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Updated: May 20, 2025
Then, stopping abruptly, she broke into a verse of a nursery-song, which she chaunted with a low, listless tone, as if she were not conscious of the sense. As she thus sang, Morton, looking at her, felt a strange and painful doubt seize him. The child's eyes, though soft, were so vacant in their gaze. "And why do I come from the moon?" said he. "Because you look sad and cross.
The milk of woman filled our branching veins, She lulled us with her tender nursery-song, And folded round us her untiring arms, While the first unremembered twilight year Shaped us to conscious being; still we feel Her pulses in our own, too faintly feel; Would that the heart of woman warmed our creeds!
Then, stopping abruptly, she broke into a verse of a nursery-song, which she chaunted with a low, listless tone, as if she were not conscious of the sense. As she thus sang, Morton, looking at her, felt a strange and painful doubt seize him. The child's eyes, though soft, were so vacant in their gaze. "And why do I come from the moon?" said he. "Because you look sad and cross.
"Well, we wroted a Nursery-Song, and the Professor mangled it longer for us. It were 'There was a little Man, And he had a little gun, And the bullets " "I know the rest," I interrupted. "But would you say it long I mean the way that it came out of the mangle?" "We'll get the Professor to sing it for you," said Sylvie. "It would spoil it to say it." "I would like to meet the Professor," I said.
The milk of woman filled our branching veins, She lulled us with her tender nursery-song, And folded round us her untiring arms, While the first unremembered twilight year Shaped us to conscious being; still we feel Her pulses in our own, too faintly feel; Would that the heart of woman warmed our creeds!
All else had been effaced from her memory, but the music of the nursery-song. During her captivity she had heard it in her dreams." Another story of the same character is that of Frances Slocum, the "Lost child of Wyoming," which though perhaps familiar to some of our readers, will bear repeating. In the time of the Revolution the house of Mr.
But Master Lox, having seen in the cabin plenty of fine meat, desired greatly to become one of the family, and having been much about in life knew something of the ways of every one. So putting on the Culloo style, he, seeing a babe, began to sing with the most natural air in the world a Culloo nursery-song: A seal-skin strap, A shoulder-strap.
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