As through the crowd on village green,
There passed a youth, who once or twice
Said, as he stopped to eat an ice,
Excelsior!
“Climb not the pole,” an old man said,
“The grease will spoil your trousers, Ned;”
With upward glance the youth replied,
“The mutton at the top is tied.”
Excelsior!
“O stay,” a maiden said, and sighed,