line Time -- Steeleye Span

Time

CD:   Shanachie 79099   (1996)


Personnel

Produced by Steeleye Span and John Etchells

Tracks
(click on any linked song title to see the associated liner notes and lyrics from the album. Some additional lyrics and material were derived from the Digital Tradition Folk Music Database,and are indicated by a distinct color.)
  1. The Prickly Bush
  2. The Old Maid in the Garrett
       b. Tam Lin (reel)
  3. Harvest of the Moon
  4. Underneath Her Apron
  5. The Cutty Wren
  6. Go From My Window
  7. The Elf-Knight
  8. The Water is Wide
  9. You Will Burn
  10. Corbies
  11. The Song Will Remain


Lyrics / Notes

The Prickly Bush
      or "The Maid Freed from the Gallows"

This story is allegorical, the gold signifying the maid's honour, which when lost can only be restored by one person -- her lover. Gold seems from early times to have been the symbol of integrity, appearing in Danish ballads as the virgin's insignia. So too in the Scottish ballad of Tam Lin -- "I forbid you maidens all, that wear gold in your hair.."

The 'prickly bush' is familiar in English and Scottish ballads as the symbol of unhappy love. The real question is -- do we remember the lessons learned whilst in the prickly bush?
Chorus:
Oh the prickly bush
it pricks my heart full sore
and if ever I'm out of the prickly bush
I'll never get in it any more.
Hangman, oh hangman
Hold your rope awhile
I think I see my father, over yonder stile
Father did you bring me gold or have you brought any fee
for to save my body from the cold, clay ground
and my neck from the gallows tree
No I didn't bring you gold nor have I brought any fee
but I have come to see you hung upon the gallows tree

Hangman, oh hangman
Hold your rope awhile
I think I see my brother, over yonder stile
Brother did you bring me gold or have you brought any fee
for to save my body from the cold, clay ground
and my neck from the gallows tree
No I didn't bring you gold nor have I brought any fee
but I have come to see you hung upon the gallows tree
Chorus
Hangman, oh hangman
Hold your rope awhile
I think I see my sister, over yonder stile
Sister did you bring me gold or have you brought any fee
for to save my body from the cold, clay ground
and my neck from the gallows tree
No I didn't bring you gold nor have I brought any fee
but I have come to see you hung upon the gallows tree
Chorus
Hangman, oh hangman
Hold your rope awhile
I think I see my lover, over yonder stile
Lover did you bring me gold or have you brought any fee
for to save my body from the cold, clay ground
and my neck from the gallows tree
Yes I brought you gold
yes, I brought you fee
and I've not come to see you hung
upon the gallows tree click here to return to Tracks
Chorus

The Old Maid in the Garrett
Definitely to be taken with a large pinch of salt, this is probably the first (and last) time this song has been sung by women!

I was told by my Aunt
I was told by my mother
That going to a wedding
Is the makings of another
Well if this be so
Then I'll go without a bidding
O kind Providence
Won't you send me to a wedding
Chorus:
And it's Oh dear me
How will it be,
If I die an old maid
in a garret
Now there's my sister Jean
She's not handsome or good looking
Scarcely sixteen
and a fella she was courting
Now she's twenty-four
She's a son and a daughter
Here am I, forty-four
and I've never had an offer
Chorus
I can cook and I can sew
I can keep a house right tidy
Rise up in the morning
And get the breakfast ready
There's nothing in this wide world
That makes my heart so cheery
As a wee fat man
to call me his own deary
Chorus
So come landsman or come townsman
Come tinker or come tailor
Come fiddler, come dancer
Come ploughman or come sailor
Come rich man, come poor man,
Come fool or come witty
Come any man at all
Won't you marry out of pity?
Chorus
They say that the women are
worse than the men
click here to return to Tracks They go down to Hell
and they're thrown out again.

