[Ansteorra-missile] Academy of the bow

[Lord EinarR Ragnarson]

An excellent piece. My congratulations to both the
bard and the writer.

Honor es vita

Lord EinarR-genja Ragnarson

--- Robin Allen <robinbjornsborg at yahoo.com> wrote:

> 
> 
>     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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