My Father's Sword

Maelcolm Mor

It was a day at summer's end
When I was but a lad;
A hundred men rode to the hold,
Garbed in my father's plaid.
The Captain who rode at their head,
His brow was black as sin;
Dropped to his knees in summer mud
And said these words so grim,
"Your father lies in lonely grave
Beneath a foreign sky;
Heed ye now the words that passed
Ere your father died:
Leave ye not my sword to rust
In cold and distant grave."
He spoke these words as to my hand
A blood soaked sword he gave.
I wept as only boys can weep
At father's words that day,
And swore an oath on Father's sword
His death I would repay.

The years rolled by, and I grew tall
But ne'er did I forget,
The tears I shed on summer morn,
And promise still unmet.
I found one day I was a man
And left my youth behind;
I galloped out of Father's Hold
My fortune for to find.
I fought a war, I found a lass,
And took her for my bride
Took Father's place upon his seat,
His sword upon my side.
But he who killed my father still
Walked free throughout the land.
Until the day I tracked him down
And had him at my hand.
My Father's slayer I then bound
And took him back in chains;
Then in the grass round Father's hold
By Father's sword was slain.

More years went by, I had a son,
And Father's name I gave.
More years went by, and my wife died,
I wept beside her grave.
With passing years my son grew tall,
And frost grew in my beard;
And then one day the heralds came,
And spoke the words I feared.
"To Arms! To Arms! Invaders come!
They march upon our soil!
They bring the sword and bring the flame,
Our lands for to bespoil!"
We rode, ere long, and found our foes
And met in battle grim.
But first I called my squire o'er
And said these words to him:
"Leave ye not my sword to rust
Beneath this distant sward;
Ride ye to my family's hold,
And give my son my sword."

This page maintained by Cerian Cantwr, cerian@minstrel.com.