Story (c) Date Unknown, William McNaughton (mka Bill McNutt). Verse (c) 2001, J. Eiler.
Notes: Based on the story "The Blow that Did Not Fall" by H.L. William McNaughton, CSQ, CBM, CSG, CMC, CMB, CRH-A, CRH-S, CRH-C, CAP, CSH. The copyright belongs to Lord McNaughton (Bill McNutt) -- my verse is a derivative work. He made the following requests: "You can perform, teach, and disseminate your work at no cost. Further, you are welcome to publish your piece, so long as it is not distributed for profit. (Materials costs are excepted.)" If any choose to use this work, I only ask that they abide by his requests.
My Lords and ladies, lend your ears And list to what I sing today. A tale that speaks of valiant men, 'Twill send the worldly cares away. I sing to you of mighty Lords, Who battled, not so long ago. 'Twas in The Mists that these Lords fought Then to the Mists our song must go. The Prince, he was a mortal man, And knew his time was close at hand. He sought to find a champion, To lead the people of his land. Yet not all fighters can be Prince, And so -- with wise and kind intent -- The Prince sent orders through the Land And bade a second tournament. The Tournament of Roses was Proclaimed to fighters through the land, Where mighty Knights and warriors bold May prove the might of their stong hand. Well many fought on that fair day, And yet of two this song is sung, Sir Andrew Shae Forestborne, and Baron Gunar Merielsson. Lord Baron Gunnar Merielsson, The Warlord of the Southern Shores, A mighty Lord, and known to all, By the great surcoat that he wore. The surcoat -- like a gull's fine wings -- Was white and dagge'd all around, Withall with cloth-of-silver lined, The dags extending to the ground. Sir Andrew was a belted Knight, A bold and valiant fighter, he. Younger, and less experienced, Yet wielding sword most skillfully. The warriors twain came to the list, And each saluted warily The marshals cried to them "Lay on," And they proceeded mightily. The music of their battle was The sounds of war, the mighty din Of crashing steel and flashing blades. Each sought that day the field to win. The Baron saw an opening And swung for it with all his might. He missed -- the dags of his surcoat Wrapped 'round his helm, and blocked his sight. He knew that, in Sir Andrew's place, He would have laid waste to his foe. Desperate, he sought to clear his eyes And waited for the fatal blow. Yet when his eyes were clear, he saw Sir Andrew waiting patiently, His sword and shield were at the rest As he waited courteously. "What sort of man," the Baron thought, "Who'd give away his victory? Who'd fail to take the easy shot, Left open by my vanity?" And in his heart, the Baron knew, So when the Marshals cried "Lay on", The Baron dropped both sword and shield, And yielded to the better man. I do not know the Prince's name, Nor the winner of the Coronet, Who won the Tournament that day? I cannot tell you, even yet. I know not when this fight occured -- Though 'twas not very long ago. And though this tale is near its end, There still is much I do not know. But while I live, and have a voice, And while one Gentle lends an ear, Then I shall sing the praises of Two Warriors, who hold honor dear. I sing to you of Sir Andrew, A valiant knight, now known to all. And I sing Baron Gunnar's praise, "Slain" by The Blow that Did Not Fall.