Avelyn Wexcombe, Court Barony, 2021

 O, the Northrealm! A land so bless’d,

With worthy nobles of the best!

In Skraeling Althing look around:

Carrots of gold spring from the ground!

This work of goodly Avelyn,

Eighth to sit the High Seats and reign,

Well-beloved in all her land

(Naught to do with that sword in hand…)

Bent her will to learning and jest,

(Eastrealm friends say “Give it a rest!”)

These years of service now are past,

Like bounding hares they run so fast!

Rattanicus and Isabel,

Your lieges speak – all ears compel,

Silver now encircles your brow,

Let none gainsay what we do now.

Done this 13 th Day of November, Anno Societatis LVI (56), as We celebrate the Feast of the Hare in Our

Canton of Caldrithig, where we have set Our Hands and Seal.

Wording by TH Lord Dietrich von Sachsen, based on the humorous verse “The Foxe and the Welle”.

Yamagata Tokimu'ne, Award of the Maiden's Heart, 2021

Snow blankets the land

The mountain sleeps under drifts

Its streams are frozen

Undisturbed by marching feet

Of bushi; they march to war.

One stands among them

Honour’d is Yamagata

Tokimune; serve

Your Ten’nō and your Jotei

Shugo of Western Province.

Rise, Hatamoto

Tono of the Okami!

Wolves howl your name

Kaylah and Trumbrand declare

The Maiden’s Heart – bear it now.

 

Done this 70th day of Winter, in the 54^th Year, by our decree.

 

Wording by Akashi Terumoto go-Taisho

Composed as a renga (連歌) format of poetry.

Jocelyn de Cranewall, Einvigi Rapier Champion, 2015

All is done              Ullr's season
Descends with        winter's sea-breath
From northern         frozen mountains.
End of strife            Einvigi age

Dealing cruel          death to swordsmen
Fought they did      for honour and
Fame; on now        to Odin's hall
Valhal's walls         valour recall.

Fiercely swords        did feast on blood
ullr's shields             shone most brightly
In misty                   morning ravens
Gather; whose          wounds form their feast?

And who would        win glory from
crown'd brow of        breaker of rings?
Though kin and        cattle all die
Famous deeds        forever live.

Famed the name        Known for her skill
Jocelyn            Joyful sword-maid
Challengers        Chose well their doom
With flick of        Flashing blade, fell.


Wording by Lord Dietrich von Sachsen, as an award for a Royal Tourney.

Jocelyn de Cranewall, Einvigi Rapier Most Traveled, 2015

Harken Ealdormere!              Hear the words

From herald's lips;                Loud they proclaim:
Weather of weapons             Washed on our shores
And brave souls walked        The wide Whale-road.

Who sought the sea-steed    Sword holding high?
Wandering Odin                   Ne'er walked so far.
Not for Freyja's tears            Tore men from wives,
But honour and                    High esteem sought.

From land of far Skrael        to Skeldergate
Harrowgate Heath               hears loud spear-din.
Bryniau and Caer Draeth     call warriors
To take to ships                  taunting the Norns.

Konnugr Steinarr                Calls wandering
War-maiden here;              Mark well her deeds!
Fair Drottning Lyda             Lauds her labors!
Silver blade shone-            Shamed challengers.

Hails well from Cranewall-     Cry out her name!
Hail Jocelyn!                          judge you right brave!
Brav'd wind and weather       Breaker-of-Rings
Honours your name              Now homeward come.

Wording by Lord Dietrich von Sachsen, award for a Royal Tourney.

Jack Mungo, Award of the Orion, 2014

Let it be known, from lofty hall to furthest field,
The words of great King Steinarr of bright steel,
And Lydr, Queen, who bears the scarlet shield!
They would speak of this man who before them kneels:
    Speak of Jack who goes no more a-viking,
    Lest he our fierce justice goes inviting,
    Jack now raises hammer, and anvil-striking!

