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The Federation of Old Cornwall Societies

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She blesses you with the grace of a thousand choughs


Ah - when Kernow's bred a thousand cheeow

Then she'll depart the here 'nd now,

She'll ascend t'ebbn with bells on 'er taws

And a sky amok with imperial craws –


Why 'ebbn'll be overrun by a crawful uv angel,

By a thousand beaks as red as danger,

By long red legs full uv Arthur's troyl –

Why Creation isself'll come t' the boil –


Ore will gleam in the geht flat lawd,

And mebbe the sun, geht lump, 'll explawd –

Ess, a thousand cheoow, tha's what it'd tek

Fur God in 'ebbn t'empty that lake


And there, in gawlden splendour a-gleam,

Excalibur'd mek real us Cornishmen's dream!


Bert Biscoe