This website serves as an unofficial chansonnier—that is, a book or collection of songs and poems—of several troubadours (who may style themselves singers, musicians, poets, bards, minstrels, and sundry other names) throughout the Society for Creative Anachronism. In addition to songs and poems, this site also presents prose fiction and research essays from the society's talented participants. There should be a little bit of something for everyone: entertainment, education, distraction. Hopefully you will find at least one of these to bring you some enjoyment. Check back often, as well, to see what further troubadours (and various works) have been added to the virtual leaves of this folio.
Recent Additions
Surrounded and alone, of both I plaine,
Nor wanting either, yet here bayde remaine,
To humoure semblaunce when sholde truth prevele;
But honesty and grace to few appele,
Nor faithfulnesse when fleeting bond might faine....
Doves of light are sleeping ‘round the moon
The tree of heaven casts its shadow on the dune
But there is no rival for the way your hair is strewn
The clouds below the stars make a veil of the light
I pray you think of...
V1
Boughes grown lanky
My neglect frees the maple
Umber banners trail
Would you take down your jet hair
If I turned my eyes away
V2
Boughes grown lanky
My neglect frees the maple
...
Worthy sons and daughters of Anuket,
Do not store all your incense and oils
your necklaces and net dresses up
Solely for use in the necropolis.
Burn the oil now, drape yourself in lapis
and eat a pharoah’s fine...
Bryn Madoc's children, purple and gold
Covered in glory when stories are told
We'll take the black road, we'll take the white road
We'll take the south road that leads us to war
Son of Bryn Madoc, doughty and strong...
From the Collection
My plea for love is spake, I must refrain
Entreating on the charity of Hell
To give me case, but hope her he doth sell
For what is said, thought, known, loved of this pain.
I silent die to hear that I might gain
My dearest soul, embracing my cold shell
To warm its shape with vibrant lover’s spell,
But then my hopes withdraw ere Hell grow vain
For, seeing my love, beauty might he list
About his hall, and never let escape.
A...
Who's Who
Dunstan le Heryngmongere of Atlantia
Master Dunstan is a twelfth-century Saxon wharf bailiff, a former Poeta Atlantiae, and a former Royal Bard. He currently resides within the Barony of Windmasters' Hill. He has served as the baronial Minister of Minors as well as Chronicler (implementing the first electronic version of the Barony's newsletter).