When sword-blades are brandished and shields are battered,
Spear-shafts splintered and mail links scatter,
When bright armour breaks and banners lie tattered,
Know well that our tall helms ne'er will shatter!
    For Jack, who goes no more a-viking,
    Lest he our fierce justice goes inviting,
    Forges helms with hammer, and anvil-striking!

Great skill has he shown with iron and steel,
Like Weland of old from Mimir, he is learning,
For his craft Weyland suffered - wounded in heel
So does this man fall afoul of earth, acid and burning,
    Poor Jack, who goes no more a-viking,
    Lest he our fierce justice goes inviting,
    May he survive to wield hammer, and anvil-striking!

Let none proclaim us like Niðung, of greed and pride,
False King who would make proud Weyland a slave!
Royal-blooded are we, and great bounty we provide!
To noble servant here - who is lordly, not knave:
    We give Jack, who goes no more a-viking,
    Lest he our fierce justice goes inviting,
    Award of Orion for anvil-striking!


Wording by Lord Dietrich von Sachsen

Mjoll Ulfsdottir, Award of the Orion, 2012

Who is this lady that comes before Us

Here in our lofty hall?

To stand before Edward, Wolf-strong King,

And Rylyn, North-wise Queen?

Called she Mjoll, Dottir of Ulf,

Water-born and Water-loved

Skilled with hands and leather-craft

And Jörð's bounty well fashioned.

Bearer is she of unsheathed axes,

Giver of shovels-sheathed.

Shaper of skins, and pelts prepared

For beauteous crafts to please the eye.

Drunk has she deep from Mead of Suttungr,

Odin’s gift of poetry to men;

With skald’s tongue and wisdom great

Does she great works of song and tale.

Know we well this Lady’s worth

And proclaim it thus in our high hall:

That Lady Mjoll, Dottir of Ulf,

Bear our will and favour forth.

Take upon thee this harp of gold

Bedecked in wine-deep stars

Orion’s harp, for all to hear,

Award we now for art and skill.

Done this 1st Day of September, AS 47,

As we sit our thrones at Baron's Howe.

Wording by Dietrich von Sachsen.

Sage of House Marchmount. Award of Arms, 2014

Great rulers have great reason

to regard you; trust

they show in your service:

Always are you working.

Before your coming

no handmaiden so deserving

in all the northlands, you

Triple-cub of Ealdormere.

Days of youth are past; you

stand no longer maiden:

fierce woman of the north,

hailing from the Marchfell.

Kneel now down before us,

Adrielle and Nigel,

Konungur and Drotning,

rise and take up blood-ember,

Hefdharfru of our court.

Such was recorded by our skalds, at the Kelda Arts and Sciences Kaupstefna, in the Barony of Ben Dunfirth, on the twenty and sixth day of the third month in the forty-eighth year of the verǫld-thing.

Wording by THLaird Colyne Stewart, based on Ottar the Black’s poem about King Olaf in the Orkneyinga Saga.

Wulfric of the Black Wood, Award of Arms, 2013

Armour is a boon to all fighting men;

            it saves the body from harm.

Riding seems easy to every warrior while he is indoors

and very courageous to him who traverses the high-roads
to far off practices.

The sword is extremely sharp,

            suited to righteous purpose.

Generosity brings credit and honour, which support one's dignity;

it furnishes help and subsistence
to all broken men who are devoid of aught else.

Eagerness is infectious,

            it is easily caught by all who see it.

The Black Wood is a home,

            to a man who encompasses all these points.

            Wulfric by name, a mighty man.

Hlaford is a title, now held by him,

            a lord of the land.

Nigel is a King,

Adrielle is a Queen,

            who give him this boon,

            at Wassail, in Bryniau Tywynnog,

            on the last of November,

            in the forty-eighth year of the land.

