Beaumains In the Wilderness - With Apologies To Sir Thomas Mallory

Make your way through the parlous fog and place your trust in God, As heather, moss and bracken fern embrace the peaty sod. Take the fork at the Roman road that seems the wilder choice, Then wander down, my bonny lass, and listen for my voice. Cross the trace of the tumble-wall that borders on the glen. Flee with me across the moor, the misty moonlit fen. Follow close by the windfall light, two foundlings on the run, We’ll shelter midst the craggy loft to wait the morning sun. Huddle close as the small rain falls and gaze upon the fire; Sparks dance free of their ashen vault as true as our desire. Hear the song of the abbey bell; mark well the sweetest chime. We’ll sway as one in warm embrace, our heartbeats keeping time. Holding you in my dreams, my love, we gloried in our youth. Waken then in the cold alone, the blackthorn’s bitter truth. Lyoness, how the hard north winds do howl in angry speech That what I seek in lonely quest seems ever out of reach.