1. |
Middangeard
01:51
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Ic eom mare þonne þes mindangeard,
læsse þonne hond wyrm, leohtre þonne mona,
swiftre þonne sunne. Sæs me sind ealle
flodas on fæðmum ond þas foldan bearm,
helle underhnige, heofonas oferstige,
wuldres eþel, wide ræce
ofer engla eard; eorþan gefylle,
ealne middangeard ond merestreamas
side mid me sylfum. Saga hwæt ic hatte.
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2. |
Alysoun
03:57
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Bytuene Mershe and Averil
When spray biginneth to springe,
The lutel foul hath hire wyl
On hyre lud to synge:
Ich libbe in love-longinge
For semlokest of alle thynge,
He may me blisse bringe,
Ich am in hire baundoun.
An hendy hap ichabbe y-hent,
Ichot from hevene it is me sent,
From alle wymmen my love is lent
And lyht on Alysoun.
On heu hire her is fayr ynoh,
Hire brow broune, hir eye blake;
With lossum chere he on me loh;
With middel smal and wel y-make;
Bote he me wolle to hire take
For to buen hir owen make,
Long to lyven ichulle forsake
And feye fallen adoun.
An hendy hap, etc.
Nihtes when I wende and wake,
For-thi myn wonges waxeth won,
Levedi, al for thine sake
Longinge is y-lent me on.
In world nis non so wyter mon
That al hire bounté telle con;
Hire swyre is whittore than the swon,
And feyrest may in toune.
An hendy hap, etc.
Ich am for wowyng al for-wake,
Wery so water in wore;
Lest eny reve me my make
Ichabbe y-yerned yore.
Betere is tholien whyle sore
Then mournen evermore.
Geynest under gore,
Herkne to my roun.
An hendy hap, etc.
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3. |
I Haue A Yong Suster
03:04
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I have a yong suster
Fer biyonde the see;
Manye be the druries
That she sente me.
She sente me the cherye
Withouten any stoon,
And so she dide the dove
Withouten any boon.
She sente me the brere
Withouten any rinde;
She bad me love my lemman
Withoute longinge.
How sholde any cherye
Be withoute stoon?
And how sholde any dove
Be withoute boon?
How sholde any brere
Be withoute rinde?
How sholde I love my lemman
Withoute longinge?
Whan the cherye was a flowr,
Thanne hadde it no stoon;
Whan the dove was an ey,
Thanne hadde it no boon.
Whan the brere was unbred,
Thanne hadde it no rinde;
Whan the maiden hath that she loveth,
She is withoute longinge.
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4. |
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When the nyhtegale singes,
The wodes waxen grene,
Lef ant gras ant blosme springes
In Averyl, Y wene ;
Ant love is to myn herte gon
With one spere so kene,
Nyht ant day my blod hit drynkes
Myn herte deth me tene.
Ich have loved al this yer
That Y may love na more;
Ich have siked moni syk,
Lemmon, for thin ore,
Me nis love neuer the ner,
Ant that me reweth sore;
Suete lemmon, thench on me,
Ich have loved the yore.
Suete lemmon, Y preye thee,
Of love one speche;
Whil Y lyve in world so wyde
Other nulle Y seche.
With thy love, my suete leof,
My blis thou mihtes eche;
A suete cos of thy mouth
Mihte be my leche.
Suete lemmon, Y preye thee
Of a love-bene:
Yef thou me lovest, ase men says,
Lemmon, as I wene,
Ant yef hit thi wille be,
Thou loke that hit be sene;
So muchel Y thenke vpon the
That al y waxe grene.
Bituene Lyncolne ant Lyndeseye,
Norhamptoun ant Lounde,
Ne wot I non so fayr a may,
As y go fore ybounde.
Suete lemmon, Y preye the
Thou lovie me a stounde;
Y wole mone my song
On wham that hit ys on ylong.
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5. |
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My lefe ys faren in a lond
Alas, why ys she so?
And I am so sore bound
I may not com her to.
She hath my hert in hold
Where euer she ryde or go
With trew love a thousand fold.
With trew love a thousand fold.
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6. |
Gracius And Gay
02:30
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Gracius and gay,
On hyr lytt all my thohth;
Butt sche rew on me today,
To deth sche hatt me broth.