Harvest of the Moon

Brighid was a major pagan goddess throughout the Celtic lands. Brigantia, which once comprised most of the North of England was named after her. Elsewhere in Europe she was known as Brigan or Brig. Her other names include Brigid, Brigit, Brid and Bride. By any of these names she represents the triple goddess, i.e. the Maid, the Mother and the Crone. As the Moon goddess she personified its various phases, and her attributes were enchantment, ripeness and wisdom. To the Irish she was the goddess of fertility, inspiration and healing. Around 520 A.D. supposedly lived St. Bridget of Kildare, who became a Christianised version of all the pagan Bridgets that went before her. In this song she represents the re-emerging goddess of the feminine principle in mankind; bringing harmony and healing to all our troubled relationships.

All the husbands and the wives
We were dancing for our lives
All to the tune of Elsie Marley
Instead of gathering up our differences
And throwing them in the air
And giving them to the wind that shakes the barley

And the children they were watching
Every girl and every girl
As we danced to the tune of Elsie Marley
But they'd heard another tune
From the harvest of the moon
That rides upon the wind that shakes the barley

The Bridget she declared
That she was not prepared
To watch us dance to the tune of Elsie Marley
She said I'll sing you all a song
And you'll want to sing along
If you listen to the wind that shakes the barley

And the song that she sang
Could be heard for miles around
The air was full of harmony
You should have heard the sound
As we gathered up our differences
And threw them in the air
And gave them to the wind that shakes the barley

All the husbands and the wives
We were dancing for our lives
All to the tune of Elsie Marley
Until we gathered up our differences
And threw them in the air
And gave them to the wind that shakes the barley

Then all of us declared
That we were not prepared
To dance our lives away with Elsie Marley
For we'd heard another tune
From the harvest of the moon
That rides upon the wind that shakes the barley

And the song that we sang
Could be heard for miles around
The air was full of harmony
You should have heard the sound
As we gathered up our differences
click here to return to Tracks And threw them in the air
And gave them to the wind that shakes the barley

Underneath Her Apron
Lyrics in this color are from the original folk song, but were not included on the album

A pretty young girl all in the month of May,
A gathering rushes just at the break of day,
But before she's come home she has bore a little son,
And she rolled him underneath her aperon.

Well, she cried on the threshold and she come in at the door,
And she folded in her aperon that pretty babe she bore,
Says her father: "Where you been, my pretty daughter Jane,
And what's that you got underneath your aperon ?"

"Father, dear father, it's nothing," then says she,
"It's only my new gown and that's too long for me,
And I was afraid it would draggle in the dew,
So I rolled it underneath my aperon."

In the dead of the night when all were fast asleep,
This pretty little baby, oh, it began to weep.
"O what's that little babe that is crying out so shrill
In the bedroom among the pretty maidens?"

"O father, dear father, it's nothing then," said she.
"It's just a little bird that my sister gave to me
And build for it a nest and I'll warm it on my breast,
So it don't wake you early in the May morning."

In the last part of the night, when they were fast asleep,
This pretty little baby again begin to weep.
"Oh, what's that little babe that's crying out so clear
In the bedroom among the pretty maidens?"

"O father, dear father, it's nothing then" said she,
"It's just a little baby that someone gave to me.
Let it lie, let it sleep this night along o' me,
And l'll tell to you its daddy in the May morning."

"Oh, was it by a black man or was it by a brown,
Or was it by a ploughing-boy a-ploughing up and down,
That gave you the stranger you wear with your new gown,
That you rolled up underneath your aperon ?'

"lt wasn't by a black man and it wasn't by a brown.
It was by a sailor lad that ploughs the watery main.
lt was him gave me the stranger I wear with my new gown,
That I rolled it underneath my aperon."

"Oh, was it in the kitchen got, or was it in the hall?
Was it in the cow-shed or up against the wall?
I wish I had a firebrand to burn the building down
Where you met with him on a May morning."

"It wasn't in the kitchen got, it wasn't in the hall.
It wasn't in the cow-shed nor up again the wall.
click here to return to Tracks It was down by yonder spring where them little birds do sing
That I met with him on a May morning."

The Cutty Wren

There is a Manx legend that during the Irish rebellion, when English soldiers and Manx Fencibles were in Ireland, the noise made by the wren on the end of a drum woke a sleeping sentry and thus saved them from being taken unawares; this was the reason for hunting the wren on St. Stephen's Day.

