She would have had to be an amazing woman, and he would have had to love her very much. 150 years later, such devotion may not be as prevalent, but I think it’s still as longed for and revered. If you agree, perhaps what he has to say and the way he says it isn’t so antiquated after all. ~SE

MARGOLAIGNE
Skip Ewing – Write! On Music (BMI) ©2019

RECITATION
In 1862, a U.S. Army corporal returning to California found a saddle in the High Sierra Mountains, high above the settlement of New Helvetia. As it was a cavalry saddle and therefore the property of the U.S. Government, he returned to fort with it. The private charged with refurbishing the saddle found a note etched on its underside. Carved by the point of a knife into the wood and leather were these words, and a single name: Margolaigne.

VERSE 1
Oh my dear Margolaigne, while the primroses bloom
I am riding my pony at last home to you
Though the road it was long and the ride it was rough
Margolaigne, I’ve returned to the arms of your love

VERSE 2
It’s been ten now and seven since pale was your skin
Kissed I cold cheeks the fever burned no longer in
Like your body my arms ‘round your memory hold
Margolaigne, as I promised, I never let go

CHORUS 1
Margolaigne, there were roses in the summertime
Margolaigne, in the spring I brought your columbine
Though the road it was long and the ride it was rough
Margolaigne, I’ve returned to the arms of your love

VERSE 3
I remember the sweet smell of linden perfume
Through the sage would it rise though were I weeks from you
I have taken the lives now of many young men
Margolaigne, I am dying to see you again

CHORUS 2
Margolaigne, braids of sweetgrass in the summertime
Margolaigne, in the spring I brought your columbine
Though the road it was long and the ride it was rough
Margolaigne, I’ve returned to the arms of your love

VERSE 4
In this pass we have frozen, my pony and I
Fallen have we at last in this cold hell to die
Should my body be found grant my only request
Carve these words into stone where my memory rests

CHORUS 3
Oh my dear Margolaigne, while the primroses bloom
I am riding my pony at last home to you
Though the road it was long and the ride it was rough
Margolaigne, I’ve returned to the arms of your love

TAGS
All the dust I have gathered at last calls my name
I am riding my pony to you, Margolaigne
Though the road it was long and the ride it was rough
Margolaigne, I’ve returned to the arms of your love

BACK TO BLOG