The Unthanks
Of all the trees that grow so fair,
Old Albion to adorn,
Greater are none beneath the Sun,
Than Oak and Ash and Thorn.
Sing Oak and Ash and Thorn, good Sirs
(All of a Midsummer’s morn)!
Surely we sing of no little thing,
In Oak and Ash and Thorn!
Oak of the Clay lived many a day,
Or ever Fionn began;
Ash of the Loam was a lady at home,
When Bran was an outlaw man;
Thorn of the Down saw Old Lud Town
(From which was Londinium born);
Witness hereby the ancient tribe
Of Oak and Ash and Thorn!
Oak and Ash and Thorn, good Sirs
(All of a Midsummer’s morn)!
Surely we sing of no little thing,
In Oak and Ash and Thorn!
Hawthorn today, now that they call her May,
She hath not much to speak or say,
Birch he does thrive where others would die,
And heralds the dawning day.
Hazel is wise, the truth he espies,
And his fruit would make you see,
But for all that you learn, thous shouldst must defer,
To Oak and Ash and Thorn!
Oak and Ash and Thorn, good Sirs
(All of a Midsummer’s morn)!
Surely we sing of no little thing,
In Oak and Ash and Thorn!
Yew that is old in chapel yard mould,
He breedeth a mighty bow;
Alder for shoes do wise men choose,
And beech for cups also.
But when ye have killed, and your bowl is spilled,
Your shoes are clean outworn,
Back ye must speed for all that ye need,
To Oak and Ash and Thorn!
Oak and Ash and Thorn, good Sirs
(All of a Midsummer’s morn)!
Surely we sing of no little thing,
In Oak and Ash and Thorn!
Elm she hates mankind, and waits
Till every gust be laid,
To drop a limb on the head of him
That anyway trusts her shade:
But whether a lad be sober or sad,
Or mellow with mead from the horn,
He’ll take no wrong when he lieth along
‘Neath Oak and Ash and Thorn!
Oak and Ash and Thorn, good Sirs
(All of a Midsummer’s morn)!
Surely we sing of no little thing,
In Oak and Ash and Thorn!
Oh, do not tell the Architect,
For he would call it a sin;
But—we have been out in the woods all night,
A-conjuring Summer in!
And we bring you news by word of mouth—
Good news for cattle and corn—
Now is the Sun come up from the South,
With Oak and Ash and Thorn!
Sing Oak and Ash and Thorn, good Sirs
(All of a Midsummer’s morn)!
Britannia shall bide till Judgement Tide,
By Oak and Ash and Thorn!