Twa Corbies - Michael Kelly & Colette the Bard - (Period Trad - Anonymous) скачать в хорошем качестве

Twa Corbies - Michael Kelly & Colette the Bard - (Period Trad - Anonymous)

I'm joined again by the very talented Colette in doing one of my favourite period songs for a (very early for my patrons, a little late for everyone else) Hallowe'en release. The Twa Corbies is a delightfully grim Scottish ballad, which tells a very similar story to a well-known English Child ballad, The Three Ravens (Child #26, Roud 5). The Three Ravens was first published in 1611, but it is believed that Twa Corbies is the older of the two songs. In it, the narrator describes hearing two ravens (or crows) talking about feasting on a newly slain knight for dinner, and about how while everyone is mourning the knight's death, nobody knows were his body rests except for his hawk, his dog, and his lady - all of which have already moved on with their respective lives. --- If you enjoy my music, please visit my Patreon page and consider becoming a patron of the arts! Support my music at Patreon:   / michaelkelly   Get the MP3 of this song (and others) here:   / shop   Album MP3's available through BandCamp: http://michaelkellymusic.bandcamp.com... Or drop a tip in the jar and buy the musician a beer here: https://streamlabs.com/bard_mk Also check out Colette's Patreon page at:   / magpiemusic   And her wonderful solo material on her Youtube channel at:    / @colettethebard   --- "THE TWA CORBIES" - Trad (Anonymous) As I was walking all alane I heard twa corbies making a mane: The tane unto the tither did say, 'Whar sall we gang and dine the day?' '—In behint yon auld fail dyke I wot there lies a new-slain knight; And naebody kens that he lies there But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair. 'His hound is to the hunting gane, His hawk to fetch the wild-fowl hame, His lady 's ta'en anither mate, So we may mak our dinner sweet. 'Ye'll sit on his white hause-bane, And I'll pike out his bonny blue e'en: Wi' ae lock o' his gowden hair We'll theek our nest when it grows bare. 'Mony a one for him maks mane, But nane sall ken whar he is gane: O'er his white banes, when they are bare, The wind sall blaw for evermair.'