You come back from sea And not know my John? I might as well have asked some landsman Yonder down in the town. There's not an ass in all the parish But he knows my John. How's my boy--my boy? And unless you let me know I'll swear you are no sailor, Blue jacket or no, Brass button or no, sailor, Anchor or crown or no! Sure his ship was the Jolly Briton-- "Speak low, woman, speak low!" And why should I speak low, sailor? About my own boy John? If I was loud as I am proud I'll sing him over the town! Why should I speak low, sailor?-- "That good ship went down." How 's my boy--my boy? What care I for the ship, sailor, I never was aboard her. Be she afloat, or be she aground, Sinking or swimming, I'll be bound, Her owners can afford her! I say how's my John?-- "Every man on board went down, Every man aboard her." How's my boy--my boy? What care I for the men, sailor? I'm not their mother-- How's my boy--my boy? Tell me of him and no other! How's my boy--my boy? S. Dobell. CLXXXII. EXCELSIOR. The shades of night were falling fast, As through an Alpine village passed A youth, who bore, mid snow and ice, A banner with the strange device, "Excelsior!" His brow was sad; his eye beneath, Flashed like a falchion from its sheath; And like a silver clarion rung The accents of that unknown tongue! "Excelsior!" In happy homes he saw the light Of household fires gleam warm and bright: Above, the spectral glaciers shone; And from his lips escaped a groan, "Excelsior!"