from among the crowd, put her hand to her brow, and peering under it in his face for a moment, exclaimed: "Sure enough! it is Rip Van Winkle - it is himself! Welcome home again, old neighbor. Why, where have you been these twenty years?" Rip's story was soon told, for the whole twenty years had been to him but as one night. The neighbors stared when they heard it; some were seen to wink at each other, and put their tongues in their cheeks; and the self-important man in the cocked hat, who, when the alarm was over, had returned to the field, screwed down the corners of his mouth, and shook his head upon which there was a general shaking of the head throughout the assemblage. Washington Irving. HOW'S MY BOY? O, sailor of the sea! Ho How's my boy - my boy?" "What's your boy's name, good wife, "My boy John He that went to sea― What care I for the ship, sailor? "You come back from sea, And not know my John? I might as well have asked some landsman, There's not an ass in all the parish "How's my boy my boy? And unless you let me know, I'll swear you are no sailor, Blue jacket or no! Brass buttons or no, sailor, Anchor and crown or no! Sure his ship was the 'Jolly Briton."""Speak low, woman, speak low!" "And why should I speak low, sailor, If I was loud as I am proud, "How's my boy - my boy? Be she afloat or be she aground, 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? On wave-crest dances With pattering feet. Hark, the rising swell, O God! the deadly sound Mounts, mounts the circling shade 'Tis the Djinns' wild streaming swarm Ha! they are on us, close without! With hideous din the monster rout, Trembles and bends like quivering reed; Wild cries of hell! voices that howl and shriek! O Prophet! if thy hand but now Bid their hot breath its fiery rain. Grate the fierce claws of their dark wings! They have passed! - and their wild legion Fleeting through night's rayless region, Hither they return no more. Clanking chains and sounds of woe Fill the forests as they go; And the tall oaks cower low, Bent their flaming flight before. |