Fly leaf Leechdoms - Charm of Protection

Fly leaf Leechdoms - Charm of Protection, (P389)

This is an attempt to add (restore) a Pagan feel to this lessor known Anglo- Saxon charm.

I fortify myself in this rune staff and deliver myself into Wodan's 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 staff I bear.

Word victory and work victory:

Let this avail me,

Let no night mare mar me,

Nor my belly shrink me,

Nor fear come on me ever for my life, but may Drychten heal me.

Wodan worthy of all glory, as I have heard, heavens creator and eke, Frigg, a thousand of the bright elves 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 Valhalla,

The regions of the glorious and triumphant, of the truthful wights.

With all blithe mood I pray, that for me, hand over head:

Dragon be my helmet,

Boar my coat of mail,

A light life's bulwark,

Wayland my sword, sharp and sheer edged,

Linden my shield, embellished with glory.

Ye Seraphim, guardians of the ways!

Forth I shall depart,

Friends I shall meet,

All the glory of the ese,

Through the lore of Drychten.

Now pray I to the victor for the mercy of the gods,

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 in Valhalla, yea, in his peace, protected against the loathsome one, who hunts me for my life, established in the glory of the ese, and in the hand of the mighty one of Valhalla, while I may live upon earth.

So mote it be.           

And here is the translation of the original:

A charm or prayer, P389

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.         

Invocation by the Rune Trees 2

By the power of the mighty old oak,

By the sacred sanctity of the ash,

By the protection of the prick thorn trees,

By the exuberance of the first Birch,

By the lasting witness of long lived yew.

May the green wood spirit protect this space.

Dragon's Quarters

Some fun casting the quarters with dragons

Dragon’s Quarters

Flying cockatrice guard the east,

Air dragon we doth bid thee hail.

Protect our circle with thine power,

From the other world lift thine veil.

Firedrake guard the gate to the south,

Oh great beast fortify the door.

Shield us here with thine fiery breath,

From thy wyrm bed return we implore

Sea serpent seal the western gate,

We doth water dragon call thee.

From thine watery depths arise,

We bid thee our rite oversee.

Crouching basilisk guard the north,

Earth dragon open thine dark eyes.

Serpent king we doth bid thee forth,

From long mists of time now arise.

Copyright Andrew Rea Autumn Equinox 2014

Honouring the Rune Trees

Another short poem around the rune trees.

Honouring the Rune Trees

Oh Blackthorn that gives us, the sloe for taste,

And Hawthorn that crowns, fair heads to be chased.

Oh Oak that gives us, the strength of Gaia,

Oh Ash that is our, arrow, spear and fire.

Oh Yew that spared us, from our foes desires,

Oh Birch that doth light, our bright Beltaine fires.

We honour you here, in this woodland glade,

Every root, bower, branch, and sacred blade.

Copyright Andrew Rea August 2014

Mabon

One of my first poems written for use in a Druid ritual.

Summer is now over,

Autumn has begun,

Night conquers day,

Harvest moon for the sun.

Honour the Green Man,

Mabon son of Mordon,

Goddess of the Earth,

On the Feast of Avalon.

Burn the Wicker Man,

Mother turned to Crone,

Goddess of winter food,

Reaping on Harvest Home.

Copyright Andrew Rea Autumn 2006

Invocation by the Rune Trees

This is a short piece based on the five trees that have their own runs. I have split 'Thorn' into Blackthorn and Hawthorn.

Invocation by the Rune Trees

By the power of, the mighty old oak,

By the ash that wares, the sacred fire cloak.

By the protection of, the bold blackthorn,

Under Hawthorn garland, where thee were born.

By the witness of, the long living yew,

By the birch bursting forth, that is first to renew.

I call all rune trees, to witness our rite,

And guard us here on, this fine feasting night.

Protect us from foes, with your noble might,

And help make sacred, this fair woodland site.

So mote it be

Copyright Andrew Rea August 2014

My Poems on Youtube

The following of my poems are now on Youtube. They can be found by using the search parameters following the title. Unfortunately using the titles will not work and I have not been able to set individual hyperlinks. All of the listed poems can also be found with the introductions in text form on this blog.

Thou arte Aelfscyne:   Anglo saxon poetry by Andrew Rea

On the Spindle Side:   Anglo saxon poetry by Andrew Rea 2

Aelfred:   Anglo saxon poetry by Andrew Rea 3

Dark Forest Rite:   Anglo saxon poetry by Andrew Rea 4

Wassail the Apple Tree:   Anglo saxon poetry by Andrew Rea 5

The Corn Dolly:   Anglo saxon poetry by Andrew Rea 6

Twelfth Night:   Anglo saxon poetry by Andrew Rea 7

Kissing Friday:   Anglo saxon poetry by Andrew Rea 8

A Maying:   Anglo saxon poetry by Andrew Rea 9

Return ye Haegtesse:   Anglo saxon poetry by Andrew Rea 10

The Corn Dolly

Historical Introduction

This poem is based on the tradition of the corn dolly and the idea that the corn has a spirit which should be preserved through the winter to be returned to the earth in the spring to ensure fertility.