Hyr feyngerys bytt long and small,
Hyr harmus byth rown and toth,
Hyr mowth as sweth as lycory,
Vn hyr lyytt all my thoth.
Hyr iyne bytt feyr and gray,
Hyr bruys bytt well ybenth,
Hyr rode as rede as roose yn May,
Hyr medyll ys small and gent.
Sche ys swett vnder schett,
I lowe hyr and no mo.
Sche hatte myne harth to kepe
In londes wher sche go.
Sodenly tell, y pray,
To the my low ys lend;
Kysse me yn my way
Onys ar y wend.
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7. |
Maiden In The Mor Lay
03:04
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Maiden in the mor lay,
In the mor lay,
Seuenyst fulle,
Seuenyst fulle.
Maiden in the mor lay,
In the mor lay,
seuenistes fulle ant a day.
Welle was hire mete,
Wat was hire mete?
The primerole ant the,
The primerole ant the.
Welle was hire mete,
Wat was hire mete?
The primerole ant the violet.
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8. |
Ferende Gaest
01:37
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Hrægl mīn swīgað Þonne ic hrūsan trede
oÞÞe Þā wīc būge oÞÞe wado drēfe.
Hwīlum mec āhebbað ofer hæleÞa byht
hyrste mīne and Þēos hēa lyft,
and mec Þonne wīde wolcna strengu
ofer folc byreð; frætwa mīne
swōgað hlūde and swinsiað,
torhte singað, Þonne ic getenge ne bēom
flōde and foldan, fērende gæst.
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9. |
Wulf And Edwaecer
03:04
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Leodum is minum swylce him mon lac gife;
willað hy hine aþecgan, gif he on þreat cymeð.
Ungelic is us.
Wulf is on iege, ic on oþerre.
Fæst is þæt eglond, fenne biworpen.
Sindon wælreowe weras þær on ige;
willað hy hine aþecgan, gif he on þreat cymeð.
Ungelice is us.
Wulfes ic mines widlastum wenum dogode;
þonne hit wæs renig weder ond ic reotugu sæt,
þonne mec se beaducafa bogum bilegde,
wæs me wyn to þon, wæs me hwæþre eac lað.
Wulf, min Wulf, wena me þine
seoce gedydon, þine seldcymas,
murnende mod, nales meteliste.
Gehyrest þu, Eadwacer? Uncerne earne hwelp
bireð Wulf to wuda.
þæt mon eaþe tosliteð þætte næfre gesomnad wæs,
uncer giedd geador.
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10. |
Blow Northern Wynd
03:50
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Blow, Notherne wynd,
Sent thou me my suetyng,
Blow, northerne wynd,
Blou, Blou, blou!
Ichot a burde in boure bryht
That sully semly is on syht,
Menskful maiden of myht,
Feir ant fre to fonde.
In al this wurliche won
A burde of blod ant of bon
Neuer yete y nuste non
Lussomore in londe.
Blow, notherne etc.
With lokkes lefliche ant longe,
With frount ant face feir to fonde,
With murthes monie note heo monge,
That brid so breme in boure,
With lossom eye grete ant gode,
With browne blysfol vnder hode.
He that reste him on the rode
That leflich lyf honoure.
Blow, etc.
Heo is dereworthe in day,
Gracious, stout ant gay
Gentil, iolyf so the iay,
Worhliche when heo waketh.
Maiden murgest of mouth
Bi est, bi west, by north ant south
Ther nis fiele ne crouth
That such murthes maketh.
Blow etc.
Heo is coral of godnesse,
Heo is rubie of ryhtfulnesse,
Heo is cristal of clannesse
Ant baner of bealte.
Heo is lilie of largesse,
Heo is paruenke of prouesse,
Heo is solsecle of suetnesse
Ant ledy of lealte.
Blow etc.
For hire loue y carke ant care,
For hire loue y droupne ant dare,
For hire loue my blisse is bare,
Ant al ich waxe won.
For hire loue in slep y slake,
Fore hire loue al nyht ich wake,
For hire loue mournyng y make
More then eny mon.
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11. |
Now Springes The Sprei
03:02
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Nou Sprinkes the sprai,
Al for loue icche am so seek
That slepen I ne mai.
