Not so, mine own, as legends tell, In lands remote, beyond the day, The soulless babes of Lilith dwell, Or vanish 'mong the cold mists gray.
Or oft in elfin glee they ride O'er burning deserts blown adrift, Or singing idly, idly glide Afar beyond Night's purple rift.
But thou, my babe, for thee shall grow The lilies, nodding by the stream; For thee, the poppy's sleepy glow; For thee, the jonquil's pallid gleam.
My baby, sleep! Against the sky The pippul lifts its trembling crest. O baby, hush each wailing cry, Close to the holy river's breast.
Not here shall come that pale wraith fair, Who, wandering once in Northern lands, Bore o'er long reaches sere and bare The death-flower white, for baby hands.
Fear not, mine own, the Elf-babes shrill, Nor Lilith tall, with brow of snow. They may not haunt thy slumbers still Where Ganges' sacred waters flow.
Where coral reefs gnaw with white cruel teeth The yellow surf, and the torn billows seethe-- When shines the Southern Cross o'er placid isles, The Afric mother sits, and singing, smiles, Unheeding that a dead world's hidden pain Beats wildly rhythmic through her pure refrain, And lingers softly still an echoed sigh Low in Earth's cradle-song--sweet lullaby. A warning song of doom--a song of woe, Of terror wild, she sings, down bending low, The while bright gleams the Starry Cross above Yet tells to her no tale of tender love Of Him who lifteth after-time a cross That healeth all the wide world's sin and loss.
Ah, linger no longer 'mong blooms of the mangoes, Nor pluck the bright shells by the low sighing sea, Swift, swift, through the groves of the palms and acacias Comes Lilith, the childless one, seeking for thee. She will bind thee so fast in her yellow-gold hair-- Ah, hasten, my children, of Lilith beware!
Cold, cold are her cheeks as the spray of the wild sea, Red, red are her lips as the pomegranate's bloom; Cold, cold are the kisses the phantom will give thee, Ah, cruel her kisses, that smell of the tomb. Hist, hist! 'tis the sorceress with yellow-gold hair-- Oh! lullaby, baby--of Lilith beware.
She flies to the jungle, with false tales beguiling, Ah, hear'st thou her elfin babes scream overhead! Close, close in her strong arms she bears my babe, smiling; She hath sucked the soft bloom from the lips of my dead. Now far speeds the vampire, with yellow-gold hair-- Oh! lullaby, baby--of Lilith beware!