Poem of the Week: 22 – 28 December

Lord Randal

‘O WHERE hae ye been, Lord Randal, my son?
O where hae ye been, my handsome young man?’
‘I hae been to the wild wood; mother, make my bed soon,
For I’m weary wi hunting, and fain wald lie down.’

‘Where gat ye your dinner, Lord Randal, my son?
Where gat ye your dinner, my handsome young man?’
‘I din’d wi my true-love; mother, make my bed soon,
For I’m weary wi hunting, and fain wald lie down.’

‘What gat ye to your dinner, Lord Randal, my son?
What gat ye to your dinner, my handsome young man?’
‘I gat eels boild in broo; mother, make my bed soon,
For I’m weary wi hunting, and fain wald lie down.’

‘What became of your bloodhounds, Lord Randal, my son?
What became of your bloodhounds, my handsome young man?’
‘O they swelld and they died; mother, make my bed soon,
For I’m weary wi hunting, and fain wald lie down.’

‘O I fear ye are poisond, Lord Randal, my son!
O I fear ye are poisond, my handsome young man!’
‘O yes! I am poisond; mother, make my bed soon,
For I’m sick at the heart, and I fain wald lie down.’

“Lord Randal” or “Lord Randall”, Anglo-Scottish ballad, is reprinted in 100 Best-Loved Poems, Ed. Philip Smith. New York: Dover Publications, 1995.

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