How sweetly sang the bobolink, When thou, my love, wast nigh! His liquid music from the brink Of some cloud-fountain seemed to sink, Far in the blue-domed sky. How sadly sings the bobolink! No more my love is nigh: Yet rise, my spirit, rise, and drink Once more from that cloud-fountain's brink,-- Once more before I die! SAILOR'S SONG, RETURNING The sea goes up; the sky comes down. Oh, can you spy the ancient town,-- The granite hills so green and gray, That rib the land behind the bay? O ye ho, boys. Spread her wings! Fair winds, boys: send her home! O ye ho! Three years? Is it so long that we Have lived upon the lonely sea? Oh, often I thought we'd see the town, When the sea went up, and the sky came down. O ye ho, boys. Spread her wings! Even the winter winds would rouse A memory of my father's house; For round his windows and his door They made the same deep, mouthless roar. O ye ho, boys. Spread her wings! And when the summer's breezes beat, Methought I saw the sunny street Where stood my Kate. Beneath her hand She gazed far out, far out from land. O ye ho, boys. Spread her wings! Farthest away, I oftenest dreamed That I was with her. Then it seemed A single stride the ocean wide Had bridged, and brought me to her side. O ye ho, boys. Spread her wings! But though so near we're drawing, now, 'T is farther off--I know not how. We sail and sail: we see no home. Would that we into port were come! O ye ho, boys. Spread her wings! At night, the same stars o'er the mast: The mast sways round--however fast We fly--still sways and swings around One scanty circle's starry bound. O ye ho, boys. Spread her wings! Ah, many a month those stars have shone, And many a golden morn has flown, Since that so solemn, happy morn, When, I away, my babe was born. O ye ho, boys. Spread her wings! And, though so near we're drawing, now, 'T is farther off--I know not how:-- I would not aught amiss had come To babe or mother there, at home! O ye ho, boys. Spread her wings! 'T is but a seeming: swiftly rush The seas, beneath. I hear the crush Of foamy ridges 'gainst the prow. Longing outspeeds the breeze, I know. O ye ho, boys. Spread her wings! Patience, my mates! Though not this eve We cast our anchor, yet believe, If but the wind holds, short the run: We'll sail in with to-morrow's sun. O ye ho, boys. Spread her wings! Fair winds, boys: send her home! O ye ho! FIRST GLANCE A budding mouth and warm blue eyes; A laughing face; and laughing hair,-- So ruddy was its rise From off that forehead fair; Frank fervor in whate'er she said, And a shy grace when she was still; A bright, elastic tread; Enthusiastic will;