Als I me rode this endre dai
O mi pleyinge,
Seih icche hwar a litel mai
Bigan to singge,
'The clot him clingge!
Wai bes him I louue longinge
Sal libben ai
Sal libben ai
Son icche herde that mirie note,
Thider I drough.
I fonde hire in an herber sowte
Under a bogh.
With ioie inogh
Son I asked, 'Thou mirie mai,
Hwi sinkestou ai
Hwi sinkestou ai
Than answerde that maiden swote
Midde wordes fewe,
'Mi lemman me haues bihot
Of louue trewe,
He chaunges anewe.
Yiif I mai, it shal him rewe
Bi this dai.
Bi this dai.
Now sprinkes... etc.
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12. |
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Lenten is come with loue to toune,
With blosmen ant with briddes roune,
That al this blisse bryngeth.
Dayeseyes in this dales,
Notes suete of myhtegales,
vch foul song singeth.
The threstelcoc him threteth oo,
Away is huere wynter wo
When woderoue springeth.
This foules singeth ferly fele
Ant wlyteth on huere wynne wele
That al the wode ryngeth.
The rose rayleth hire rode,
The leues on the lyhte wode
Waxen al with wille.
The mone mandeth hire bleo,
The lilie is lossom to seo,
The fenyl ant the fille.
Wowes this wilde drakes,
Miles murgeth huere makes
Ase strem that striketh stille.
Mody meneth, so doth mo
Ichot ycham on of tho,
For louie that likes ille.
The mone mandeth hire lyht,
So doth the semly sonne bryht
When briddes singeth breme.
Deawes donketh the dounes,
Deores wis'th huere derne rounes
Domes forte deme.
Wormes woweth vnder cloude,
Wymmen waxeth wounder proude
So wel hit wol hem seme.
Yef me shal wonte wille of on,
This wunne weol y wole forgon
Ant wyht in wode be fleme.
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13. |
With Longinge Y Am Lad
03:21
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With longyng y am lad,
On molde y waxe mad,
A maide marreth me ;
Y grede, y grone, un-glad,
For selden y am sad
that semly forte se ;
levedi, thou rewe me,
To routhe thou havest me rad ;
Be bote of that y bad,
My lyf is long on the.
Levedy, of aUe londe
Les me out of bonde,
Broht icham in wo.
Have resting on honde.
Ant sent thou me thi sonde,
Sone, er thou me slo ;
My reste is with the ro :
Thah men to me han onde.
To love nuly noht wonde,
Ne lete for non of tho.
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14. |
Lutel Wot Hit Any Mon
04:20
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Lutel wot hit any mon
Hou derne loue may stonde,
Bote hit were a fre wymmon
That muche of loue had fonde.
The loue of hire ne lesteth nowyht longe,
Heo haueth me plyht ant wyteth me wyth wronge.
Euer ant oo for my leof Icham in grete thohte;
Y thenche on hire that Y ne seo nout ofte.
Y wolde nemne hyre today,Ant Y dorste hire munne;
Heo is that feireste may
Of vch ende of hire kunne.
Bote heo me loue, of me heo haues sunne;
Wo is him that loueth the loue that he may ner ywynne.
Euer ant oo etc.
Adoun Y fel to hire anon,
Ant crie 'Ledy, thyn ore!
Ledy, ha mercy of thy mon;
Lef thou no false lore!Yef thou dost, hit wol me reowe sore;
Loue dreccheth me that Y ne may lyue namore.'
Euer ant oo etc.
Fayrest fode vpo loft,
My gode luef, Y the greete
Ase fele sythe ant oft
As dewes dropes beth weete,
Ase sterres beth in welkne, ant grases sour ant suete.
Who-se loueth vntrewe, his herte is selde seete.
Euer ant oo, ect.
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Marginalia Exeter, UK
A five piece folk band that takes beautiful medieval lyrics and resets them to their own compositions. Female vocals, English bagpipes, mango-cello, bouzouki, harmonium and bass give their songs subtlety at moments and drive at others, interspersed with tunes from all over Europe. Marginalia have played festivals, re-enactments, LARP, folk clubs and parties. ... more
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