Lord Randal
Traditional
“O where ha’ you been, Lord Randal, my son?
And where ha you been, my handsome young man?”
“I hae been at the greenwood; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I’m wearied wi’ huntin, and fain wad lie down.”
“An wha met ye there, Lord Randal, my son?
An wha met you there, my handsome young man?”
“O I met wi’ my true-love; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I’m wearied wi’ huntin, and fain wad lie down.”
“And what did she give you, Lord Randal, my son?
And what did she give you, my handsome young man?”
“Eels fried in a pan; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I’m wearied wi’ huntin, and fain wad lie down.”
“And wha gat your leavins, Lord Randal, my son?
And wha gat your leavins, my handsome young man?”
“My hawks and my hounds; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I’m wearied wi’ huntin, and fain wad lie down.”
“And what becam of them, Lord Randal, my son?
And what becam of them, my handsome young man?”
“They swelled and they died; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I’m wearied wi’ huntin, and fain wad lie down.”
“O I fear you are poisoned, Lord Randal, my son!
I fear you are poisoned, my handsome young man!”
“O yes, I am poisoned, mother, mak my bed soon,
For I’m sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie down.”
“What d’ ye leave to your mother, Lord Randal, my son?
What d’ ye leave to your mother, my handsome young man?”
“Four and twenty milk kye; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I’m sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie down.”
“What d’ ye leave to your sister, Lord Randal, my son?
What d’ ye to your sister my handsome young man?”
“My gold and my silver; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I’m sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie down.”
“What d’ ye leave to your brother, Lord Randal, my son?
What d’ ye to your brother my handsome young man?”
“My houses and my lands; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I’m sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie down.”
“What d’ ye leave to your true-love, Lord Randal, my son?
What d’ ye to your true-love my handsome young man?”
“I leave her hell and fire; mother, mak my bed soon,
For I’m sick at the heart, and I fain wad lie down.”
1600s
Omie Wise
Traditional
I'll tell you a story about Omie Wise,
How she was deluded by John Lewis's lies.
He promised to marry her at Adams's spring;
He'd give her some money and other fine things.
He gave her no money but flattered the case.
Says, "We will get married; there'll be no disgrace."
She got up behind him; away they did go
They rode till they came where the Deep River flowed.
"Now Omie, little Omie, I'll tell you my mind:
My mind is to drown you and leave you behind."
"Oh, pity your poor infant and spare me my life!
Let me go rejected and not be your wife."
"No pity, no pity," the monster did cry.
"On Deep River's bottom your body will lie."
The wretch he did choke her as we understand;
He threw her in the river below the mill dam.
Now Omie is missing as we all do know,
And down to the river a-hunting we'II go.
Two little boys were fishing just at the break of dawn;
They spied poor Omie's body come floating along.
They arrested John Lewis; they arrested him today.
They buried little Omie down in the cold clay.
"Go hang me or kill me, for I am the man
Who murdered poor Naomi below the mill-dam."
1800s
Charles Guiteau
Traditional
Come all you young people and listen unto me,
And likewise pay attention to these few words I say.
For the murder of James A. Garfield, I am condemned to die
On the thirtieth day of June, upon a scaffold high.
My name is Charles Guiteau, that name I'll never deny.
I left my aged parents in sorrow for to die.
How little did I think, while in my youthful bloom,
That I'd be taken to the scaffold to meet my fatal doom.
'Twas down at the depot I tried to make my escape.
But, Providence against me, I found I was too late.
I tried to play insane; I found that would not do.
The people were against me, proved I was untrue.
My sister came to prison to bid her last farewell.
She threw her arms around me and wept most bitter and well.
She says, "My darling brother, tomorrow you must die,
For the murder of James A. Garfield, upon the scaffold high."
The hangman is a-waiting, it's a quarter after three.
The black cap's on my forehead, I can no longer see,
The black cap's on my forehead, I can no longer see,
But when I'm dead and buried, oh Lord, remember me.
1800s
John Henry
Traditional
John Henry was a little baby, sitting on the his papa's knee,
He picked up a hammer and a little piece of steel
Said, "Hammer's gonna be the death of me, Lord, Lord
Hammer's gonna be the death of me."
