Category: Original Songs

Posted on

We Wear the Purple and Gold

…”Next I would hear a song for the East.”  So saith my King Lucan unto me at Vinland Raids. And so, a song for the East, completed in time for our Southern War Practice. It is a softer song, one for the night before battle, when the camp is lit with fire and all sit, tell stories, sharpen swords and work at the forges. It is a lullaby of sorts, started out as a lullaby for an army which will split the very earth come morning, but it became a dance for the night before battle.

This song is featured on the CD “I Am of the North” available for purchase online at: http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/aneledafalconbridge

We wear the Purple and Gold
And fight for all we are worth
Follow the purple and gold
Tygers sharpen your claws on the earth

Our brothers we may all know
Our sisters fight here beside us
Tyger’s love is not for show
‘Tis the glory of battle that binds us

We wear the Purple and Gold…

Take up the pike and the spear
Swords and shields gather around us
for honor of those who are here
for defeat of those who oppose us

We wear the Purple and Gold…

Hear the blood pound in your ears
‘Tis the drum of the battle we seek
Azure paws stamp to the beat
Victory does not fall to the meek

We wear the Purple and Gold…

Fight for your King and your land,
for your Queen and the day will be taken
Eastern pride all will withstand
those who fight us are clearly mistaken.

We wear the Purple and Gold
And fight for all we are worth
Follow the purple and gold
Tygers sharpen your claws on the earth
Tygers sharpen your claws on the earth
Tygers sharpen your claws on the earth!

Posted on

Queen & King’s Archery Champion Scrolls, AS46

Both scrolls are based on the Byzantine Chant to St. Cyril (feast day June 19th) & St. Athanasios (feast day May 2). They were chanted/sung at the Court of King Lucan VIII at Vinland Raids in the Barony of Smoking Rock, AS46.

You may hear the scrolls sung (sadly, at desk not at court) here…

Queen’s Archery Champion Scroll

You became radiant
by your magnificent deeds,
meeting every mark
and becoming conquering champion.
Your skill has enriched all
and the East became greatly glorified.
You are found most worthy by our Queen
who this day now calls you Champion.

Master Krakken Gnashbone, thus it is the will of resplendent Jana Regina that you are named Queen’s Champion of Archery, this 18th day of June, AS XLVI in the Barony of Smoking Rocks.

King’s Archery Champion Scroll

As swift flies the arrow
you are now surely known
by your noble flights,
thus catching the attention of our King.
With your gifts set for the East
you bring great honor and glory to her.
You have worthily met every task
and are now this day called Champion.

Lord Kusunoki Yoshimoto, thus it is the will of ever-bold Lucan Rex that you are named King’s Champion of Archery, this 18th day of June, AS XLVI in the Barony of Smoking Rocks.

 

Original Text

You became radiant
by your orthodox deeds
quelling all heresy
and becoming conquering champions.
Your piety enriched all
and the church became greatly beautified
You have worthily found Christ our God
who by your prayers grants all great mercy.

I used the following site: http://chant.hchc.edu/ to learn the chants. The tunes and lyric are based on the women’s version in English of the chants for the feast day of Saints Athanasius and Cyril, whose feast day was closest to the event.

Posted on

The Brigantia’s Lament

For all my dear ones who can’t bear to hear me give them all that is their due in lone, long and spectacular title, here is “The Brigantia’s Lament.” No actual heralds were harmed in the making of this song.

Take a listen…

The Brigantia herald, he came into court
at their majesties pleasure, I can report.
They gave him a quest
which they thought he’d do best,­­
but alas the poor herald could not support!

They said, “Stack up the titles, they’re getting quite long.
When we call folk to court it’s exhausting the throng!
So stack up the titles in neat little piles…
And you’ll have them rejoicing and dancing in aisles.”

The herald turned yellow and then slightly green
He said “what you ask I find quite obscene,
it’s against all tradition…
my personal mission…”
And he then fled the Presence to find a latrine.

Regaining composure the herald returned,
He begged and he pleaded but still he was spurned
“I shall if you force it
but will not endorse it”
And they nodded quite sternly while he looked concerned.

They said, “Stack up the titles, they’re getting quite long.
When we call folk to court it’s exhausting the throng!
So stack up the titles in neat little piles…
And you’ll have them rejoicing and dancing in aisles.”

When court finally started the herald looked round
The populace gathered, not making a sound
He puffed out his chest,
With his conscience he wrest,
And then mumbled and muttered and stared at the ground…

“Would the Master Sir Baron Gerald of Kent
Come to the throne, there now be a good gent,”
He called out in style
While holding back bile
As inwardly he overcame his torment.

They said, “Stack up the titles, they’re getting quite long.
When we call folk to court it’s exhausting the throng!
So stack up the titles in neat little piles…
And you’ll have them rejoicing and dancing in aisles.”

“Now The Honorable Baroness Mistress Melyne…”
He called to the crowd, now surprising a grin
“And Duke Master Thor,
Come on ashore!”
Bellowed he unto the Royals’ chagrin.

