Category: Original Songs

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Leaves Red as Love

Listen to this song at: http://www.mbouchard.com/misc/leaves-red-as-love.mp3

There was once upon a time
I felt I was your princess.
You’d have charged through a battlefield
for a touch of my hand.

It was back when the trees were green
and the flowers were blooming wild,
and the smell of white roses
floated over the land.

True you never made promises
that the sea would not call you,
and you never swore to me
that you’d stay by my side.

But the way that you walked with me
under trees in the moonlight,
I was sure that where my heart was
yours would ever reside.

But the trees have turned red as my love
And the stars slumber over the clouds
I have waited for you to return to me
But I can’t find your face in the crowds…

I know the king is not hiring
since the war is now over long.
I have watched every ship come in
still with no word of you.

The cabin boys shake their heads
when I show them your portrait
as I stand with the salt wind in my hair
wondering what to do.

For the leaves have turned red as my love
And the stars slumber over the clouds
I have waited for you to return to me
But I can’t find your face in the crowds…

I am sure you’re no silkie rare
now returned to the ocean deep.
You’ve not turned to a raven black,
or suffered any such fate.

No, I think you’re just a man
who has left me here longing.
This princess will rescue herself
I suppose, rather than wait.

For the leaves have turned red as my love
And the stars slumber over the clouds
I have waited for you to return to me
But I can’t find your face in the crowds…

There was once upon a time
I felt I was your princess
You’d have charged through the battlefield
for a touch of my hand.

It was back when the trees were green
and the flowers were blooming wild
and the smell of white roses
floated over the land.

 

* * *    * * *    * * *    * * *

Today was such a grey, rainy day that the leaves looked red, but nearly brokenhearted. The rain wasn’t hard enough to actually matter, just enough to make you feel like you were waiting for nothing in particular to happen. And it also made me think of staring out of a window, watching for someone. Usually that ends in my head with someone coming home, but today, nobody came. Well, that’s not entirely true. This song came, and I’m glad I let the little melancholic, heartbroken thing in out of the rain.

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The Warlord’s Treasure

http://www.mbouchard.com/misc/The-Warlords-Treasure.mp3

The warlord sits upon his throne
and looks down at his trophies fine
as spoils of ivory, gold and stone
by hall fire light do brightly shine

Music swells throughout his hall
laughter of men and women brave,
who though not vassal and not thrall
their devotion gladly gave.

A fine-wrought blade rests at his side,
A cup sits warming in his hand
He thinks on that which he loves best
A summer war – one battle grand.

Not two score of men had he
To take to fight a fearsome foe
which had defeated many times
and buried men where they must go.

From tattered men, companions made
he ruled them with both love and fear,
united in his iron hand
they became warriors o’re the year.

Decked in royal raiment bright
blessed by those whose love they knew
they marched as one upon the field,
toward brutal paths they would pursue.

The sun rose red that battle day
o’re the green it burned from high
for him they swore to take the soil
dauntless, stalwart doubt deny.

The horns and men raised up a call
The sides met in a crash of sound
their warcries could be heard for miles
their fighting shook the very ground.

The sun had not a minute moved
when all went silent, soft and still
the warlord’s men looked each around
their battle won through strength and will

Neglect, defeat they overcame –
this company had rallied strong:
They took that ground in Feral’s name
and used that name as triumph-song.

Well ensconced with kings and knights,
and beauteous folk who oft pass round
Among the treasures gathered near,
He favors visions of that ground.

The memories of these brothers brave
Upon green fields where they had vied
Above all victories he has known
None lights his eyes with greater pride.

The warlord sits upon his throne
and looks down at his trophies fine
as spoils of ivory, gold and stone
by hall fire light do brightly shine

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

This song is a gift-song for Master Feral, who approached me after the Pennsic field battle to “beg a boon” which surprised (and delighted!) me. Of course, I would not refuse Master Feral, especially when he asked for a song for the Unbelted Champions Team, of which we already know I’m just a bit fond. There was already one song which had pushed a chorus on me, about the Captain and the team together and I really, really tried to make this song be just about *this* team. However, what I know of *this* team came down to a few things which stood out in conversations, over and over:

1 – They had been Chosen, and Chosen by Master Feral.
2 – They were being given the chance to build and rebuild in his trust that they would do it well, and by heaven’s name, they were not going to let him down
3 – Many look to him as a war-god and battle-father, and this battle was their devotion

I, meanwhile, just couldn’t separate this team from it’s Master. It was Master Feral’s pride in them that made this war worth winning, and his overt joy in their success which assured them that they had actually won the thing.

And so, when I thought on the words he had spoken about this team being his pride and that he had never been prouder of a victory than of this one, the song knew what it wanted to be, clearly, and all previous attempts were scrapped. It is a song of a warlord in his grand feast hall, watching from his seat on the dais as his company eats and plays dice and arm wrestles and tells no s*%t-there-I-was stories with mugs in hand. About the hall are all these trophies and spoils of war – statues, weapons, heads and horns of gigantic beasts of legend, suits of ornate armor, masses of gold and gem-encrusted objects of all sorts.  Near him sits a minstrel, quietly strumming a chord in the din. She notices that he does not pay heed to the golden things, or the prizes, but looks only with shining eyes at his warriors, remembering the day which he prizes above all those glittering things – one summer war, one battle grand.

So while it was a commission for Master Feral, it also became a song about him, and about what I think means most to the team – even more than victory – that their warlord saw their deed, and in it found joy.