The captain said to John Henry,
"Gonna bring that steam drill 'round,
Gonna bring that steam drill out on the job,
Gonna whop that steel on down, Lord, Lord,
Gonna whop that steel on down."
John Henry told his captain,
"A man ain't nothing but a man.
But before I let your steam drill beat me down
I'd die with a hammer in my hand, Lord, Lord,
I'd die with a hammer in my hand."
John Henry said to his shaker,
"Shaker, why don't you sing?
I'm throwin' thirty pounds from my hips on down.
Just listen to that cold steel ring, Lord, Lord,
Just listen to that cold steel ring."
John Henry said to his shaker,
"Shaker, you'd better pray
'Cause if I miss that little piece of steel
Tomorrow be your buryin' day, Lord, Lord,
Tomorrow be your buryin' day."
The shaker said to John Henry,
"I think this mountain's cavin' in!"
John Henry said to his shaker, "Man,
That ain't nothin' but my hammer suckin' wind! Lord, Lord,
That ain't nothin' but my hammer suckin' wind!"
Now, the man that invented the steam drill
Thought he was mighty fine.
But John Henry made fifteen feet,
The steam drill only made nine, Lord, Lord,
The steam drill only made nine.
John Henry hammered in the mountains,
His hammer was striking fire.
But he worked so hard, he broke his poor heart.
He laid down his hammer and he died, Lord, Lord,
He laid down his hammer and he died.
John Henry had a little woman,
Her name was Polly Ann.
John Henry took sick and went to his bed,
Polly Ann drove steel like a man, Lord, Lord,
Polly Ann drove steel like a man.
John Henry had a little baby,
You could hold him in the palm of your hand.
The last words I heard that poor boy say,
"My daddy was a steel driving man, Lord, Lord,
My daddy was a steel driving man."
They took John Henry to the graveyard,
And they buried him in the sand.
And every locomotive comes a-roaring by
Says, "There lies a steel-driving man, Lord, Lord,
There lies a steel-driving man."
Well, every Monday morning
When the bluebirds begin to sing
You can hear John Henry a mile or more
You can hear John Henry's hammer ring, Lord, Lord,
You can hear John Henry's hammer ring.
1800s
Corrido de Gregoria Cortez
Traditional
En el condado del Carmen
miren lo que ha sucedido,
Murió el sherife mayor
quedando Román herido.
Otro día por la mañana
cuando la gente llegó,
Unos a los otros dicen
no saben quien lo mató.
Se anduvieron informando
como tres horas después,
Supieron que el malhechor
era Gregorio Cortez.
Insortaron a Cortez
por toditito el estado
Vivo o muerto que se aprehenda
porque a varios ha matado.
Decía Gregorio Cortez
con su pistola en la mano,
--No siento haberlo matado
al que siento es a mi hermano.-Decía Gregorio Cortez
con su alma muy encendida,
--No siento haberlo matado
la defensa es permitida.-Venían los americanos
que por el viento volaban,
porque se iban a ganar
tres mil pesos que les daban.
Siguió con rumbo a Gonzáles,
varios sherifes lo vieron,
no lo quisieron seguir
porque le tuvieron miedo.
Venían los perros jaunes
venían sobre la huella
Pero alcanzar a Cortez
era alcanzar a una estrella.
Decía Gregorio Cortez
--Pa' qué se valen de planes,
si no pueden agarrarme
ni con esos perros jaunes.
***
Decían los americanos
--Si lo vemos qué le haremos,
si le entramos por derecho
muy poquitos volveremos.-En el redondel del rancho
lo alcanzaron a rodear,
Poquitos más de trescientos
y allí les brincó el corral.
Allá por el Encinal
a según por lo que dicen
Se agarraron a balazos
y les mató otro sherife.
Decía Gregorio Cortez
con su pistola en la mano,
--No corran rinches cobardes
con un solo mexicano.-Giró con rumbo a Laredo
sin ninguna timidez,
--¡Síganme rinches cobardes,
yo soy Gregorio Cortez!-Gregorio le dice a Juan
en el rancho del Ciprés,
--Platícame qué hay de nuevo,
yo soy Gregorio Cortez.-Gregorio le dice a Juan,
--Muy pronto lo vas a ver,
anda háblale a los sherifes
que me vengan a aprehender.-Cuando llegan los sherifes
Gregorio se presentó,
--Por la buena si me llevan
porque de otro modo no.—
Ya agarraron a Cortez
ya terminó la cuestión,
la pobre de su familia
la lleva en el corazón.