By THLaird Colyne Stewart, based on The Anglo-Saxon Rune Poem, 8^th or 9^th century, http://www.ragweedforge.com/rpae.html

Wulfwynn of the Blackwood, Award of Arms, 2013

Wulfwynn of the Blackwood             throwing axen weapons

Loosing arrows swiftly           longing for the shieldwall

Sewer of garb and clothing                 seamstress of much skill

Naelbinder and greeter           No less than a treasure

Adrielle and Nigel      address her at Wassail

Hail her as a Hlaefdige           In Bryniau hall

On loved day of Andrew       in late Blót-mónaþ

Forty-eighth year        of our fine fellowship.

By THLaird Colyne Stewart, written in the style of an Anglo-Saxon poem, following the proper conventions (to the best of my current abilities).

Tamsin Kitto, Award of the Orion, 2013

Many are held             in high esteem

Skald and poet                        foe-render and Viking

But none so high         as those who create

Tamsin Kitto is such a one      whip-corder, weaver,

Binder of naal             Vor knows her work

Called before thrones              knealing artisan

Before Nigel, Konungr           Adrielle, Drottning

Giver of minds-worth             she is bestowed

An Orion is given        with as many strings

As Tamsin has talents             while in Bryniau Tywynnog

At yuletide wassail                 on the last day of Frer-mánuðr

Forty-eight years         since Ymir was rended

And from his bones    was born the world

Words by THLaird Colyne Stewart, done in the style of Old Norse verse.

Snæbjörn sverðsbrjötr, Award of the Maiden’s Heart, 2006

Great rulers have good reason

to regard you; love

you show in your service:

Ealdormere is served by you.

Before your coming

No servant so light-hearted

in all the northlands, you

smiling breaker of swords.

For his work as a feller of trees, a chopper of wood, a hauler of gear, a valet in the Ladies galleries at tourney, and other services, do we Edouard, Sun-King, and Domhnail, Raven-Queen, present unto Snæbjörn sverðsbrjötr an Award of the Maiden’s Heart. Done this 25^th day of August, Anno Societatis 41, while sitting our thrones at A Day of Piracy in our shire of Bastille du Lac.

Based on Ottar the Black’s poem about King Olaf, in the Orkneyinga Saga, circa 1200.

Illumination by Her Majesty Domhnail Galbraith; Calligraphy by His Excellency Corwyn Galbraith; Wording by Lady Þorfinna gráfeldr and THLaird Colyne Stewart.

Eleanor du Grismontes, Award of the Maiden’s Heart, 2013

A great lady lives

In our Land of Ealdormere

We have heard the history of her,

Of which We here make record.

This lady was Eleanor du Grismontes,

Beloved of her canton,

She who serves at all times,

Her history We show you.

This Eleanor was Chatelaine

To the lands of Greyfells,

Also Keeper of the Gate,

About Eleanor We tell you.

In Ealdormere, at this day,

There is no more worthy person:

Very kind and giving is she;

And so We do reward her,

I, Nigel King, and I, Adrielle Queen,

Upon her place a Maiden’s Heart,

At the Feasting of the Hare,

In the Year of Our Society 48,

On All Souls Day.

By THLaird Colyne Stewart, based on the Song of Dermot and the Earl (Chanson de Dermot et du comte), 13th century.

Snæbjörn sverðsbrjötr, Award of Arms, 2005

Great rulers have good reason

to regard you; love
you show in your service:
Ealdormere is served by you.
Before your coming
No servant so light-hearted
in all the northlands, you
smiling breaker of swords.

For his work as a feller of trees, a chopper of wood, a hauler of gear, a valet in the Ladies galleries at tourney, and other services, do we Edouard, Sun-King, and Domhnail, Raven-Queen, present unto Snæbjörn sverðsbrjötr an Award of the Maiden’s Heart. Done this 25th day of August, Anno Societatis 41, while sitting our thrones at A Day of Piracy in our shire of Bastille du Lac.

Based on Ottar the Black’s poem about King Olaf, in the Orkneyinga Saga, circa 1200.

Illumination by Her Majesty Domhnail Galbraith; Calligraphy by His Excellency Corwyn Galbraith; Wording by THL Þorfinna gráfeldr and THLaird Colyne Stewart.

Lady Sylvia, Maunche

That Lady Vey

That Lady Vey
How we do like that Lady Vey!

Shall we now praise her Brew array?
Oh How we like them, Lady Vey!

Would we like them here, or there?
We would like them anywhere!

A beer, a beer, a beer, a beer
She surely makes a fine brown beer!

An ale, an ale, a hale pale ale
In brewing one she would not fail!

She can make an Allis Mead!
Taste it! It is what you need!

She has spicy metheglin,
who’s taste will make you warm within!

Have ye had PotusYpocras?
I wish’d I had a bigger glass!

Hast had blueberry mealomel?
It made me leap like a gazelle!

Berry cordial sweet and fine?
I tell my friends that bottle’s mine!

I muse upon her cyser gold…
No apple’s better used, all told!

And can she make a pyment too?
Oh Yes, that Lady Vey can brew!

Does she know of the content?
And how to bottle and ferment?
She comopunds with a sure intent,
and all sure facts she can present.

Oh She can bottle and ferment!
And measure alcohol percent!

But does this lady document?
That task she’d never circumvent!

Ah! Can she clear the heady brew?
False cloying mung she does subdue!

Well, Does she know the kinds of yeast?
More than good huntsmen know of beast!

She is friend of bard and bee!

She is friend of you and me!

Fill up your cups and you will see!

Shall she join the Maunche’s Order?
It is here writ by recorder!

At this Bardic for King and Queen
In Feburary’s winter mean
On the fifth day, which thus arrived
Anno Sociatitis forty-five.

In Endewearde’s most festive hall
Among her friends, yes, one and all!
At the fine Bardic event,
Which her gifts did help cement.

How we do like that Lady Vey!
Thusly she is a Maunch this day.

As we like our King and Queen-a,
Kind Griffith, fair Aikaterine-a.

So we give it to their hands,
signed by rulers of these lands.

Lady Sylvia du Vey had been, some years ago, threatened with a text in the style of Herr T. Geisel.  When she was given her Maunch for brewing, the chance was there to make it exceptionally interesting.  The final text is some 340 words, blessings to Mistress Carolyne.  The Original was some 550 or so, and was fiercely edited.  The scroll was done by Jean and Aneleda via Google Docs, back and forth.  It’s an entertaining way to manage.  At Court, having been JUST NAMED the Bardic Champions, they read it together for her with great joy, and watched her tears of laughter with as much dignity as possible.  It was the best scroll reading *ever* they think.

by Don Jean du Montagne and Lady Aneleda Falconbridge

Alessandra da Montereggioni, Award of Arms

A Canzone written for Alessandra da Montereggioni by Aneleda Falconbridge

Qual donna attende a gloriosa fama
di senno, di valor, di cortesia? *

Gather and hear, noble people of the Mighty East, of a Lady so kind that Petrach himself would have searched for words, one of such bliss as is seldom seen walking these low and mortal paths.

To those who love service, and too, chivalry,
we speak of a lady, and give our rationale

Of a spirit generous, of great morale
held in high esteem by all who are her friend.

We see this golden creature all around us
extending gentle hand with most noble grace
toward any task requested in this dear place
to see it through no matter how far its end.

She brings the new and kindly helps them to blend
in the crowd of brewers, dancers, sewers, cooks,
and shares the wondrous knowledge gained from her books
Her encouragement lights the paths many wend.

With golden threads she has sewn us up with love,
It is with sad joy we set free this sweet dove.

Thus it is the will of ever-right and kind King Gryffith and our resplendent and gentle Queen Aikaterine that Alessandra da Montereggioni becomes a Lady of our Court this day, the fifth day of the month of love, Anno Societatis forty-five, at the King and Queen’s Bardic Champions in the fair Shire of Endewearde.

(Italian translation) *Doth any maiden seek the glorious fame Of chastity, of strength, of courtesy? – Petrarch

Notes about the piece:

This canzone is written with 11 syllables per line, based on a style used by Dante, who wrote of Montereggioni.  Seemed like a good idea at the time…

The scheme is as follows:
ab
bc
deec
cffc
gg

I found these suggestions online:

First two lines: Define your subject and how you will speak with the reader
Second two lines: Convey the central theme, question, or conflict.
Third set of lines (broken into a quatrain): Convey your mood, sentiment, and stance

“Derived from the Provençal canso, the very lyrical and original Italian canzone consists of 5 to 7 stanzas typically set to music, each stanza resounding the first in rhyme scheme and in number of lines (7 to 20 lines). The canzone is typically hendecasyllabic (11 syllables). The congedo or commiato also forms the pattern of the Provençal tornado, known as the French envoi, addressing the poem itself or directing it to the mission of a character, originally a personage. Originally delivered at the Sicilian court of Emperor Frederick II during the 13th century of the Middle Ages, the lyrical form was later commanded by Dante, Petrarch, Boccaccio, and leading Renaissance writers such as Spenser (the marriage hymn in his Epithalamion).”  (http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Canzone)

By Aneleda Falconbridge

Lord Gwillim Kynith, Maunche

Y gwaith a ganmol y gweithiwr.  Cyfoeth pob crefft.*

Fine tokens come from this one’s hand,
His graceful talents in demand.
Bursting from within,
Joyful is our din
Lauds begin through the land.

Now gather Maunche Companions here
for Gwillim Kynith, whose career
brings forth attention
and with contention
ascension with much cheer.

Steady his hand paints glass so red
A hundred men have ate his bread,
Delights us to sing
As sounds soft lute string.
Dancers spring at his tread.

Many find his most pleasant brew
Inspires fine tales both old and new
Which he could transcribe.
But dance and imbibe
and ascribe him his due.

There is no greater thing than art
to wound or soothe, its gifts impart.
One who can so ply
May on art rely
to comply from the start.

By his work the worker is praised;
Every craft is wealth, it is phrased
So beyond measure,
Art, precious treasure,
our pleasure is thus raised.

Granted by the the Companions of the Order of the Maunche, writ by the noble hands of Gryffith King of the Mighty East, and Aiketerine glorious Queen, this January the twenty-ninth anno societatis forty-five, at the Marketplace at Birka in the Barony of Stonemarch.

Notes on the piece:

Y gwaith a ganmol y gweithiwr.
(By his work the worker is praised.)

Uh GWAITH uh GAHN-mole uh GWAY-thyur.
(The AI as I in “might”, the O not *quite* as long as in “mole”, the AY as in “way”).

Cyfoeth pob crefft.
(Every craft is wealth.)

kuh-VOYTH pobe KREFT.
(The “kuh” pretty much as in “k’BOOM”, “pobe” as in “robe” but a bit shorter, the “VOYTH” like “voice” with a lisp).

About the style of the poem:

The clogyrnach [clog-ir-nach] is a Welsh quantitative verse form. It contains 32 syllables in a 6-line stanza. The first couplet contains eight syllables in each line; the second, five; the third, three. (The last couplet may be written as a single, 6-syllable line.) The rhyme scheme is aabbba.

x x x x x x x a  (8)
x x x x x x x a
x x x x b (5)
x x x x b
x x b  x x a (3)

(Thanks to Steven Mesnick for the help with the Welsh selection and pronunciation!)

By Aneleda Falconbridge

Lord Micah of Brighton Hall, Order of the Tygers Combatant

We bring forth Lord Micah of Brighton Hall, to join as brother those who are as enchanted by the fields of war as he, the Companions of the Order of the Tygers Combatant.  Here we laud his prowess and delight of all that one embraces in the fight. But hear, assembled ones of this fine court, the history of this man whom we exhort:

A farmboy once, as all good
heroes are,
He’d run across the
Northshield fields afar,

A lanky lad then, lean and
fair and tall
With large sticks he would
make the straw man fall.
A sapling bow he used to
keep at bay
The spurred cock whose beak
would ankles flay.
He frightened tinkers
who would tread the land
And helped his family’s
influence expand.

