John Fleagle‘s life was far too short. His versions of many earlier Anglo-Saxon songs were near perfection, in my opinion. Here he performs a haunting song of murder most foul.

Twa Corbies

As I was walking all alane,
I spied twa corbies makin a mane;
The tane unto the t’ither say,
“Whar sall we gang and dine the-day?”
“Whar sall we gang and dine the-day?”

“In behint yon auld fail dyke,
I wot there lies a new slain knight;
Naebody kens that he lies there,
But his hawk, his hound, and his lady fair.
His hawk, his hound, and his lady fair.”

“His hound is tae the huntin gane,
His hawk tae fetch the wild-fowl hame,
His lady’s tain anither mate,
Sae we may mak oor dinner swate.
Sae we may mak oor dinner swate.”

“Ye’ll light on his white hause-bane,
And I’ll pike oot his bonny blue een;
Wi many ae lock o his yellow hair
We’ll theek oor nest where it grows bare.
We’ll theek oor nest where it grows bare.”

“Mony a one for him makes mane,
But nane sall ken whar he is gane;
Oer his white banes, whan they are bare,
The wind sall blaw for evermair.
The wind sall blaw for evermair.”