Ya con esto me despido
con la sombra de un Ciprés,
aquí se acaba cantando
la tragedia de Cortez.
1900s
ENGLISH TRANSLATION:
Ballad of Gregorio Cortez
Traditional
In the country of the Carmen
Look what happened
The sheriff died leaving
Roman wounded
The following morning
When people arrived
Some said to others
They don't know who killed him
They were investigating
And three hours later
They found out the wrongdoer
Was Gregorio Cortez.
Cortez was wanted
Thoroughout the state
Alive or dead apprehended
For he has killed several.
Said Gregorio Cortez
With his pistol in his hand
"I'm not sorry I killed him
Self defense is permitted."
Americans came
They flew like the wind
Because they were going to win
The three thousand pesos reward.
They continued toward Gonzales
Several sheriffs saw him
They did not want to continue
Because they were afraid of him
Came the hound dogs
They came on his trail
But to reach Cortez
Was to reach a star.
Gregorio Cortez said
"What's the use of plans
If you can't catch me
Even with those hound dogs."
***
The Americans said,
"If we see him what shall we do to him,
If we face him head on
Very few will return."
In the ranch corral
They managed to surround him.
A little more than 300 men
There he gave them the slip.
There around Encinal
From all they say
They had a shoot-out
And he killed another sheriff.
Gregorio Cortez said,
With his pistol in his hand,
"Don't run, you cowardly Rangers,
I am Gregorio Cortez."
Gregorio says to Juan
"Very soon you will see,
Go and talk to the sheriffs
They should come and arrest me."
When the sheriffs came
Gregorio presented himself.
You'll take me if I wish it,
Bbecause there is no other way."
Now they caught Cortez,
Now the case is closed,
His poor family
He carries in his heart.
With this I take my leave
In the shade of a cypress
Here we finish singing
The tragedy of Cortez.
1900s
Casabianca
By Felicia Dorothea Hemans
The boy stood on the burning deck
Whence all but he had fled;
The flame that lit the battle's wreck
Shone round him o'er the dead.
Yet beautiful and bright he stood,
As born to rule the storm;
A creature of heroic blood,
A proud, though child-like form.
The flames rolled on–he would not go
Without his Father's word;
That father, faint in death below,
His voice no longer heard.
He called aloud–'say, Father, say
If yet my task is done?'
He knew not that the chieftain lay
Unconscious of his son.
'Speak, father!' once again he cried,
'If I may yet be gone!'
And but the booming shots replied,
And fast the flames rolled on.
Upon his brow he felt their breath,
And in his waving hair,
And looked from that lone post of death
In still yet brave despair.
And shouted but once more aloud,
'My father! must I stay?'
While o'er him fast, through sail and shroud,
The wreathing fires made way.
They wrapt the ship in splendour wild,
They caught the flag on high,
And streamed above the gallant child,
Like banners in the sky.
There came a burst of thunder sound–
The boy–oh! where was he?
Ask of the winds that far around
With fragments strewed the sea!–
With mast, and helm, and pennon fair,
That well had borne their part–
But the noblest thing which perished there
Was that young faithful heart.
1826
Annabel Lee
By Edgar Allan Poe
It was many and many a year ago,
In a kingdom by the sea,
That a maiden there lived whom you may know
By the name of Annabel Lee;
And this maiden she lived with no other thought
Than to love and be loved by me.
I was a child and she was a child,
In this kingdom by the sea,
But we loved with a love that was more than love—
I and my Annabel Lee—
With a love that the wingèd seraphs of Heaven
Coveted her and me.
And this was the reason that, long ago,
In this kingdom by the sea,
A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling
My beautiful Annabel Lee;
So that her highborn kinsmen came
And bore her away from me,
To shut her up in a sepulchre
In this kingdom by the sea.
The angels, not half so happy in Heaven,
Went envying her and me—
Yes!—that was the reason (as all men know,
In this kingdom by the sea)
That the wind came out of the cloud by night,
Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee.
