Up, Sailor Boy, 'Tis Day.

A poem by Thomas Moore

Up, sailor boy, 'tis day!
The west wind blowing,
The spring tide flowing,
Summon thee hence away.
Didst thou not hear yon soaring swallow sing?
Chirp, chirp,--in every note he seemed to say
'Tis Spring, 'tis Spring.
Up boy, away,--
Who'd stay on land to-day?
The very flowers
Would from their bowers
Delight to wing away!

Leave languid youths to pine
On silken pillows;
But be the billows
Of the great deep thine.
Hark, to the sail the breeze sings, "Let us fly;"
While soft the sail, replying to the breeze,
Says, with a yielding sigh,
"Yes, where you; please."
Up, boy, the wind, the ray,
The blue sky o'er thee,
The deep before thee,
All cry aloud, "Away!"

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