Tag: love song

Posted on

The Favored One

I was thinking of favors this summer, as I made one for my husband, which he wore during Pennsic. This song is about the favor given a warrior off to war, made of a slip of the singer’s dress before he leaves to fight with the king’s men. It made me think of hopeful returns, and of what those favors would mean once the battles were over.

You can hear the song here: http://www.mbouchard.com/misc/The-Favored-One.mp3

My love he marched off with the King
So noble and commanding
To keep our lands Within our hands
He went away to war.

He carried only cloak and sword
And what he wore upon him
With but his code Upon the road
He went away to war.

I had no jewel or gift to send,
Nor woolen coat to give him
But of linen frayed A favor made
To take away to war.

I sewed my love on every hem
I gave it to his keeping
Brown cloth of mine With green leaves fine
To take away to war.

Hold my favor to your chest.
Feel my love through every trial.
Oh carry me beside your breast,
Oh carry me ‘cross every mile.

Months have gone past without a wordM
How should I know that he is well?
When story came Of a soldier’s fame
So far away at war.

“A man leapt in to save our king,
His head struck with a mighty blow
Without a sound He sank to ground
So far away at war.”

“About him all the battle raged;
Our king’s men conquered every one
He was taken in As he were kin
Here at the end of war.”

“All he possessed when he was raised
Was one favor of linen soft
It is his quest, He takes no rest,
Here at the end of war.”

Hold my favor to your chest.
Feel my love through every trial.
Oh carry me beside your breast,
Oh carry me ‘cross every mile.

“Like brothers now they have become
Though he recalls not where is home.
He swears love true Will bring him through
He seeks that lost to war.”

Oh, is it of the softest brown?
With greening leaves on every hem?
For if it be Then it is me
He seeks that’s lost to war.

The teller of the tale did cease
As with great joy he leapt away
To fetch the lord Who fell to sword
Brought far away from war.

My love he then brought to the hall
Where finally he met my eyes
Held in his hand, my linen band
Brought far away from war.

Hold my favor to your chest.
Feel my love through every trial.
Oh carry me beside your breast,
Oh carry me ‘cross every mile.

That tattered scrap of linen now
Lay in a box of finest gold
As has been writ Now here we sit
So long after the war.

My love he once marched with the King
So noble and commanding.
I hold his hands, my Lord of lands
So long after the war.

Hold my favor to your chest.
Feel my love through every trial.
Oh carry me beside your breast,
Oh carry me ‘cross every mile.

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.

Posted on

To the Wood We Go

“This is my take on the classic hunter and hind trope, which we all know to be really about ladies, love and mystical experiences (and in some songs, more earthly experiences too.) In this song, the king’s man and the king’s Lady find themselves in the realm that passes through the King’s forest, which may be ultimately to their salvation.”

The king’s man took into the wood
to catch some coneys, fleet and good
with his dogs a-running o’re the ground
so swiftly that there was no sound.

The king’s man saw from out his eye
a flash of gold a-bounding by.
It was a stag with antlers tall,
surely the lord of wood stags all.

He left his hounds in thicket green
to catch this creature he had seen
to lay at his belov’d queen’s feet
its golden pelt and fragrant meat.

With a hey ho
to the wood we go
for to catch him with the bolt and bow.
With a hey hei
watch him fly
as the lord of the wood we follow.

The king’s Lady on her palfrey white
went a-riding in the sunshine bright.
Through the flowers and past the bees,
o’re the path between great trees.

Gently on she softly tread,
wandering where her fancy lead,
when came a sound upon the trail
as doe of silver past did sail.

To see the doe made her heart bloom
and so she took off through the broom
to touch with her own gentle hand
this hind most lovely in the land.

With a hey ho
to the wood we go
to see the hart in the summer’s glow.
With a hey hei
watch them fly
as through the wood we follow.

Into a clearing verdant green
the golden stag ran, clearly seen.
The silver doe, she met his stride
as the Lady and king’s man did ride.

The king’s man poised to bring them down
as gift to serve before the crown.
The Lady saw his bolt on high
and ran ‘ere he could let it fly.

Though swift, he fumbled and it flew,
and met its mark as it would do.
The lady’s hands rushed to her breast
where now the bolt did redly rest.

With a hey ho
to the wood we go
though the hunt we now forgo.
With a hey hei
watch them fly
as into the wood we follow.

