Storie originali > Poesia
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Autore: LordRandal    18/01/2009    2 recensioni
Questa è una libera traduzione dell'antica ballata scozzese.Spero la gradiate.Ho allegato anche nel secondo capitolo la versione originale. Finalmente saprete tutti il perchè del mio nick ^^
Genere: Drammatico, Poesia | Stato: completa
Tipo di coppia: non specificato
Note: nessuna | Avvertimenti: nessuno
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O where ha’ you been, Lord Randal my son?

And where ha’ you been, my handsome young man?

I ha’ been at the greenwood; mother, mak my bed soon,

For I’m wearied wi’ hunting 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’ an’ 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’ hunting and fain wad lie down.


And what becam of them, Lord Randal my son?

And what becam of them, my handsome young man?

They stretched their legs out an’ 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 leave to your sister, my handsome young man?

My gold and my silver; mother, mak my bed soon,

For I’m sick at the heart an’ I fain wad lie down.


What d’ye leave to your brother, Lord Randal my son?

What d’ye leave 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 leave 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.





  
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