As he grew up, his weapons
did as well
From humble stick to staff,
from straw to pell.
From charging through the
fields of wheat and hay
To charging through the
fields of foes to slay.

He took to hand the axe, the
sword, the pike,
The bow, the mace, the
spear, the brutal spike,
Each one to play and see
what was its art
For each one had its wisdom
to impart.

This noble lad, and brave
and good, but wild,
Was skilled by Eastern men,
whose tempers styled
The man before you here, who
you now see
Into the very tale of
chivalry.

This vibrant one whose joy
upon the field
Has all support within this
order sealed,
Combattant Tygers of
the noble East,
Rejoice today as your ranks
do increase.

You have heard this tale
today, in Birka’s marketplace in the January cold, on the twenty-ninth
day, Anno Societatis
forty-five
in the Barony of Stonemarche.

With pleasure do our brave King Griffith and beauteous Queen Aikaterine sign this writ to history.

Notes on the piece:

Well, this is what comes of having someone who’s known you a while write your scroll text.  It was the fourth rewrite, I just couldn’t get the tale short enough!  At some point, I will just tell the tale in full and feel like I’ve done my job!

By Aneleda Falconbridge

Constancia de Vienne, Troubadour

wot ys that sund that calls us to war?

ys þe horn ðat lady blaws to roar.

Rosa rubicundior

wot ys that sund wot maks myn herte ache?
ys þe swet sound this same lady mak.

wot ys the laugh ich can now here?
ys a tale from the lady just finished near.

lilio candidior

wot ys that tune that make vs go round?
ys her song ðat bringeþ daunce to ground.

wot ys that note that ringeþ so cleir?
ys þe lady herself a-fluting ther.

omnibus formosior

wot is that brigþ and merrie sound?
ys þe lady who singeþ there unbaundoun.

semper in te glorior

wot can we do for one so fayr
to laud hire gift ðat give us cheer?

dulcis musica

a silver cup, a pretty thynge,
granted by our virtuous King,

ys very good and fitting fine
to grant this kynde lady sign

her herte doþ mak us synge and more,
thus we name hire Troubador.

Ai! With sound of horn, voice and recorder,
Constancia comes to the Order.

by our hand this finest day
while at the Castle Knox we play

signed here by King Edward and Queen Marguerite,
this lauding songe is now complete.

Latin Translation: Rosa rubicundior, lilio candidior, omnibus formosior, semper in te glorior dulcis musica – Redder than the rose, whiter than the lilies, fairer than everything, I will always glory in thee, sweet music.)

Notes on the piece:

I was reading a lot of very early English verse at the time this was written, and so it was created with that in my mind.  I used all the period writing bits too,  ð (eth) the (th) þ are the sounds.  They look neat at least!  She plays the straight horn and trumpet, and is really great on recorder, and sings beautifully.  So all that was incorporated into the images in the song.  It’s supposed to be a bit of a love song to her.

Right, so Lady Constancia de Vienne was previously Lady Melisunde d’Ione, and was of this writing and of the initial award long before.  This was a backlogged scroll, and a joy to write for a friend!  In this version, I updated it to use her current SCA name.

Also, I forgot that it would actually have been King Kelson and Queen Geneviere. That would have changed the scheme.

It should have read, I suppose:

“Signed here by Kelson von Heidelberg, King and
Geneviere d’Alsace, Queen
we at long last rest serene.”

Or something like that.

But nobody reminded me, and so it’s not.  *lol*

By Aneleda Falconbridge

EK Queen’s Rapier Champion AS 45

Sir Edward Grey of Lochleven

wreathed with greatest honor is revealed,
and with the most esteem, picked from the field.

