How sadly sings the
bobolink!
George Lathrop - Dreams and Days
_
But, bitterly repenting of his sin,
Deeper at last he learned to look within
Sweet Jessamine's true heart--when the past, dead,
Mocked him with wasted years forever fled.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm. _
Late, late, oh late, beneath the tree stood two;
In trembling joy, and wondering "Is it true? "--
Two that were each like some strange, misty wraith:
Yet each on each gazed with a living faith.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm. _
Even to the tree-top sang the wedding-bell:
Even to the tree-top tolled the passing knell.
Beneath it Walt and Jessamine were wed,
Beneath it many a year has she lain dead.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm. _
Here stands the great tree, still. But age has crept
Through every coil, while Walt each night has kept
The tryst alone. Hark! with what windy might
The boughs chant o'er her grave their burial-rite!
_And the moon hangs low in the elm. _
THE BOBOLINK
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!
But, bitterly repenting of his sin,
Deeper at last he learned to look within
Sweet Jessamine's true heart--when the past, dead,
Mocked him with wasted years forever fled.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm. _
Late, late, oh late, beneath the tree stood two;
In trembling joy, and wondering "Is it true? "--
Two that were each like some strange, misty wraith:
Yet each on each gazed with a living faith.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm. _
Even to the tree-top sang the wedding-bell:
Even to the tree-top tolled the passing knell.
Beneath it Walt and Jessamine were wed,
Beneath it many a year has she lain dead.
_And the moon hangs low in the elm. _
Here stands the great tree, still. But age has crept
Through every coil, while Walt each night has kept
The tryst alone. Hark! with what windy might
The boughs chant o'er her grave their burial-rite!
_And the moon hangs low in the elm. _
THE BOBOLINK
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!
