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Rated: 18+ · Poetry · Romance/Love · #2304400
A song of old England, written in the language of the time. A love song . . .
A poem of old England, written in the language of the era. 39 lines. Entry for the Senior Center Forum contest.

The Song of Matamis

Upon a sad Tuesday as a raven was cawing,

Three noble, young lasses were plaintively bawling

For to know where the heart of a young lad had fallen.

The hearts of the young lasses came calling

On he of the moorlands where dwelled a maiden so fair.

Alas, he loved another, Matamis of the long black hair.

She was a comely lass, unnoble, unrefined,

Praying for their love to be fore'er entwined,

And into the heart of her true love, her love to be enshrined.

It was said she was a maiden of her honor inclined,

Which made James the more to inquire

Of her eyes of the ice and her legs of the fire,

And oh, of her lips of the taste of desire.

Her voice was like a rose of heaven to compare,

They cried she used her wiles to ensnare

James of the moorlands where blooms a flower so fair.

As their teardrops came down sorrowfully falling,

The plight of their hearts to them seemed apalling,

No more their affection on James came a calling.

Where the heather does dwell, James made her his promise

To wed her, for in truth he loved the sweet Matamis.

Lies from the mouth of a sore lass were uttered and spread,

That the sweet Matamis, her soon to be wed,

Laid alone with a stout lad abed.

All the sour lasses were a wailing, a sighing,

That the lad loved another, brought on their sad crying.

Though the poor lasses wept in distraught,

All their tears fell for naught.

James of the moorlands, his choice to declare,

The love of his heart, he truly laid bare.

Said he the words to a priest of their banns,

His life pledged he into the touch of her hands.

Swore he, his eyes would only ever be unleashed

Upon the sweet face of the lovely Matamis.

He of the moorlands, where blooms a rose-purple flower,

The day they wed, he led her to his freehold, his bower.

The lies of the lewd lasses he eschewed,

For he knew the true love of the maiden he had wooed.

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