Sleep, sleep, thou who dost heaven impart My Lord thou art; Sleep, as I press thee to my heart. Poor the place where thou dost lie, Earth's loveliest! Yet take thy rest; Sleep my Child, and lullaby.
It would be interesting to know if Mrs Browning ever heard any one of the many variants of this lullaby before writing her poem "The Virgin Mary to the Child Jesus." The version given above was communicated to me by a resident at Vallauria, in the heart of the Ligurian Alps. In that district it is sung in the churches on Christmas Eve, when out abroad the mountains sleep soundly in their snows and a stray wolf is not an impossible apparition, nothing reminding you that you are within a day's journey of the citron groves of Mentone.
There are several old English carols which bear a strong resemblance to the Italian sacred lullabies. One, current at least as far back as the time of Henry IV., is preserved among the Sloane MSS.:
Lullay! lullay! lytel child, myn owyn dere fode, How xalt thou sufferin be nayled on the rode. So blyssid be the tyme!
Lullay! lullay! lytel child, myn owyn dere smerte, How xalt thou sufferin the scharp spere to Thi herte? So blyssid be the tyme!
Lullay! lullay! lytel child, I synge all for Thi sake, Many on is the scharpe schour to Thi body is schape. So blyssid be the tyme!
Lullay! lullay! lytel child, fayre happis the befalle, How xalt thou sufferin to drynke ezyl and galle? So blyssid be the tyme!
Lullay! lullay! lytel child, I synge al beforn How xalt thou sufferin the scharp garlong of thorn? So blyssid be the tyme!
Lullay! lullay! lytel child, gwy wepy Thou so sore, Thou art bothin God and man, gwat woldyst Thou be more? So blyssid be the tyme!
Here, as in the Piedmontese song, the "shadow of the cross" makes its presence distinctly felt, whereas in the Latin lullaby it is wholly absent. Nor are there any dark or sad forebodings in the fragment:
Dormi Jesu, mater ridet, Quæ; tam dulcem somnum videt, Dormi, Jesu blandule. Si non dormis, mater plorat, Inter fila cantans orat: Blande, veni Somnule.
Many Italian Christmas cradle songs are in this lighter strain. In Italy and Spain a _presepio_ or _nacimento_ is arranged in old-fashioned houses on the eve of Christmas, and all kinds of songs are sung or recited before the white image of the Child as it lies in its bower of greenery. "Flower of Nazareth sleep upon my breast, my heart is thy cradle," sing the Tuscans, who curiously call Christmas "the Yule-log Easter." In Sicily a thousand endearing epithets are applied to the Infant Saviour: "figghiu duci," "Gesiuzzi beddu," "Gesiuzzi picchiureddi." The Sicilian poet relates how once, when the Madunazza was mending St Joseph's clothes, the Bambineddu cried in His cradle because no one was attending to Him; so the archangel Raphael came down and rocked Him, and said three sweet little words to Him, "Lullaby, Jesus, Son of Mary!" Another time, when the Child was older and the mother was going to visit St Anne, he wept because He wished to go too. The mother let Him accompany her on condition that He would not break St Anne's bobbins. Yet another time the Virgin went to the fair to buy flax, and the Child said that He too would like to have a fairing. The Virgin buys Him a tambourine, and angels descend to listen to His playing. Such stories are endless; some, no doubt, are invented on the spur of the moment, but the larger portion are scraps of old legendary lore. Not a few of the popular beliefs, relating to the Infant Jesus may be traced to the apocryphal Gospels, which were extensively circulated during the earlier Christian centuries. There is, for instance, a Provençal song containing the legend of an apple-tree that bowed its branches to the Virgin, which is plainly derived from this source. Speaking of Provence, one ought not to forget the famous "Troubadour of Bethlehem," Saboly, who was born in 1640, and who composed more than sixty _noëls_. Five pretty lines of his form an epitome of sacred lullabies: