[Ansteorra-missile] Academy of the bow

[Robin Allen]

    This song was performed at the bardic competition at the recent Academy of the Bow and it was requested that I post the lyrics. The song was written by Jim Pipkin (SCA name Ld James Treebull) and the CD can be ordered from theamazstore.com. Scan down the left hand side of the page until you see Jim Pipkin and click on it.
     One thing that was agreed to was that there are not enough songs about archers and archery in Ansteorra. So if you know any bards or poets or songwriters drop a hint that we definitiely need some archery based bardic material.
  
  
  The Fruit of the Yew
by Ld James Treebull the Stubborn
   
  Grim raiders appeared clad in iron and gold their bright banners snapped in the breeze.
Harvest was over the weather was cold turning hot breath to cloud in the freeze.
   
      They moved in array over meadow and field, the peasantry scattered before.
 They gathered the wealth of the land on their shields and they carried it back to the shore
   
   How can this happen and where is our king? And where are the warriors we pay?
 Aye the king may be king where he sits on his throne, but his throne is four days ride away.
   
  Swift word was sent to the men of the wood, they'll be no trade for winter this year. 
No sacks of grain for the skin of the fox, no ale for the flesh of the deer.
   
     But deep in the woodlands of Wales grows a tree. The name of that tree is the Yew. 
 And the fruit of the yew is a stout longbow stave throwing straight, clothyard shafts strong and true.
   
  They gathered in number from forest and fen walking soft as the hunting men do.
And strung at each belt were the straight clothyard shafts, in each hand was the fruit of the yew.
   
     And slipping by night pass the still burning steads they looked for the camp by the shore.
 And each made a vow as he passed by the dead that the morning would even the score.
   
  Morning broke clear and the raiders awoke with a leisurely thought for the day.
'Till one showed himself and a soft bowstring spoke from three hundred paces away.
   
     And as he fell dead a loud taunting voice cried, "It's a pleasure to pay you your due. 
 For you've come seeking all of the fruits of our land have taste of the fruit of the yew!"
   
    What good are shields that don't cover the legs or helms that don't cover the eyes?
Or shirts of bright mail 'gainst a straight clothyard shaft that can pierce through a stag on the fly?
   
 The king arrived early much spattered and tired just to look o'er a field of the dead.
 Struck down from the front where they'd stood in their lines, struck down from the rear as they fled.
   
  "Who are the men who have done me this good?" asked the king from his horse ridden lame.
"'Twas outlaws and brigands from back in the woods and they've since fled back whence they all came."
   
     "Would they take pardon and live in my peace?" asked the king of his counselor true.
 Said the counselor, "Nay they're a troublesome lot and they'll not become lawful for you."
   
  Now raiders take heed of the gist of my tale, it may lengthen your lives if you will.
When you go a reeving be sure of your mark. Have a care that it matches your skill.
   
         For England pays silver and Spain will give gold and France will   grant land that is true.
      But seek not for wealth from the woodlands of Wales, for we pay in the fruit of the yew.
   
  Performed by Ld Robin of Bjornsborg
August 5, 2006



  Nyd hyder ond bwa.

 		
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