A Dedication to Woden

I fortify myself in this rune staff,

And givest myself into Woden's arms,

Against the sore sigh, against the sore blow,

And against the loathly mischief which harms:

Against grim horror and mickle terror,

Siege staff I bear thee,

I chant triumphant charms,

Let I no night mare see.

Victory words I chant,

Nor my belly shrink me,

But may Drychten triumph,

And against fear be free.

Great Woden that into all glory delves,

Valhalla's creator and eke, Frigg,

Nine thousand of the faithful bright elves,

I call out to guard me against all fiends.

May they defend and bear me up themselves,

Preserve me in peace and protect my life,

Hand over head, the hall of Valhalla,

Mayest there be a hope of glory writhe,

Of the glorious and the triumphant,

Of the truthful wights.

With all blithe mood I pray now, that for me,

Placing my hand over my head to hail,

Wayland my rune sword, with sharp and sheer edge,

Dragon my helmet, boar my coat of mail,

Linden my safe shield, my embellished vail.

Ye Seraphim, guardians of the ways!

Forth I shall depart, kith and kin to greet,

For all of the glory of the ese,

Through the lore of our Drychten I shall meet.

Now pray I for the mercy of the gods,

A good departure through the secrete door,

The winds I know, the encircling water,

For a good, light zephyr upon this shore,

Ever preserved against all enemies.

When I'm in Valhalla, friends I shall meet,

Shielded gainst the loathsome,

In his peace, in his seat,

From those who may hurt me,

In glory of the ese's I shall greet,

In the hand of Wodan of Valhalla,

while I may live in Middengard.

While I have wheat in Middangard to eat.

Soslice So mote it be.

Copyright Andrew Rea July 2018

Introduction

This is an attempt to add a Pagan feel to this lessor known Anglo- Saxon charm. I mostly just substituted a few words and added a little rhyme and rhythm. Based on: LEECHDOMS, WORTCUNNING AND STARCRAFT OF EARLY ENGLAND Vol I, 'Fly leaf Leechdoms, a charm or prayer', P389:

A charm or prayer

I fortify myself in this rod and deliver myself into

Gods allegiance, against the sore sigh, against the

sore blow, against the grim horror, against the mickle

terror, which is to everyone loathly, and against all the

loathly mischief which into the land may come: a

triumphant charm I chant, a triumphant rod I bear,

word victory and work victory : let this avail me,

let no night mare mar me, nor my belly swink me,

nor fear come on me ever for my life: but may the

Almighty heal me and his Son and the Paraclete Spirit,

Lord worthy of all glory, as I have heard, heavens

creator. Abraham and Isaac and such men, Moses and

Jacob, and David, and Joseph, and Eve, and Hannah

and Elizabeth, Sarah and eke Mary, mother of Christ,

and also a thousand of the angels I call to be a guard

to me against all fiends. May they bear me up and

keep me in peace and protect my life, uphold me

altogether, ruling my conduct; may there be to me

a hope of glory, hand over head, the hall of the

hallows, the regions of the glorious and triumphant, of

the truthful angels. With all blithe mood I pray, that

for me, hand over head, Matthew be helmet, Mark

brynie (coat of mail), a light lifes bulwark, Luke my sword, sharp

and sheeredged, John my shield, embellished with glory.

Ye Seraphim, guardians of the ways ! Forth I shall

depart, friends I shall meet, all the glory of angels,

through the lore of the blessed one. Now pray I to

the victor for Gods mercy, for a good departure, for

a good, mild, and light wind upon those shores ; the

winds I know, the encircling water, ever preserved

against all enemies. Friends I shall meet, that I

may dwell on the Almightys, yea, in his peace,

protected against the loathsome one, who hunts me

for my life, established in the glory of angels, and in

the holy hand of the mighty one of heaven, while I

may live upon earth. Amen.

Hendon Heathens

Introduction

We have a lot of fun at our summer camps!

Hendon Heathens

Since Phil's mead still brings, out the noble beast,

We still have our seats, at the drinking feast.

And time to wassail, wilt never have ceased,

Under Yggdrasil tree.

Blessing bread and mead, hammer bearing priest,

To noble Wotan, in the heathen east.

Offer it around, prelude to the feast,

And let's all be carefree.

Horns to the ready, and pass the best brew,

Lift up thy long horns, to good friends and true.

Let's swear allegiance, to us Heathen few,

All merry let us be.

To that magical wife, in secret wood glade,

A small oak stands where, libations are made.

Growing where Donna's, ashes were last laid,

We still wassail to thee.

To old Heathen gods, every one drink hale,

Drink it like a Dane, and tell a tall tale.

Let's all see who can, drink the most real ale,

And merry let us be.

Bring us more good ale, we'll raise our great horn,

Up with pointy end, drink to Barleycorn.

There's a lot to drink, before break of dawn,

So we down it with glee.

A few stalwarts drank, long into the night,

A long drinking rite, to the local Wight.

The sound of singing, until the first light,

With Phil's mead from the bee.

To lady bed straw, late for second sleep,

Back to the cold tent, the stall worts now creep.

Collapse in a heap, into the sleep deep,

Wake up in time for tea.

Copyright Andrew Rea May 2018