced. Oh! many times, as flew the years, The dainty cradle-song was sung; And bore its balm to restless ears, As one by one the nested young Slept in their willows and their tears. To each within the reedy glade, Hid from some tyrant's cruel schemes, It was a princess, or her maid, Who bore him to the realm of dreams, And made him seer by accolade Of flaming bush and parted deep, Of gushing rocks and raining corn, And fire and cloud, and lengthened sweep Of thousands toward the promised morn, Across the wilderness of sleep! VII. The years rolled on in grand routine Of useful toil and chastening care, Till Philip, grown to heights, serene Of conscious power, and ripe with prayer, Took on the strong and stately mien Of one on whom had been conferred The doing of a knightly deed; And waited till it bade him gird The harness on him and his steed, For man and for his Master's word. His name was spoken far and near, And sounded sweet on every tongue; Men knew him only to revere, And those who knew him nearest, flung Their hearts before his grand career,