The man looked where the Lady fell
amid the leaves of mossy dell,
her hair as auburn as the pine
her blood as red as ruby wine.

The the golden hind lifted her head,
and then his sliver lady lead
the king’s good man unto her side
to pull the bolt before she died.

He winced to cause her any pain,
but bowed to the great creatures’ reign.
He tore the wounding arrow through,
and breaking, broke his heart in two.

With a hey ho
to the wood we go
to find them in a thicket low.
With a hey hei
watch them fly
as into the wood we follow.

The silver one did kiss the wound
as the Lady weakly swooned.
The golden lord did nudge the man
to listen as her breath began.

With his queen, living, in his arms,
the king’s man fled the clearing’s charms.
At the palfrey’s side his charger ran
from this kingdom not of man.

The mighty stag walked with his mate
deep through the woods with steady gait.
The royal forest quiet lay
in the glowing of the day.

With a hey ho
to the wood we go
to the realm of stag and merry doe.
With a hey hei
watch them fly
as into the wood we follow.

Posted on

Women of the Northern Army

“While coyness, shyness and flirtation are good for getting a man, sometimes after all that, you still have to hit him with a stick and drag him home.”

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

Once there was a northern lass
with hair as red as fire
Her heart set on a fencing man
who filled her with desire.
She vowed that she would have him
and someday be his bride –
Even if the fencing lad
rather would have died….

So go the women of the Northern Army
marching into love!
No cupid’s bows – their siege engines
rain passion from above.
You’d best be heavy shielded
and in sturdy armor bright
if a woman of the Northern Army
has eyes for you tonight!

This lady was in love with him –
she made up her mind.
She might just have to jump on him,
or hit him from behind!
After all her plotting,
that northern lassie fair,
thought he might best be taken
while sleeping in his chair.

*chorus*

She stelthily attacked him
with motions strong and bold
but he slept with his schlauger on –
twas quite a fight all told –
though the maid did surprise him
he was ready with his steel;
they fought until exhausted
and then had their first meal…

*chorus*

Now the two of them quite merrily
and regularly fight,
they argue in the morning
and brawl all through the night.
Blessed are they with true love
so it is seen and said…
though when her eyes alight with fire –
his often fill with dread!

*chorus*

 

Words and Music ©2008 by Monique M Bouchard,

Posted on

Love Song for the Poetically Challenged

“This song was written for my wonderful husband, before he was my husband, and is also for the Baroness Elspbeth of Bridge and Ralph the Carter. It has, in its time, become an anthem for fellow Sunflowers of the Apocalypse.”

You can listen to the tune right here….

Oh she’ll hang me
then she’ll boil me
and she’ll cut me in half thrice
if I cannot speak
some whisper sweet
that will somehow come out nice

for my love is not a dainty rose
but is hardy, tall and strong
like the golden flower out in yon field
feeding birds the winter long

ah my love is wise as the bonny trees
all gathered in the wood –
not that skinny dancing willow she
but the grand old oak so good!

Oh she’ll hang me..etc

Oh my love is not the dancing wave
that flits along the shore
but the giant rock of the ocean cliff
that stands forever more.

I have seen the love of many fair maids
though none so brave and true –
Dear, if I wanted just the fairest maid,
I’d not be in love with you!

(the Lady replies)

Oh she’ll hang me
then she’ll boil me
and she’ll cut me in half thrice
if I cannot speak
some whisper sweet
that will somehow come out nice

Oh I’ll hang you
and I’ll boil you!
and I would cut you in half thrice
but you have not said
one single word
that was not fair and nice

You say I am strong as the sturdy oak
that flimsy I will not be,
nor a sweet and sheltered fading rose
that the sun will never see!

True, the fairest maid may not be I
of those across the land,
but my love for you is of solid rock
while they are grains of sand.

So I’ll hang – your coat
and I’ll boil – some tea
and the new bread I will slice.
Now give up for me
thy poetry
here just come and kiss me thrice.

So I’ll hang your coat
and I’ll boil some tea
and the new bread I will slice
now give up for me
thy poetry
here just come and kiss me thrice

So give up for me
thy poetry
here just come and kiss me thrice.

so give up for me / I’ll give up for thee
thy poetry / my poetry
here just come / I’ll just come
and kiss me thrice / and kiss thee thrice.

Words and Music ©2003 by Monique M Bouchard, known in the Society as Aneleda Cytheria Falkonbridge.