Rock Him Till He Grows A Mannie Poem by Alexander Anderson

Cuddle doon an' sleep fu' soun',
Mammy's bairnie saft an' cozie;
Pit ae han' my neck aroun',
An' the ither in my bozie.
There, noo, sleep while mammy sings
That bit sang, fu' lown an' cannie—
Hoo a fairy every nicht
Rocks him till he grows a mannie.


Just when he begins to sleep,
In she comes—that dumpy fairy—
Askin' wi' auld-fashion'd look,
'Let me try the wean to carry!'
But I shake my heid an' say,
'Mammy daurna trust her bairnie
Wi' a thing sae licht as you;
First grow bigger an' she'll learn ye.'


Then I draw the creddle near,
Pit him in, while sweet an' simple,
She gets up upon the stule,
An' raxes doon to kiss his dimple;
After this she starts an' sings,
As she rocks an' swings the creddle,
Sic a sang, sae lown an' sweet,
I daurna speak a word or meddle.


What that sang can mean ava,
Dim an' riddle-like in seemin',
Nane kens but this bairnie here,
For he smiles an' starts the dreamin'.
Then that fairy, keekin' ow'r,
Seein' this, sings laigh an' cannie,
'Rock him saft, an' rock him aft,
Till he grows a great big mannie.'


Then her sang begins to turn
Saft an' wae, as if entreatin';
Though I dinna ken a word,
Yet I maist fa' to the greetin'.
But the weanie still smiles on,
Liftin' up a wee fat han'ie,
Which the fairy kissin' cries,
'Bairnie, sleep an' grow a mannie.'


So he sleeps the hale nicht lang,
Waukin' up fu' gleg an' smilin',
For he min's the fairy's sang,
An' the dreams that cam' beguilin';
But the meanin' o' the sang
That a carefu' mither misses,
This bit laddie winna tell,
Though she gi'es him fifty kisses.


Ay, the sleep that comes when we
Are weans, an' rockit by oor fairy,
Fa's upon us saft as dew
Frae heaven's threshold high and airy:
Then we ken the mystic sang,
An' the forms we see when dreamin';
Pity that we miss them a'
When we grow to men and women.