"Ho, sailor of the sea! How's my Boy, my Boy?" "What's your boy's name? Good wife ! And in what good ship sail'd he?" "My boy, John! He that went to sea --- What care I for the ship? Sailor ! My boy's my boy to me. "You come back from sea, And not know my John? I might as well have ask'd 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 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 ! About my own boy John? If I was loud as I am proud, I'd sing him over the town: Why should I speak low? Sailor ! " --- "That good ship went down." "How's my boy? How's my boy? What care I for the ship? Sailor ! I was never 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?"
Four Songs , opus 17
by Sidney Homer (1864 - 1953)
1. How's my Boy?  [sung text not yet checked]
Language: English
Authorship:
- by Sydney Thompson Dobell (1824 - 1874), "How's my boy?", appears in England in Time of War, first published 1856
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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]2. From the brake the nightingale  [sung text not yet checked]
Language: English
From the brake the Nightingale Sings exulting to the Rose; Though he sees her waxing pale In her passionate repose While she triumphs waxing frail, Fading even while she glows; Though he knows How it goes - Knows of last year's Nightingale, Dead with last year's Rose. Wise the enamoured Nightingale, Wise the well-beloved Rose! Love and life shall still prevail, Nor the silence at the close Break the magic of the tale In the telling, though it shows - Who but knows How it goes! Life a last year's Nightingale, Love a last year's Rose.
Authorship:
- by William Ernest Henley (1849 - 1903), no title, appears in A Book of Verses, first published 1888
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Researcher for this page: Ted Perry3. Michael Robartes Bids his Beloved be at Peace  [sung text not yet checked]
Language: English
I hear the Shadowy Horses, their long manes a-shake, Their hoofs heavy with tumult, their eyes glimmering white; The North unfolds above them clinging, creeping night, The East her hidden joy before the morning break, The West weeps in pale dew and sighs passing away, The South is pouring down roses of crimson fire: O vanity of Sleep, Hope, Dream, endless Desire, The Horses of Disaster plunge in the heavy clay: Beloved, let your eyes half close, and your heart beat Over my heart, and your hair fall over my breast, Drowning love's lonely hour in deep twilight of rest, And hiding their tossing manes and their tumultuous feet.
Authorship:
- by William Butler Yeats (1865 - 1939), title 1: "Michael Robartes bids his Beloved be at Peace", title 2: "He bids his Beloved be at Peace", appears in The Wind among the reeds, first published 1899
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Available translations, adaptations or excerpts, and transliterations (if applicable):
- FRE French (Français) (Pierre Mathé) , copyright © 2015, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
- ITA Italian (Italiano) (Ferdinando Albeggiani) , "Michael Robartes invita la sua amata a stare serena", copyright © 2007, (re)printed on this website with kind permission
Confirmed with W. B. Yeats, Later Poems, Macmillan and Co., London, 1926, page 19.
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
4. To Russia  [sung text not yet checked]
Language: English
Who tamed your lawless Tartar blood? What David bearded in her den The Russian bear in ages when You strode your black, unbridled stud, A skin-clad savage of your steppes? Why, one who now sits low and weeps, Why, one who now wails out to you, The Jew, the Jew, the homeless Jew. Who girt the thews of your young prime And bound your fierce divided force? Why, who but Moses shaped your course United down the grooves of time? Your mighty millions all to-day The hated, homeless Jew obey. Who taught all poetry to you? The Jew, the Jew, the hated Jew. Who taught you tender Bible tales Of honey-lands, of milk and wine? Of happy, peaceful Palestine? Of Jordan's holy harvest vales? Who gave the patient Christ? I say, Who gave your Christian creed? Yea, yea, Who gave your very God to you? Your Jew! Your Jew! Your hated Jew!
Authorship:
- by Joaquin Miller (1837 - 1913), "To Russia", from The Complete Poetical Works of Joaquin Miller, first published 1897
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Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]