The Dream - words by Rudyard Kipling, arrangement by Leslie Fish

Oh late withdrawn from humankind,
And following dreams we never knew,
Old man, what dream has Fate assigned,
To trouble you.

Such virtue as commands the law,
A virtue, to the vulgar hordes,
Suffices not you needs must draw,
A righteous sword.

And flagrant in so doing smite,
The priests of Bacchus at their fane,
Lest any worshiper invite,
The god again.

Thence comes public strife and naked crime,
And deadlier than the cup you shun,
A people schooled to mock in time,
All laws not one.

Cease then to fashion state made sin,
Nor give your children cause to doubt,
That virtue springs from iron within,
Not lead without.

The Innkeeper's Song - by Jim Pipkin

I have been a traveller, I've seen the far country,
Marched across the meadows, sailed upon the seas,
Faced the heedless slaughter in the madness of the line,
Saw the death of innocence, surprised when it was mine,

I have heard the seagulls where the ocean washes sand,
Known the heat of battle, felt the hot blood on my hand,
Heard the cries of wounded men just praying to be dead,
Followed many leaders, and was followed where I led,

When I found a lady love, it was mostly quick and cold,
We bartered for their services with cloth and food and gold,
When the army marched away some few might tag along,
And walk behind the baggage train, singing bawdy songs,

Now I'm old but hale enough, with many tales to tell,
My shares bought me this roadside inn which suits my temper well,
But when the weather's cold my wounds will ache again I fear,
I dull the pain with sleeping herbs, and mugs of barley-beer,

You say you're for the cavalry, the dashing cavaliers,
But horsemen too must fight on foot when fodder comes too dear,
So if by chance you find yourself dismounted in the line,
Stand always between two friends, with one eye out behind,

Take with you my hanger boy, t'was always at my side,
Some say she's a lucky blade, she's often saved my hide,
And if your Ma had lived I'm sure she'd cry to see you go,
As it is Godspeed my son, I've taught you all I know.

Danegeld - Words by Rudyard Kipling, arrangement by Leslie Fish

It is always a temptation to an armed and agile nation,
To come upon their neighbors and to say,
"We invaded you last night,
We are quite prepared to fight,
Unless you pay us cash to go away."

And that is called asking for danegeld,
And the people who ask it explain,
That if you just pay them the danegeld,
Then you'd be rid of the Danes.

It is always a temptation to a rich and lazy nation,
To puff and look important and to say,
"Though we know we should defeat you,
We have not the time to meet you,
We will therefore pay you cash to go away."

And that is called paying the danegeld,
But we've proved it again and again,
That if you once pay 'em the danegeld,
You'll never be rid of the Danes.

It is wrong to put temptation in the path of any nation,
Lest they should succumb and go astray,
So when you are requested,
To pay up or be molested,
You'll find it better policy to say.

"We never pay anyone danegeld,
No matter how trifling the cost,
For the end of that game is oppression and shame,
And the people who play it are lost, lost, lost,
The people who play it are lost."

Berth Gellert, a Welsh tale

Prince Llewellyn had a favorite greyhound named Gellert that had been given to him by his father-in-law, King John. He was as gentle as a lamb at home but a lion in the chase. One day Llewellyn went to the chase and blew his horn in front of his castle. All his other dogs came to the call but Gellert never answered it. So he blew a louder blast on his horn and called Gellert by name, but still the greyhound did not come. At last Prince Llewellyn could wait no longer and went off to the hunt without Gellert. He had little sport that day because Gellert was not there, the swiftest and boldest of his hounds.

He turned back in a rage to his castle, and as he came to the gate, who should he see but Gellert come bounding out to meet him. But when the hound came near him, the prince was startled to see that his lips and fangs were dripping with blood. Llewellyn started back and the greyhound crouched down at his feet as if surprised or afraid at the way his master greeted him.

Now Prince Llewellyn had a little son a year old with whom Gellert used to play, and a terrible thought crossed the prince's mind that made him rush towards the child's nursery. And the nearer he came the more blood and disorder he found about the rooms. He rushed into it and found the child's cradle overturned and daubed with blood.

Prince Llewellyn grew more and more terrified, and sought for his little son everywhere. He could find him nowhere but only signs of some terrible conflict in which much blood had been shed. At last he felt sure the dog had destroyed his child, and shouting to Gellert, "Monster, thou hast devoured my child," he drew out his sword and plunged it in the greyhound's side, who fell with a deep yell and still gazing in his master's eyes.

As Gellert raised his dying yell, a little child's cry answered it from beneath the cradle, and there Llewellyn found his child unharmed and just awakened from sleep. But just beside him lay the body of a great gaunt wolf all torn to pieces and covered with blood. Too late, Llewellyn learned what had happened while he was away. Gellert had stayed behind to guard the child and had fought and slain the wolf that had tried to destroy Llewellyn's heir.

In vain was all Llewellyn's grief; he could not bring his faithful dog to life again. So he buried him outside the castle walls within sight of the great mountain of Snowdon, where every passerby might see his grave, and raised over it a great cairn of stones. And to this day the place is called Beth Gellert, or the Grave of Gellert.

Song of the Men's Side - words by Rudyard Kipling, arrangement byLeslie Fish

Dreadful was the beast, when it hunted us we ran,
Ran very fast though we knew,
That it was not right that the beast should master man,
But what could we flint-workers do?

The beast would only grin at our spears 'round its ears,
Grin at the hammers that we made,
But now we will hunt him for the life with the knife,
And this is the buyer of the blade.

Oh, there's room for his shadow on the grass, let it pass,
Two left and right stand clear,
This is the buyer of the blade, be afraid,
This is the great god Tyr.

Tyr thought hard 'til he hammered out a plan,
For he knew that it was not right,
And it is not right that the beast should master man,
So he went to the children of the night,
To beg a magic knife of their make, for our sake,
When he begged for the knife they said,
The price of the knife you would buy is an eye,
And that was the price he paid.

Tell it to the barrows of the dead, blood ahead,
Shout it so the one inside can hear,
This is the buyer of the blade, be afraid,
This is the great god Tyr.

Our children and womenfolk may walk on the chalk,
As far as we can see them and beyond,
We need not fear for our sheep as we keep,
Tally at the shearing pond,
We can eat with both our elbows on our knees if we please,
We can sleep after meals in the sun,
For the shepherd of the twilight is dismayed at the blade,
Feet in the night have run,

Oh, there's room for his shadow on the grass, let it pass,
Two left and right stand clear,
This is the buyer of the blade, be afraid,
This is the great god Tyr.