A Voice in the West Wind
Some Songs and Verses



A Pilgrim's Song
One April Day
The Battle of Aylesford
Simon de Mountfort Before the Battle of Evesham 

A voice in the West Wind is murmuring low.
The shrilling of the peregrine's the call of the road. 
At twilight, I harken; they bid me to roam, 
O'er moorland and mountain, forsaking my home. 
 
Too long have I tarried in this sheltered lea, 
In comfort, I heard not the song of the sea. 
It's memory now moves me; I cannot delay! 
I long to depart e'er the breaking of day. 

One evening I'll pause in some fair, foreign glen, 
And halt by my wayside till sundown, and then 
A voice in the Night Wind will bid me return 
To my own fair country, where hearth fires burn. 



 One April Day
 
As I roved out, one April day, 
To catch the morning air, 
I came upon a lady gay, 
Of looks beyond compare. 
 
Her robe was of the finest silk, 
Her hair of flaxen brown. 
Her mantle, green, of satin sheen, 
Trailed lightly on the ground. 
 
I fell to wondering mightily, 
Just what her nature was, 
This lady fair, who tarried there, 
Beneath the vernal boughs. 
 
Anon, as if to answer me, 
The maid commenced a song: 
"My kinfolk from this land did flee, 
And I am left alone!" 
 
Fair maiden, from the elfin band, 
I'll go with thee anon, 
And we'll forsake this mortal land, 
And seek fair Avalon! 


The Battle of Aylesford.

Now let us sing anew 
The wonders of ancient days. 
Now let us send forth praise! 
Honours are due to brave men. 
 
When Vortigern reigned, King of Britons, 
There dwelt in Kent a worthy knight. 
He gave the heathen hoard a fight 
At Aylesford, it is written, 
And won the field. 
To no harsh foe would Vortimer yield! 
 
He laid an ambush by grey Medway's flood: 
The sturdy loyal farmers lay in wait, 
Ill armed; their courage stood them in good stead. 
These men he led did great feats of arms that day, 
Till evening came, and to the shelter of the ancient town, 
Rejoicing, did the warrior host return at battle's close. 
Would they had learned of the approach of fiercer foes! 
 
For, maddened by the heathen hoard's defeat, 
Proud Hengest hastened westward in the night, 
Wulfhere and Werwulf with him, fearsome lords, 
Their bright swords thirsting for the fight. 
Wasting and carnage were their delight! 

They fell at dawn upon the peaceful town. 
Rich spoil they left to wolf and carrion-crow! 
There Vortimer fell from Hengest's mighty blow. 
The Kentish ground he blest with dying breath; 
The heathen cut him down. 
 


Simon de Mountfort Before the Battle of Evesham

Oh, where do you ride, Lord Simon, swift
To the North by the darkening fen,
When barely a year has gone by since you rode
To the South with five thousand men?

Where are the barons, so proud and so bold?
Where are their banners bright?
Where are the trumpets to herald your passing,
So stealthy, by cover of night?

Lord Simon halted his tired mount,
And sadly, he lowered his head:
The Lord Edward's power is waxing strong,
And many good men are dead.

Sorry am I when I call to mind
That day in the town of Lewes:
Henry penned in a priory cell,
With Edward, the Hammer of Foes.

Lord Simon laughed a bitter laugh.
He took up his horse's rein,
And bravely rode forth to face his death
On the darkening battle-plain.

But ever, where men oppressed may be,
By lords o'er proud and untrue,
Lord Simon's name they call again:
His praises they sing anew!


Christopher Brown-Syed. All rights reserved, 2004. Disclaimers and Conditions of Use.