Oh where are you going said Milder to Moulder
Oh we may not tell you said Festel to Fose
We're off to the woods said John the Red Nose
We're off to the woods said John the Red Nose

And what will you do there said Milder to Moulder
We'll shoot the Cutty wren said John the Red Nose

And how will you shoot us said Milder to Moulder
With bows and with arrows said John the Red Nose

Oh that will not do said Milder to Moulder
Oh what will you do then said Festel to Fose
Great guns and great cannon said John the Red Nose

And how will you fetch her said Milder to Moulder
Oh we may not tell you said Festel to Fose
On four strong men's shoulders said John the Red Nose

Ah that will not do said Milder to Moulder
Oh what will do then said Festel to Fose
Great carts and great wagons said John the Red Nose

Oh how will you cut her up said Milder to Moulder
With knives and with forks said John the Red Nose

Oh that will not do said Milder to Moulder
Great hatchets and cleavers said John the Red Nose

Oh how will you boil her said Milder to Moulder
In pots and in kettles said John the Red Nose
O that will not do said Milder to Moulder
Great pans and large cauldrons said John the Red Nose

click here to return to Tracks Oh who'll get the spare ribs said Milder to Moulder
We'll give 'em all to the poor said John the Red Nose

Go From My Window

A beautiful obsession
Like a moth to a flame, he returns,
The window, and the rain,
have brought him back again ...

Go from my window my love, my dove
Go from my window my dear
The wind is in the West and the cuckoo's in his nest
And you can't have a harbouring here

Go from my window my love, my dove
Go from my window my dear
The weather it is warm, it will never do thee harm
But you can't have a harbouring here

Go from my window my love, my dove
Go from my window my dear
The wind is blowing high and the ship is lying by
And you can't have a harbouring here

Go from my window my love, my dove
Go from my window my dear
The window and the rain have brought him back again
But you can't have a harbouring here

Go from my window my love, my dove
Go from my window my dear
click here to return to Tracks The devil's in the man that he will not understand
He can't have a harbouring here

The Elf-Knight

A simple but vivid story, this ballad evokes many powerful images - a hazy afternoon in late June when the roses are full blown - Lady Isabel sitting alone in a castle room, with a shaft of sunlight playing on the tapestry that she is weaving - somewhere out there, beyond this world and the 'fields we know', the elf-knight sits, arrogant, dark and brooding. He blows his horn and enchants her - she breathes a wish for him - in an instant he has broken through the barrier -- two worlds collide, reality and fantasy, good and evil...

The elf-knight sits on yonder hill
Fine flowers in the valley
He blows his horn both loud and shrill
As the rose is blown

He blows it East, he blows it West
Fine flowers in the valley
He blows it where he liketh best
As the rose is blown

Lady Isabel sits a-sewing
Fine flowers in the valley
When she heard the elf-knight's horn a-blowing
As the rose is blown

'Would I had that horn a-blowing'
Fine flowers in the valley
'And yon elf-knight for to sleep in my bosom'
As the rose is blown

Scarcely had she these words spoken
Fine flowers in the valley
When in at the window the elf-knight's broken
As the rose is blown

'It's a very strange matter, fair maid' said he
Fine flowers in the valley
'I cannot blow my horn, but you call on me'
As the rose is blown

'But will you go to the greenwood side?"
Fine flowers in the valley
'If you will not go, I'll cause you to ride'
As the rose is blown

He leapt on his horse and she on another
Fine flowers in the valley
And they rode on to the greenwood together
As the rose is blown

'Light down, light down, Isabel' said he
Fine flowers in the valley
'For we're come to the place where you are to die'
As the rose is blown

'It's seven kings daughters, here have I slain'
Fine flowers in the valley
'And you shall be the eighth of them'
As the rose is blown

'Sit down a-while, lay your head on my knee'
Fine flowers in the valley
'That we may rest before I die'
As the rose is blown

She stroked him so fast the nearer he did creep
Fine flowers in the valley
And with a small charm, she's lulled him to sleep
As the rose is blown

