The Fair Majesty Of Folk AT Peace

I will make you of steel,

Hammer you on stone,

Hang you on the wall,

My sword, to glimmer there, alone,

In the hope that war will never come,

That I will never hear the horns,

Blasting in far vales,

The beating of the drum,

And I will remain a farming man.

The warrior in the war,

Let him fade in the mist,

With the spear in his hand,

The black gloved hardened fist.

Let me and my fellow villagers,

Fish in waters in the marsh,

Let winter be our only foe,

Snow and ice enough is harsh,

Without the hard axe and rough shout

Of the marauding bands of villainous men,

Who come in long ships, dragon prowed,

Over the cold north seas,

To try to take our lands,

To make my wife a widow,

The maker of my last coat,

The weaver of my shroud.

Now Alfred is our lord,

The wise king of Wessex men,

The fair majesty of folk at peace will reign.

The wild boar with his sharpened horn

Will not hunt through our woods,

Nor will the red serpents of the north

Bring battle to our fields again.