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The poems on this blog are mostly written on the basis of my historical reading and are intended to be both educational and entertaining.
Recently I have also begun posting some of my work with Anglo-Saxon charms. This work is somewhat speculative and is conducted as an amateur researcher and keen Pagan historian.

Please feel free to use anything on this site as a resource if you think that it may be relevant to your needs.

Saturday, 6 April 2013

April (Eostremonath)


Introduction

This poem explores the month from a farming perspective and draws from ‘The Good Reeve' an Anglo-Saxon farming document.
We know from Bede that in Saxon times, in April the spring goddess handed over to the goddess of fertility Eostre. From whom we get the modern name for Easter together with the fertility hormone oestrogen. This was one of eight major feast days in the calendar.
The two evenings when supernatural and magical powers were at their highest were: the eve of May (Walpurgis) and All Hallows Eve. Until the reformation it was common practice for priests to brew ale and sell it on feast days to raise money (however this may have started after the Saxon era).
Helheim was a cold dark subterranean world.
A furlong is the distance that a team of oxen can plough before needing a rest and thereby set the length of a field. The width (a chains length) was set by the area that could be ploughed in a day. The area defined by a furlong times a chain became an acre.

April (Eostremonath)

Anglo-Saxon, Eostremonath,
Spring vegetables, we shall soweth.
Much ale be drunk, this Eostre feast,
A whole hogs head, brewed by the priest.

Goddess of spring, with sacred hare,
Eostre maiden, art young and fair.
Days art longer, than damp dark nights,
Sacred season, for thy spring rites.

Winter banished, to cold Hellheim,
Ivy quickens, its oaken climb.
Bullace blossom, budding on shoot,
From heat returns, forthcoming fruit.

Fertile spirit, of furlong fields,
Rises again, as winter yields.
With oxen plough, no longer toil,
As shoots spring forth, upon soft soil.

Fire on hill top, beneath starry sky,
Walpurgis night, powers art high.
Raise the great wand, in night time toil,
In wild witch wood, with maiden loyal.

Copyright Andrew Rea Yule 2012 reworked

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