We’ve updated our Terms of Use to reflect our new entity name and address. You can review the changes here.
We’ve updated our Terms of Use. You can review the changes here.

The Wilderness Yet

by The Wilderness Yet

  • Streaming + Download

    Includes unlimited streaming via the free Bandcamp app, plus high-quality download in MP3, FLAC and more.

    Unlike other digital stores, this download includes a PDF of the liner notes and a bonus track normally only available on the physical CD.
    Purchasable with gift card

      £10 GBP  or more


Stags and bucks join the rut, to try their luck in sporting And all the day through vale and glade you’ll hear the victors roaring The murmurs moving through the flocks say, “Time we were away For winter’s dark steals summers light, night bringing down the day." The sun sinks south, winter bound, she’s calling her birds to the wing And the swallows of summer slip away as the beauties of autumn roll in… The silken webs that thread the dew between the gorse and heather They shiver with the changing course and temper of the weather The squirrel stores her hips and haws to keep the cold at bay As winter’s dark steals summer’s light, night bringing down the day. On wooded down sits nature’s crown, the beech and maple flaming Whilst the apple and the sloe stoop low with branches heavy laden The blackbird in the bramble whistles merry as she may But winter’s dark steals summers light, night bringing down the day. And what of those that brave the cold in den and dray and burrow They hunker down as frost abounds the fields now ploughed and furrowed Heed not the call that draws the swallow half the world away But let winter’s dark steals summers light, night bringing down the day.
Now a famous farmer, as you shall hear, He had two sons and one daughter dear. Her servantman she much admired, None in the world she loved so dear. Said one brother to the other: “See how our sister means to wed. Let all such a courtship soon be ended: We'll hoist him unto some silent grave.” They called for him to go a-hunting. He went out without any fear or strife. And these two jewels they proved so cruel: They took away that young man's life. It was near the creek where there was no water, Nothing but bushes and briars grew. All for to hide their cruel slaughter Into the bushes his body threw. When they returned from the field of hunting, She began to enquire for her servantman: “Come, brothers, tell me, because you whisper: Come, brothers, tell me if you can.” “Sister, we are so much amazed, To see you look so much at we. We met him where we'd been a-hunting No more of him then did we see.” And she lay musing all on her pillow. She dreamed she saw her true love stand. By her bedside he stood lamenting, All covered with some bloody wounds. “Nancy, dear, don't you weep for me, Pray Nancy, dear, don't weep nor pine In that creek where there is no water Go and there you shall my body find.” So she rose early the very next morning With many a sigh and bitter groan. In that place where her true love told her It's there she found his body thrown. The blood all on his lips was drying, His tears were salter than any brine. And she's kissed him, loudly crying: “Here lies a bosom friend of mine.” Three days and nights she stayed lamenting Till her poor heart was filled with woe. Until sharp hunger came creeping on her: And homeward she was forced to go. Sister, we are so much amazed To see you look so pale and wan.” “Brothers, I know you know the reason, And for the same you shall be hung!” These two brothers both were taken, And bound all down in some prison strong. They both were tried, found out as guilty, And for the same they both were hung.
The yew in the churchyard she sighs and she groans Under the weight of old sins and old bones She’ll find no relief for she cannot die Only suck a life from the dead that in their graves live The oak and the ash and the apple tree Would blossom and bloom in a fair country... We sigh for the summer as we summon the May Seeking the favour of fortune and fey But less now she blushes in hedges and groves Curse he that harms hawthorn as she blossoms and grows The willows that flank the river bank side Watch lives wax and wain with the pull of the tide From cradle to coffin they’ll weave and they’ll spin And the willows weep low for lost love and lost kin Alder, oh alder her feet in the water Flame in the forge and stone in the stream Though the blacksmith the dyer and the cobbler court her She shields in her shady carrs, her Robin the Green And over the land man strips barren and bare Where the spirits that linger are death and despair Sweeps the Lady of Birch with her selvren skin And all that was tainted will be pure again
I'm a worker by nature I freely admit And I spend all my days in the fields At a tiring old trade which may well be unpaid, But it brings all the farmers their yields. When the sun has dropped down I will take to my bed In the cell that my own toil has made To arise again early and tend to the gardens Of folks who are in their beds laid... Oh for Queen and Country, Though the latter is no thought of mine, I work for all and sundry, I'm a labourer come rain or shine. Gone are the days when on jelly I dined A bumbling old fool I've become, And I hum as I go the old chants that I know From our glory days spent in the sun. Well the people are swarming for honey & milk And that land that was promised of old, But they don't understand that the crops are unmanned And the colonies now all stand cold. Where there once was a gate to palace of gold Flanked by guards in their striped livery You'll find corpses piled high 'cause the honey's run dry To pay those from the mortuary...
Many a time I've been woken to find A frantic man upon my door knocking, He begs me to hurry and tend to his wife, For the child won't be too long in coming. Weary I follow him up to the farm, And there I find his young wife is labouring, I pray to the Lord for one easy birth – For the child in it's mothers arms laying... There's many who'd shun a woman like me, Though many I have had hand in helping, When times are hardest or hope nearly lost, It's into the the woods they come calling. Many a time I've returned home to find, A young girl on my doorstep crying, Her face it is drawn and her belly is tight, For a child won't be too long in coming. Some girls I've had they've been barely fifteen, Their bodies still too slight to carry, The lads take their pleasure and next day move on, Take with them their promise to marry.... There's many who'd shun a woman like me, Though many I have had hand in helping, When times are hardest or hope nearly lost, It's into the the woods they come calling. These days I'm often called into the town, To tend to the needs of the dying, When they cross over it's me lays them out, And pray I have eased their passing... There's many who'd shun a woman like me, Though many I have had hand in helping, When times are hardest or hope nearly lost, It's into the the woods you come calling.
The saddest sound I've ever heard Is the song of the hump-backed whale His moans and sighs and his eerie cries Sing a sad familiar tale
 For he sighs and blows as if he knows His race is nearly run And soon with all of his kind he'll fall Beneath the whaler's gun
 For every living thing on earth Nature found a space Each a living strand of a fragile plan That can never be replaced
 And not from need, but from wanton greed Man has torn down nature's web With greed possessed he will not rest Till the last of the whales is dead
 In my mind's eye I can see them die As the whaler finds his mark Hear the muffled boom of the cruel harpoon As it blasts their lives apart I see the flood of their rich dark blood As it stains the ocean red And that bloody green will not wash clean Till the last of the whales is dead

