Pelican Scroll for Master Mathurin Kerbusso

This text is in the style of a Breton Lai.  Text by Mistress Dorcas Whitecap, scroll by Mistress Aidan Cocrinn.

The songs we know and sing quite well
Have many wondrous tales to tell.

Some are of war and some of woe,
And some of joy and mirth also,

And some of treachery or guile,
Or fugitive in harsh exile.

Yet all may say:  of most beauty
Are songs that teach us of duty.

In Calontir this tale unfolds
A land that models days of old.

Folk of great wisdom live therein
But none so wise as Mathurin.

He lovèd duty more than praise,
Sought after virtue all his days.

To serve the land and common good,
This gentle man did all he could

With vigor and with keenest wit
To mitigate all deficit.

Anon Mathurin Kerbusso
Made for himself a studio,

A smithy of pen and keyboard.
Therein of music made record.

And then, in A.S. forty-three
He travelled to the Jubilee.

From there, in net so fine and fey,
He brought home all he heard that day.

Again of studio made use
And Calon Sound he did produce.

In bailey where the fighters play
With weapons bright against the day

When Crown might call them forth to war,
Mathurin saw a need most sore:

Too few there were, full qualified,
Who Marshal service could provide.

So he resolved to fill the lack
And earn a staff of gold and black.

A hundred miles or more, they say,
He’d travel just to spend one day

Until the fledgling Calon Steel
Was recognized as art genteel.

Again returned to land and hall,
Again he answered kingdom’s call:

To make a venue firm and fast
Wherefrom the news could be broadcast.

The Falcon Banner made suffice
For tidings, tales and good advice.

Perfected it for all to see,
And some who saw were Royalty.

They called him before Calon throne
To make Their pleasure plainly known.

Now Logan Roi and Ylva Reine
Speak thusly unto Mathurin:

Be marked in Our Society
By Pelican in piety,

A cap of red by ermine trimmed,
This manuscript by Aidan limned,

Goutté de sang your arms surround
And by a noble oath be bound.

At summer’s end in Lands That Burn,
The year is A.S. fifty-one.

Now raise a cheer quite heartily!
Let people sing most merrily!

This lai is done, this script also,
Of good Mathurin Kerbusso.

Now benste be all us emang.
And Godde save all in this thrang.