Sunday, 30 October 2011


   So, in keeping with the atmosphere of the evening I thought I'd share a medieval ballad. It's almost a thousand years old and the author is unknown. It's a little grim but I hope you like it. 

The Twa Corbies

As I was walking all alane,
I heard twa corbies making a mane;
The tane unto the t'other say,
'Where sall we gang and dine to-day?'

'In behint yon auld fail dyke,
I wot there lies a new-slain knyght;
And nae body kens that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound, and lady fair.

'His hound is to the hunting gane,
His hawk, to fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His lady's ta'en another mate,
So we may make our dinner sweet.

'Ye'll sit on his white hause bane,
And I'll pike out his bonny blue een;
Wi' ae lock o' gowden hair,
We'll theek our nest when it grows bare.

'Mony a one for him makes mane,
But nane sall ken where he is gone;
O'er his white banes, when they are bare,
The wind sall blaw for evermair.'

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