Slow Smoke/Weeng

by Lew Sarett

WEENG An Indian Slumber-song

Hush! my baby, or soon you will hearThe Sleepy-eye, Wéeng-oosh, hovering near;Out of the timber he will come,A little round man as small as your thumb.Swinging his torch of a red fire-fly,Out of the shadows old Sleepy-eye,With sound of a ghost, on the wind will creepTo see if a little boy lies asleep;Over your cheeks old Weeng will go,With feet as soft as the falling snow—Tip-toe . . . . . . . . . . tip-toe.

Hush! my little one, close your lids tight,Before old Sleepy-eye comes to-night;Hi-yáh! if he finds you are still awake,He draws from his quiver a thistledown stake;With an acorn for club he pounds on its butt,Till Sleepy-eye hammers the open eye shut; Then from his bundle he pulls out another,Hops over your nose and closes the other;Up and down with his club he will rapOn the open lid till he closes the gap—Tap-tap . . . . . . . . . . tap-tap.

If Wéeng-oosh comes at the end of this day,And finds you asleep he will hurry away . . .Do you hear him cry on the winds that blow?—And walk on the earth as soft as a doe?—To-and-fro... . . . . to-and-fro . . .Hi-yáh! he has crept away from my lap!For he found my little boy taking a nap.Oh, weep no more and whisper low,I hear the feet of Sleepy-eye go—Tip-toe . . . . . . . . . . tip-toe.