"He that can tower o'er him that is lower, Would be but thought a Fool to put away his Power; Take Books and rent 'um, who would invent 'um, When as the Sword replyes, Negatur argumentum?"
'Dominion' has been updated and recorded several times by Martin Carthy. My
version is definitely for chanting. Its another of those songs that the
scribes of the Liberator seldom bother to record.
Harvest of the Sword
'The women of the White Bear make loud cries in the moot for peace. The
hills have ears. For the good of the kingdom, despatch them. Do it quickly.'
Lay by your pleading, custom lies a-bleeding Burn all your harvests down, throw away your weaving. Small power our words now, and can afford us Not so half as much, privilege as the sword does!
No curse or its caster could plaster disaster more quickly ruin kin as when sword is master! It ventures, it enters, it seeks and it centres Ever the upper hand, never a dissenter.
Cruel iron bearer, whither do you wander? - Gone to the subborning of Argrath the Reaver Kallyr, oh Kallyr-a, tear our clan asunder Women cry for food and all the children call in fear-a!
Sword talks of small things, it sets up all things
Sword'll master silver, though silver masters all things!
It is not the season, to talk of reason
Never call it loyal when the sword says treason!
Subtle deceiver, turns calm to fever
See the freedom talker slay the freedom-breather!
It'll turn a stickpick, to weapon thane and take-quick
He'll hold up the sun for silver and its lamp wick!
Conquers the clan too, chieftain and king woo
Set you up a stead, but it'll pull it down too.
No moot can guide it, no law decide it
In Alda Chur or Boldhome 'til the sword sanctify it!
Powered by hypermail