“Your Excellency Sir Viscount Roland, here!
Yes, come to the front, right on the top tier,
There’s bling you might guess,
For sure that’s a yes!
On this thrilling and novel heraldic frontier!”

They said, “Stack up the titles, they’re getting quite long.
When we call folk to court it’s exhausting the throng!
So stack up the titles in neat little piles…
And you’ll have them rejoicing and dancing in aisles.”

Yes, court was exciting, and all did agree.
I sat all the way through each and every decree!
But when it was ended
The approach was amended
And the Brigantia herald – he fainted with glee.

So I offer these words to those taken aback,
If you wish to sound noble, and not like a hack
For it’s quite cavalier
And isn’t too clear…
Best to just use one title, and never to stack!

When you stack up the titles, although they’re quite long,
If you call folk to court it confuses he throng!
Do not stack up the titles in neat little piles…
You’ll have heralds rejoicing and dancing in aisles.
Do not stack up the titles in neat little piles…
You’ll have heralds rejoicing and dancing in aisles.

 

Posted on

I am of the North

“As the Pennsic War nears, we all prepare for battle. This post appeared after the war practice at Sommer Draw in early June, posted by Master Angus Kerr Pembridge. Being Northern, it had no small effect on my spirits, and so I wrote a song inspired by his words.”
This song is featured on the CD “I Am of the North” available for purchase online at: http://www.cdbaby.com/cd/aneledafalconbridge

I am of the North.
My soul sings in the Winter Wind.
My blade was quenched in the snow.
No soft Southern Sun warmed my crib.
War is coming. The Northern Banners Raise high.
My Brothers gather, our weapons gleaming in the Sun.
And all, all gathered, say the same thing. “I am of the North.”
(Master Angus Pembridge)

*   *   *   *   *   *

If you would find honor
look toward Polaris.
War it is coming; our banners raise high.
As Brothers we gather, our weapons gleaming
And all who are gathered,
say the same thing.
“I am of the North”

My soul sings in the Winter Wind.
It tears through the mountains
as we through the foe.
The winter wind calls
and my brothers come join her
she carries their voices where we are to go.

If you would find honor look toward Polaris…

No soft Southern Sun warmed my crib.
I was born in a blizzard,
first steps on the frost.
My first lullaby
was a warsong of glory
and the snapping of banners by the wind tossed.

If you would find honor look toward Polaris…

My blade was quenched deep in snow.
Brought from the fire
it blazed red as sun.
Bitterly plunged into
winter’s cold scabbard
it craves the blood that o’re it shall run.

If you would find honor look toward Polaris…

War is upon us, our banners rise.
Bear up your weapons,
hear the wind call.
We move toward the warm lands
where together we conquer,
“I am of the North” sing each and all.

If you would find honor look toward Polaris…

Thank you Angus!

Posted on

The Broken Towers

Listen to this song here, at http://mbouchard.com/misc/broken-towers.mp3

A knight went a riding on the finest of days
never to think of fate’s fickle ways.
He sang a sweet song as he rode through the wood
the day had portents of nothing but good.

But deep in the forest came a scent on the breeze
of fire and danger, unseen through the trees.
It came from village, his castle, his keep
where he had just that morn left his lady asleep.

He turned round his charger and blew loud the horn.
He tore ore the thickets and jumped ore the thorn.
He near broke his mount with his spurs in her side
to beat the flames like thunder he’d ride

Beneath the bright sky of impossible blue
the sky was now colored an impossible hue.
The keep had been broken the great towers were down;
his squires were all dead and the place held no sound.

Heedless of all, he charged through the gate
until he found his lady he would not abate.
He found her struck mute by the sights she had seen
in the courtyard garden, grey o’re the green.

She wore fine silver ashes instead of a gown.
She wore broken windows in place of her crown.
She looked right through him as he lifted her high.
She did not once move, or utter a sigh.

The knight tried all the things that the stories do tell
from magical apples to the life-giving well.
The gifts she ignored and the glass pushed away,
for her madness kept in her the fear of that day.

She built a wide fortress inside of her heart
with stones o’re the gate, and no weakening art.
She dug it in deep, and moved below the earth
living as dead alone in that dark berth.

At last the brave man built o’re every door
and changed all the standards to gules from bright or.
He had given his oath to care for his wife,
and so planted a garden to surround her with life.

His lady did die in her fortress so cold.
His love could not reach her, no matter how bold.
He had done what he could, and is spotless of blame.
He mourned her with candles, and wept at the flame.

The wound still aches hotly when the smoke fills the air,
though nothing is burning, he senses it there.
When he hears the sweet tune he was singing that day
in spite of himself, he is carried away.

Oh would I could bring him some succor and peace,
A balm or a salve that could make his pain cease.
Do not succumb to your dear lady’s fate,
For a garden grows richly outside your estate.

I cannot bring back the castle or rebuild his keep
I have only my voice to lullay him to sleep.
But I will protect him, his sorrows allay
So rest, sweet knight, slumber and dream of the day.