Our master has a-courting gone Our mistress up above And she has asked him for a gift As a token of his love. He’s ventured forth across the land, Spreading seeds of his own demise, Through wind and rain his voice will strain, As he seeks a worthy prize.
 Singing high, low, The tune that we know To the hammer of shell on stone, Come, come The search has begun The Thrush’s anvil rings alone. He’s found a church up on the Downs Of Sussex diamond built, He’s asked the father for a sign But he’s given naught but guilt. By that church was an old yew tree, With rubies it was blessed, He’s taken one for his own true love, To treasure in her nest. 
 He’s flown through seven countries
 And to their monarchs sung
 To beg exotic presents 
 He’s studied every tongue,
 But nothing for our mistress
 Save a berry black as coal
 He’s taken from the elders
 As an incidental toll.
 He’s met her at the trysting tree
 Among the woodland glades He’s found his miss a mistletoe kiss
 Just as the daylight fades,
 This trinity of gems he’s brought
 Of black and white and red
 Lie gleaming in the moonlight 
 All upon Miss Thrush’s bed. The stormcock’s call beckons one and all To the shelter of safer boughs For the tempest’s nigh, the water's high, And dark are the evening clouds...

The sharp prongs of winter Bleed blunt hours of light As short summer days Give way to long nights And creatures of bush and briar Leave feetings in fresh snow On highways and byways Of men who'll never know... We worked and we wept For the pains of our kind As grief grew unchecked In our hearts and our minds Now gone are the gods And all their creatures great and small They stand hand in hand At the ruin of all... The last of us waiting A question on her breath Knows well that an answer Will always bring a death With sap in her veins Her tongue collecting rust Sing "Ashes to ashes" Sing "Dust to dust..."
This darksome burn, horseback brown, His rollrock highroad roaring down, In coop and in comb the fleece of his foam Flutes and low to the lake falls home. A windpuff-bonnet of fáwn-fróth Turns and twindles over the broth Of a pool so pitchblack, féll-frówning, It rounds and rounds Despair to drowning. Chorus: What would the world be, once bereft Of wet and of wildness? Let them be left, O let them be left, wildness and wet; Long live the weeds and the wilderness yet. Degged with dew, dappled with dew Are the groins of the braes that the brook treads through, Wiry heathpacks, flitches of fern, And the beadbonny ash that sits over the burn. Where hares hold council and dread-drakes sport The cope-carlied trout to the turf resort And boglarks flout their fine fanfare Corkscrewing song through the high sky air. Hear the bleating heather-blades And bitterns as the daylight fades A symphony of sound and then The silence from the world of men. When all is seared and smeared with toil Man’s smudge and smell ploughed through the soil He’ll plod his shod unfeeling feet Onwards ‘cross the cold concrete.


From the great whales of the deep to the old oaks of the land, the future of the natural world is now inextricably bound to that of mankind and many of the songs we are attracted to, or attracted to crafting, explore the relationship between humanity and nature.

The human compulsion to conquer and collect the natural world has come at an untold price, to the detriment of almost every species on Earth. Yet, for all our destructiveness we also capture nature in our art, music & song. One of our most natural compulsions as a species – that noise-making as organic as birdsong – has become not only a vehicle for feelings, but also for ideas...

In this time of disconnection from each other and our environment, we hope this collection of songs and tunes will stand as our contribution to that great connecting force and tradition – folk music.

“Absolutely beautiful... the three of them together make an absolutely wonderful sound..."
– Mike Harding

“This trio has it all... bright new music & fresh interpretations of old songs... a title track worthy of the Voice Squad... a delightful album.”
​– Irish Music Magazine


released July 24, 2020

Rosie Hodgson – vocals
Philippe Barnes – guitar, flute/whistle, vocals
Rowan Piggott – fiddles, double bass, vocals

Evan Carson – bodhran (2,5,8,9,11)
Charlie Piggott – button accordion (13)
Johnny Ringo McDonagh – bodhran (13)

Rowan Piggott – recording, mixing, layout
Sam Proctor (Lismore Mastering) – mastering
Adam Oehlers – artwork
Voy Okuszko – photography


all rights reserved



The Wilderness Yet UK

The Wilderness Yet combines the acclaimed talents of folksinger Rosie Hodgson, traditional fiddler Rowan Piggott, and guitarist-flautist Philippe Barnes. Independently, they have earned audiences’ esteem as consummate musicians; together, they weave a tapestry of traditional & self-penned songs with a charm and familarity that is usually only found in seasoned line-ups.​ ... more

contact / help

Contact The Wilderness Yet

Streaming and
Download help

Redeem code

Report this album or account

The Wilderness Yet recommends:

If you like The Wilderness Yet, you may also like: