LORD RANDAL

I

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

II

Where gat ye your dinner, Lord Randal, my son? Where gat ye your dinner, my handsome young man? 'I dined wi' my love; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain would lie down.'

III

'What gat ye to dinner, Lord Randal, my son? What gat ye to dinner, my handsome young man?''I gat eels boil'd in broo'; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain would lie down.'

IV

'And where are your bloodhounds, Lord Randal, my son?

And where are your bloodhounds, my handsome young man? '—

'O, they swell'd and they died; mother, make my bed

soon,

For I'm weary wi' hunting, and fain would lie down.'

V

'OI fear ye are poison'd, Lord Randal, my son! OI fear ye are poison'd, my handsome young man!' 'O yes! I am poison'd; mother, make my bed soon, For I'm sick at the heart, and I fain would lie down.' OLD BALLAD

THE WAR-SONG OF DINAS VAWR

THE mountain sheep are sweeter,

But the valley sheep are fatter;

We therefore deem it meeter
To carry off the latter.

We made an expedition;

We met an host and quelled it;
We forced a strong position,
And killed the men who held it.

On Dyfed's richest valley,

Where herds of kine were browsing,
We made a mighty sally,

To furnish our carousing.
Fierce warriors rushed to meet us;
We met them, and o'erthrew them:
They struggled hard to beat us;

But we conquered them, and slew them.

As we drove our prize at leisure,

The king marched forth to catch us:
His rage surpassed all measure,

But his people could not match us.
He fled to his hall-pillars;

And, ere our force we lead off

Some sacked his house and cellars,
While others cut his head off.

T. L. PEACOCK

THE HEIGHT OF THE RIDICULOUS

I WROTE Some lines once on a time
In wondrous merry mood,

And thought, as usual, men would say
They were exceeding good.

They were so queer, so very queer,
I laughed as I would die;

Albeit, in a general way,
A sober man am I.

I called my servant, and he came;
How kind it was of him

To mind a slender man like me,
He of the mighty limb.

'These to the printer,' I exclaimed,

And in my humorous way, I added (as a trifling jest), 'There'll be the devil to pay.'

He took the paper, and I watched,
And saw him peep within;
At the first line he read, his face
Was all upon the grin.

He read the next; the grin grew broad,
And shot from ear to ear;

He read the third; a chuckling noise
I now began to hear.

The fourth; he broke into a roar;
The fifth; a waistband split;
The sixth; he burst five buttons off,
And tumbled in a fit.

Ten days and nights, with sleepless eye, I watched that wretched man,

And since I never dare to write

As funny as I can.

OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES

THE CITY

OH, dear is the song of the pine

When the wind of the night-time blows, And dear is the murmuring river

That afar through my childhood flows;
And soft is the raindrop's beat

And the fountain's lyric play,
But to me no music is half so sweet
As the thunder of Broadway!

Stream of the living world

Where dash the billows of strife!

One plunge in the mighty torrent
Is a year of tamer life!

City of glorious days,

Of hope, and labor, and mirth,

With room, and to spare, on thy splendid bays

For the ships of all the earth!

RICHARD WATSON GILDER

THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS

OFT in the stilly night

Ere slumber's chain has bound me,

Fond Memory brings the light

Of other days around me:

The smiles, the tears
Of boyhood's years,