-a

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Called the Captain

A song for Cedric of Armorica and the Eastern Unbelted Champions of Pennsic XL.
To listen or download, go here:  http://mbouchard.com/misc/Called-the-Captain.mp3

Go, go, go – came the call from the captain
Go, go, go – take our land back, he cried.
We will go, go, go as we are commanded
And our rivals will go to a man or will die.

Thirty-five men marched into the sunlight;
Thirty-five men shouted their battle cry;
Thirty-five men knew that they had a story,
That they would be victors no man would deny.

Many years passed since this field had been theirs,
Now held by the dragon for many a day.
They to a man swore they would take it or perish
And write with their own blood the end of this play.

Go, go, go – came the call from the captain
Go, go, go – take our land back, he cried.
We will go, go, go as we are commanded
And our rivals will go to a man or will die.

Over the wintering they practiced and plotted.
One with a spear would fight one with a sword.
The pole met the axe, shattering both in darkness;
Weapons and men were thus stronger reforged.

Some were the fire and others the water.
Cedric did hammer, Feral stoked the flame.
Folded with each blow were patterns of tigers,
When summer emerged they were ready for fame.

Go, go, go – came the call from the captain
Go, go, go – take our land back, he cried.
We will go, go, go as we are commanded
And our rivals will go to a man or will die.

To the field brothers, came clarion call,
Into the dragon-men girded with red.
They stood but a heartbeat then took up the charge
And in less than one minute the dragons were dead.

A moment of silence – no sound but the birds…
Men fell to their knees and raised fists to the sky,
Then all pulled together with full understanding
That this battle was theirs indeed none could deny.

Go, go, go – came the call from the captain
Go, go, go – take our land back, he cried.
We will go, go, go as we are commanded
And our rivals will go to a man or will die.

Go, go, go – came the call from the captain
Go, go, go – take our land back, he cried.
We will go, go, go as we are commanded
And our rivals have gone to a man or have died.

 

**  **  **  **  **  **  **  ** **  **  **  **

I will confess to being kind of…fond, we’ll say, of the Pennsic XL Eastern Ubelted Champions. I will also admit that the battle at Pennsic XL was one of the most fantastic things I’ve witnessed on a field. Swift and brutal, it and the men who warred in it, were an inspiration. Cedric of Armorica was the Captain of this team, and this is a song about him and the team he led to victory. (And for Karl, I made sure it wasn’t too slow!)

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The Links of Virtue

The Links of Virtue

To listen to a learning version of this song, click here: http://www.mbouchard.com/misc/Links-of-Virtue.mp3

As the chain holds many links
So the Knight holds many virtues
Let them be strong as your arm
Let them be tempered as your love.
For it is not the chain you wear
Or the spurs or cloth of white
But the one beneath these things
Who all have seen,
and rightly called thee Knight.

Upon your arms wear loyalty
for you have sworn to king and country.
A helm of hope set on your brow
that all shall see it in the fight.
Guarding your knees, humility
for where you kneel, all will be watching.
About your waist wear honor proud
that all may see your values glow.

As the chain holds many links…

Wear your faith around your neck
for no gorget better protects you.
Mercy’s gauntlet upon each hand
that brighter shine with actions kind.
Bind your courage against your breast
that bravado find no purchase.
Nail to each sole, obedience
that you may walk where you are asked.

As the chain holds many links….

Endurance buckle to each leg
for there will be some marches long.
Wear prowess strapped across your back
to push you when the need is dire.
Your heart leave open, behind no shield –
It will be guarded by your brothers
For it is there that Chivalry
Is the chain about us all.

As the chain holds many links
So the Knight holds many virtues
Let them be strong as your arm
Let them be tempered as your love.
For it is not the chain you wear
Or the spurs or cloth of white
But the one beneath these things
Who all have seen,
and rightly called thee Knight.

For it is not the chain you wear
Or the spurs or cloth of white
But the one beneath these things
Who all have seen,
and rightly called thee Knight.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

This song was inspired by those members of the Order of Chivalry who to me truly embody the graces that a Knight ought to have. I see such people armored with the many chivalric virtues not merely when they are “playing” in the SCA, but who never remove those virtues, regardless of event, circumstance, life in general – some of those people are close to me and I am honored to know them and be graced with their friendship.  This is a song for those men and women.

There are also many I know who hold these virtues but who have not been (yet) recognized as members of the Order of Chivalry, but who are, to me, certainly very worthy. I am confident that they know who they are.

And it is, finally, dedicated to Sir Ivar Volosatoi, who, before he was Sir Ivar, asked me during Pennsic XL if I could sing during his Knighting ceremony a song I had written for the Eastern Unbelted Champions team. I could not be at the event, John Barleycorn, but wished to send something in my stead. It was delivered by some of the most lovely voices in the East, who learned it from listening to a recording and sang it to him on September 10, AS 46.

 Enormous thanks to the lovely ladies Sabine de Kerbriant, Suba Al-Hadid, Marion Quyn, and Ysmay dle Lynn and Judith Fitzhenry for bearing this gift with their beautiful voices.  Their performance can be seen in this video of the first part of Sir Ivar’s Knighting ceremony.



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I Am Eastern

A song for the East. Conceived by Countess Svava, Count Thorson, Sir Antonio Patrasso (and me) around the breakfast table after spring Crown Tourney, AS46. Suitable for all fighters, and can even be sung in a round!

I am Eastern, I am Eastern

So are you, So are you

Let’s go beat the midrealm, Let’s go beat the midrealm

With a stick, With a stick

 

Sung to the honorable tune, Frere Jaques.

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