But when they find the frowning babe,
Terror strikes through the region wide,—
They cry, "The babe, the babe is born!"
And flee away on every side.
For who dare touch the frowning form,
His arm is wither'd to its root;
Lions, bears, wolves, all howling flee,
And every tree does shed its fruit.
And none can touch that frowning form,
Except it be a woman old;
She nails him down upon the rock,
And all is done as I have told.
THE LAND OF DREAMS.
AWAKE, awake, my little boy!
Thou wast thy mother's only joy.
Why dost thou weep in thy gentle sleep?
Awake, thy father does thee keep.
"O, what land is the land of dreams,
What are its mountains, and what are its streams?
O father, I saw my mother there,
Among the lilies by waters fair.
