Upon a mountain height, far from the sea, I found a shell, And to my listening ear the lonely thing Ever a song of ocean seemed to sing, Ever a tale of ocean seemed to tell.
How came the shell upon that mountain height? Ah, who can say Whether there dropped by some too careless hand, Or whether there cast when Ocean swept the Land, Ere the Eternal had ordained the Day?
Strange, was it not? Far from its native deep, One song it sang,-- Sang of the awful mysteries of the tide, Sang of the misty sea, profound and wide,-- Ever with echoes of the ocean rang.
And as the shell upon the mountain height Sings of the sea, So do I ever, leagues and leagues away,-- So do I ever, wandering where I may,-- Sing, O my home! sing, O my home! of thee.
Aha! a traitor in the camp, A rebel strangely bold,-- A lisping, laughing, toddling scamp, Not more than four years old!
To think that I, who've ruled alone So proudly in the past, Should be ejected from my throne By my own son at last!
He trots his treason to and fro, As only babies can, And says he'll be his mamma's beau When he's a "gweat, big man"!
You stingy boy! you've always had A share in mamma's heart; Would you begrudge your poor old dad The tiniest little part?
That mamma, I regret to see, Inclines to take your part,-- As if a dual monarchy Should rule her gentle heart!
But when the years of youth have sped, The bearded man, I trow, Will quite forget he ever said He'd be his mamma's beau.
Renounce your treason, little son, Leave mamma's heart to me; For there will come another one To claim your loyalty.
And when that other comes to you, God grant her love may shine Through all your life, as fair and true As mamma's does through mine!
Fair is the castle up on the hill-- Hushaby, sweet my own! The night is fair, and the waves are still, And the wind is singing to you and to me In this lowly home beside the sea-- Hushaby, sweet my own!
On yonder hill is store of wealth-- Hushaby, sweet my own! And revellers drink to a little one's health; But you and I bide night and day For the other love that has sailed away-- Hushaby, sweet my own!
See not, dear eyes, the forms that creep Ghostlike, O my own! Out of the mists of the murmuring deep; Oh, see them not and make no cry Till the angels of death have passed us by-- Hushaby, sweet my own!