Forbearance and Honor noted our queen,
Beloved lady of bliss, Aikaterine.
The rapier swift has its song to sing
And dances as swallows dance in spring
Through the field’s rite,
Bright glinting light
This blade did supply
You being near
We shall not fear,
Though Death stand by.

With you the swords take edge, the heart grows bold;
From you in fee their lives your liegemen hold.
Our lady Queen smiles on this one’s goodwill
Thus now the Champion’s role thou must fulfill.
Bless then the hour
That gives the power
In which you may,
At bed and board,
Embrace your sword
Both night and day.

From Bergental through all the East ring true
Thus mark we January twenty-two
Anno Societis forty-five
When the Queen’s Rapier Champion did arrive
Bless then the one
Whose duty done
With skill and grace,
and courtesy
we honor thee,
Signed in this place…

Honor, great honor, from our noble queen,
Beloved lady of bliss, Aikaterine.

Notes on the piece:

This poem is based on The Forest’s Queen by Philip Massinger, <span>originally published in The Guardian in 1633.  Below is the original, from which the central part of the poem is hugely based (because it was sooooo perfect!)  The scan works better on paper than out loud in parts because our lovely Queen of Love and Beauty is sounds the “e” at the end of </span>Aikaterine (Aikaterine-ah.)  I didn’t want to mar the beautiful look of the piece’s symmetry with the original by mucking about too much, so I decided to live with it even though it’s an extra syllable here and there.  Consider it a bonus!

THE ORIGINAL WORK: THE FOREST’S QUEEN by: Philip Massinger

Welcome, thrice welcome to this shady green,

Our long-wished Cynthia, the forest’s queen!

The trees begin to bud, the glad birds sing

In winter, changed by her into the spring.

We know no night,

Perpetual light

Dawns from your eye:

You being near,

We cannot fear,

Though death stood by.

From you our swords take edge, our hearts grow bold;

From you in fee their lives your liegemen hold.

These groves your kingdom, and our laws your will;

Smile, and we spare; but if you frown, we kill.

Bless then the hour

That gives the power

In which you may,

At bed and board,

Embrace your lord

Both night and day.

Welcome, thrice welcome to this shady green,

Our long-wished Cynthia, the forest’s queen!

By Aneleda Falconbridge

Lord Tristan de Worrell, Laurel

Laurel Scroll written for Lord Tristan de Worrell, presented at East Kingdom Court at the Pennsic War 40, AS46

Beneath the bright aurora’s light
A wise man with his cart here stands,
St. Eligius’ student greets the night
with kindly eyes and worthy hands.

Within his cheery wooden cart
are cheeses soft, or wrapped in rind,
and wines so sweet, and wines so tart,
and sausages his hands did grind.

In Boxes fine of carv-ed wood
Pierced-work and repoussé do shine.
By Champlevé* so bright and good
Are roundels of ancient design.

His curve-ed spoons shine like the sun;
His tents give shelter from its rays;
His baskets from the trees are spun;
His Songbird’s song echoes for days.

Love Conquers All, the words do read,
His Truth is carved upon wood arms.
Other good things that one might need,
And time, he gives free as small charms.

This man, Lord Tristan de Worrell
By works of beauty fine and rare
Is now bedeck’d with sweet laurel
And garners thus his treatment fair.

Take this man now into your fold
And give him leaves of shining green
That all may freely now behold
This Laurel of such gentle mien.

Arms are granted, fully able
to display in etch-ed copper
Or, two boars combattant sable
base a wooden barrel proper.

Now Forty-six, the year we mark
Forty years of the Pennsic War
Here ten days into Augusts’ arc
Tristan takes all Eastern rapport.

Thus in the Mighty Eastern Court
By King Lucan this writ is signed,
In full with Jana Queen’s support
That Tristan now is Laurel-kind.

**(shomp leevay)

By Aneleda Falconbridge