PAGAN SONGS

John Barleycorn

There were three men come out of the West
Their fortunes for to try,
And these three men made a solemn vow:
John Barleycorn should die!
John Barleycorn should die!
(nb: 4th line of each verse is sung twice)

They plowed, they sowed, they harrowed him in,
Threw clods upon his head,
And these three men made a solemn vow:
John Barleycorn was dead!

CHORUS:
Fa la la la, it's a lovely day!
Sing fa la la lay oh!
Fa la la la, it's a lovely day!
Sing fa la la lay oh!

They let him lie for a very long time
'Til the rain from Heaven did fall,
Then Little Sir John sprung up his head,
And so amazed them all!

They let him stand 'til Midsummer tide,
'Til he grew both pale and wan,
Then Little Sir John he grew a long beard,
And so became a man!

They hired men with the sythes so sharp
To cut him off at the knee
They rolled him and tied him about the waist,
And used him barbarously!

They hired men with the sharp pitchforks
To pierce him to the heart,
And the loader he served him worse than that,
For he tied him in a cart!

They wheeled him around and around the field,
'Til they came to a barn,
And there they made a solemn mow
Of poor John Barleycorn,

They hired men with the crab-tree sticks
To strip him skin from bone
And the Miller he served him worse than that:
For he ground him between two stones!
They have wheeled him here and wheeled him there
And wheeled him to a barn,
And they have served him worse than that
They have bunged him in a vat!

They have worked their will on John Barleycorn
But he lived to tell the tale;
For they pour him out of an old brown jug,
And they call him home-brewed ale!

Here's Little Sir John in a nut-brown bowl,
And brandy in a glass!
And Little Sir John in the nut-brown bowl
Proved the stronger man at last!
For the huntsman he can't hunt the fox
Nor loudly blow his horn,
And the tinker can't mend kettles nor pots
Without John Barleycorn!

(Note: sing the chorus after every other verse or so)

The Witch's Ballad by Doreen Valente

Oh, I have been beyond the town,
Where nightshade black and mandrake grow,
And I have heard and I have seen
What righteous folk would fear to know!
For I have heard, at still midnight,
Upon the hilltop far, forlorn,
With note that echoed through the dark,
The winding of the heathen horn.

And I have seen the fire aglow,
And glinting from the magic sword,
And with the inner eye beheld
The Horned One, the Sabbat's lord.
We drank the wine, and broke the bread,
And ate it in the Lady's name.
We linked our hands to make the ring,
And laughed and leaped the Sabbat game.

Oh, little do the townsfolk reck,
When dull they lie within their bed!
Beyond the streets, beneath the stars,
A merry round the witches tread!
And round and round the circle spun,
Until the gates swung wide ajar,
That bar the boundaries of earth
From faery realms that shine afar.

Oh, I have been and I have seen
In magic worlds of Otherwhere.
For all this world may praise or blame,
For ban or blessing nought I care.
For I have been beyond the town,
Where meadowsweet and roses grow,
And there such music did I hear
As worldly-rightous never know.

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