But our love it was stronger by far than the love
Of those who were older than we—
Of many far wiser than we—
And neither the angels in Heaven above
Nor the demons down under the sea
Can ever dissever my soul from the soul
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
For the moon never beams, without bringing me dreams
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And the stars never rise, but I feel the bright eyes
Of the beautiful Annabel Lee;
And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side
Of my darling—my darling—my life and my bride,
In her sepulchre there by the sea—
In her tomb by the sounding sea.
1849
Victor Galbraith
By Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Under the walls of Monterey
At daybreak the bugles began to play,
Victor Galbraith!
In the mist of the morning damp and gray,
These were the words they seemed to say:
"Come forth to thy death,
Victor Galbraith!"
Forth he came, with a martial tread;
Firm was his step, erect his head;
Victor Galbraith,
He who so well the bugle played,
Could not mistake the words it said:
"Come forth to thy death,
Victor Galbraith!"
He looked at the earth, he looked at the sky,
He looked at the files of musketry,
Victor Galbraith!
And he said, with a steady voice and eye,
"Take good aim; I am ready to die!"
Thus challenges death
Victor Galbraith.
Twelve fiery tongues flashed straight and red,
Six leaden balls on their errand sped;
Victor Galbraith
Falls to the ground, but he is not dead;
His name was not stamped on those balls of lead,
And they only scath
Victor Galbraith.
Three balls are in his breast and brain,
But he rises out of the dust again,
Victor Galbraith!
The water he drinks has a bloody stain;
"O kill me, and put me out of my pain!"
In his agony prayeth
Victor Galbraith.
Forth dart once more those tongues of flame,
And the bugler has died a death of shame,
Victor Galbraith!
His soul has gone back to whence it came,
And no one answers to the name,
When the Sergeant saith,
"Victor Galbraith!"
Under the walls of Monterey
By night a bugle is heard to play,
Victor Galbraith!
Through the mist of the valley damp and gray
The sentinels hear the sound, and say,
"That is the wraith
Of Victor Galbraith!"
1849
Bury Me in a Free Land
by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
Make me a grave where'er you will,
In a lowly plain, or a lofty hill;
Make it among earth's humblest graves,
But not in a land where men are slaves.
I could not rest if around my grave
I heard the steps of a trembling slave;
His shadow above my silent tomb
Would make it a place of fearful gloom.
I could not rest if I heard the tread
Of a coffle gang to the shambles led,
And the mother's shriek of wild despair
Rise like a curse on the trembling air.
I could not sleep if I saw the lash
Drinking her blood at each fearful gash,
And I saw her babes torn from her breast,
Like trembling doves from their parent nest.
I'd shudder and start if I heard the bay
Of bloodhounds seizing their human prey,
And I heard the captive plead in vain
As they bound afresh his galling chain.
If I saw young girls from their mother's arms
Bartered and sold for their youthful charms,
My eye would flash with a mournful flame,
My death-paled cheek grow red with shame.
I would sleep, dear friends, where bloated might
Can rob no man of his dearest right;
My rest shall be calm in any grave
Where none can call his brother a slave.
I ask no monument, proud and high,
To arrest the gaze of the passers-by;
All that my yearning spirit craves,
Is bury me not in a land of slaves.
1858
Ballad of the Landlord
By Langston Hughes
Landlord, landlord,
My roof has sprung a leak.
Don’t you ’member I told you about it
Way last week?
Landlord, landlord,
These steps is broken down.
When you come up yourself
It’s a wonder you don’t fall down.
Ten Bucks you say I owe you?
Ten Bucks you say is due?
Well, that’s Ten Bucks more’n I’ll pay you
Till you fix this house up new.
What? You gonna get eviction orders?
You gonna cut off my heat?
You gonna take my furniture and
Throw it in the street?
Um-huh! You talking high and mighty.
Talk on ⎯ till you get through.
You ain’t gonna be able to say a word
If I land my fist on you.
Police! Police!
Come and get this man!
He’s trying to ruin the government
And overturn the land!
Copper’s whistle!
Patrol bell!
Arrest.
Precinct Station.
Iron cell.
Headlines in press:
MAN THREATENS LANDLORD
—
— —
TENANT HELD NO BAIL
—
— —
JUDGE GIVES NEGRO 90 DAYS
IN COUNTY JAIL.
1940