To: geoff@schemel.com
cc:
Subject: Song of the Shield Wall
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Hi.  Saw your request for words to Song of the Shield Wall on the 
sca-armored-combat mailing list.  There used to be a link to a page
of Calontir songs off the Calontir web page (which you can get to
from www.sca.org by going through the SCA geography section).  You
can look for yourself if you have web access, but I don't see the
link to Calontir songs anymore.  So... here are the words, as well
as I can remember them.  Sorry if you've already gotten these from
someone else.  The different indentations are for different tunes.
The pitch goes down during the unindented part and back up during
the indented part.  Sorry if this explanation is just confusing.

Federach

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Song of the Shield Wall
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Hasten, oh sea steed, over the swan road.
Foamy-necked ship, o'er the froth of the sea,
For Hengest has called us from Gotland and Frisia
To Vortigern's country, his army to be.

	We'll take our pay there in sweeter than silver.
	We'll take our plunder in richer than gold,
	For Hengest has promised us land for the fighting -
	Lands that the sons of the Saxons will hold.

Hasten, oh Fyrdmen, down to the river.
Dragonships come on the in-flowing tide.
The linden-wood shield and the old spear of ash-wood
Are needed again by the cold waterside.

	Draw up the shield wall, oh shoulder-companions.
	Later, whenever our story is told,
	They'll say that we died holding what we call dearest,
	Lands that the sons of the Saxons will hold.

Hasten, oh Huscarls, north to the Dane-law.
Harald Hardrada's come over the sea.
His longships he's laden with bearsarks from Norway
To claim Canute's crown and our master to be.

	Bitter he'll find there the bite of our spear-points,
	Hard-hitting northmen too strong to die old.
	We'll grant him six feet, plus as much as he's taller,
	Of land that the sons of the Saxons will hold.

Make haste, son of Godwin, southward from Stamford.
Triumph is sweet, and your men have fought hard,
But William the Bastard has landed at Pevensey,
Burning the land you have promised to guard.

	Draw up the spears on the hilltop at Hastings.
	Fight 'till the sun drops, and evening grows cold,
	And die with the last of your Saxons around you,
	Holding the land you were given to hold.