With his own sword-belt, so fast she's bound him
Fine flowers in the valley
With his own dagger so sore she's stabbed him
As the rose is blown

'If seven kings daughters here have you slain'
Fine flowers in the valley
click here to return to Tracks 'Then lie you here, a husband to them all'
As the rose is blown

The Water Is Wide
Lyrics in this color are from the original folk song, but were not included on the album

The water is wide, I cannot get oer
Neither have I wings to fly
Give me a boat that can carry two
And both shall row, my love and I

A ship there is and she sails the sea
She's loaded deep as deep can be
But not so deep as the love I'm in
I know not if I sink or swim

I leaned my back against an oak
Thinking it was a trusty tree
But first it bent and then it broke
So did my love prove false to me

I reached my finger into some soft bush
Thinking the fairest flower to find
I pricked my finger to the bone
And left the fairest flower behind

Oh love be handsome and love be kind
Gay as a jewel when first it is new
But love grows old and waxes cold
And fades away like the morning dew

Must I go bound while you go free
Must I love a man who doesn't love me
Must I be born with so little art
As to love a man who'll break my heart

When cockle shells turn silver bells
Then will my love come back to me
click here to return to Tracks When roses bloom in winter's gloom
Then will my love return to me

You Will Burn
There was a genuine belief during the Inquisition that the Devil was using women to work his evil deeds. To some, these women were known as witches, to others as wise women or midwives. Throughout the ages it has been quite a common practice to blame women for the evil in the world. To be burned at the stake was considered the kindest thing to do to the unfortunate souls who had fallen prey to Satanic possession as it purified and freed them from certain eternal damnation. With 'God's Blessing' they tortured and murdered thousands of innocent women (and men).

One night as you sleep in your goose feather bed
We will be kneeling at your bedside
We'll pray for your soul like the good Lord said
Let all be forgiven let none be denied

Then one night as you sleep in your goose feather bed
We will be standing at your bedside
Your bones will be broken and your blood will be shed
Your eyes will be taken and your hands will be tied

Then we'll take you to the forest
Where none will hear your cry
And we'll cut down the Sycamore and Broom
And it's there we will forgive you
And it's there we'll watch you die
Like a dancing silhouette against the moon

And you will burn, you will burn
We will purify your soul in the fire, in the fire
And your spirit will live forever
It will rise, it will rise
From the ashes and the embers in your eyes, in your eyes
And your spirit will live forever

Praise the Lord
Another soul is saved
click here to return to Tracks Praise the Lord
Praise the Lord

Corbies
Scraggy feathered, mean beaked carrion crows tearing at the tender flesh of a dead, deserted knight. As an image of impertinence there is no equal.
More notes about this song, and a different variant on the lyrics are on "Hark! the Village Wait".
As I was walking all alane
I heard Twa Corbies making a main
And tane untae the tither did say O
Where sall we gang and dine the day

In behint yon auld fell dyke
I wat there lies a new slain knight
And naebody kens that he lies there O
But his hawk and hound and his lady fair

His hound is tae the hunting gane
His hawk tae fetch a wild fowl hame
His lady's taen another mate O
So we maun make our dinner sweet

Ye'll sit on his white hause bane
And I'll pike out his bonny blue een
Wi' many a lock of his gowden hair O
We'll theek our nest when it grows bare

Many a one for him makes mane
But nane shall ken where he is gane
O'er his white bones when they are bare O
click here to return to Tracks The wind shall blow forever mare
The wind sall blow forever mair


The Song Will Remain
As we live, the essence of who we are is distilled in our own hearts. When we die we leave the essence of who we are in the hearts of those who have known us.

If I were a singer I'd sing you a song
A song that would live in your heart forever
I'd sing it lound and strong
Every single word
So that when my life is over
And I never see you again
The singer may die but the song will remain

For all I have is gold and silver
And such things so easy to find
And that's all I have to leave you
When I leave you behind

But if I were a singer I'd sing you a song
A song that would live in your heart forever
I'd sing it lound and strong
Every single word
So that when my life is over
click here to return to Tracks And I never see you again
The singer may die but the song will remain
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