The poem draws from the image contained within an Anglo-Saxon Psalter which shows a corn field being reduced to a single ‘clump’ known as ‘the neck’. In the foreground a peasant is shown holding a ‘corn dolly’ in the shape of a cross with five blades for each hand and the head.

The method of cutting the ‘neck’ is based on surviving traditions which were common until modern times.

References to Nerthus a fertility goddess replaced largely by Frigg in late Saxon times and Wuldorfador ‘glory father’ representing the Solar Logos, are taken from the writings of St Bede and are mentioned in his ‘On the computation of time’

The idea of the ‘sol cakes’ are again taken from Bede, where he refers to the second month of the year called Solmonath (February). Which is said to mean Mud Month. (compare sol with soil and think of ground conditions at this time of year). The cakes were planted into the ground as an offering to both Nerthus and Wuldorfador.

We have no surviving recipe for the sol cakes, but given that the tradition of ploughing the corn dolly into the ground at the start of ploughing and sowing season was widely observed until modern times it seems possible that the dolly would have been broken up and added to a mixture of some kind, perhaps of flour of various grains, and returned to the ground uncooked to preserve its fertility.

The harvest feast is recorded in Saxon law as a reward for the harvest work done on the lord’s field.

The drinking feast after ploughing starts in Solmonth, is again recorded in Saxon law as a reward for work.

The Corn Dolly

Goddess Nerthus, out of her womb born,

Goddess Frigg became, the Queen of the Corn.

Cared for and nurtured, by Wuldorfador,

Plentiful abundance, for winter’s store.

Standing tall and straight, we do thee adore,

Sudden end with sharp blade, as if to war.

Thine neck wilt be cut, with greatest of care,

Thine spirit set free, by he who doth dare.

With his flying scythe, falling to the ground,

Into three sheaves, to be twisted and bound.

Preserving the spirit, of summers corn,

To be reborn again, we shalt not mourn.

The Corn Queen’s spirit, now safely preserved,

First loaf of bread, in the rigs to be served.

The first day of harvest, feast and wassail,

To the Harvest Queen, let us now drink hail.

Revered through the long, winter months of gloom,

Looking and guarding, over spinning loom.

In the New Year’s soil, thee wilt be reborn,

Our offering to, a new crop of corn.

We fashion thee into, a small Sol Cake,

To keep thine life whole, we wilt not thee bake.

Into the mud, we return thee to Earth,

Dolly a symbol, of goddess rebirth.

The dollies power, to be now released,

After so much ploughing, the drinking feast.

Much ale to be drunk, this Sol Monath day,

Tomorrow we plough, but tonight we play.

Hail to thee Nerthus, Earth Mother of men,

Five blades for thine head, and thine fingerers ten.

Filled with ample rations, to bring us grace,

Be fruitful in, Wuldorfador’s embrace.

Copyright Andrew Rea 2009

Lughnasadh

Introduction

This is one of my first poems and was written specifically for a Druid Lughnasadh (Lammas) ritual and has since also been used at Wiccan and Unitarian rituals.

Lughnasadh

Loaf mass tide, the harvest reap,

The Corn king he is dead.

Feast of plenty among the rigs,

Give thanks the Corn king’s bread.

Lammas tide, we’ll drink a toast,

To the dolly, the spirit of the corn.

Gather the grain to make the loaf,

John Barleycorn shall be reborn.

Copyright Andrew Rea Lughnasadh 2006

The Sceadugengan

Introduction

From Beowulf line 702: 'Com on wanre niht scriðan sceadugenga'.

In the colourless (wan) night came gliding (or creeping) the shadow goer (or shadow walker).

This passage from Beowulf refers to the monster Grendel.

Sceadugengan or "shadow-goer", (pronounced: shay-ah duh gen-ghan) (Singular: Sceadugenga), from Old English sceaduwe (shadow) and gan (to go).

Other extracts from Beowulf:

Line 159 …..but the retch was persecuting

The dark death shade warriors old and young;

He lay in wait and set snares, in the endless night he held

The misty moors; men may say not

where the haunts of these Hell-Runes be.

Thus many offences that foe of mankind,

That terrible lone traveler…

649 ….and darkening night all over,

Shadow-helm’s shapes came slivering,

Black beneath the skies.

710 He came from the moor, under hills of mist.

The Sceadugengan

Came shadows through grey night striding,

Through the dark wood forest gliding,

Formless shapes their outline hiding,

Silent Sceadugenga.

What manor of beast alive or dead,

They dwell in forests of dark dread,

On brave shield maidens be they fed,

The swift Sceadugenga.

On shadow dark gloomy grey nights,

Without a form these beastly wights,

Going about their silent rites,

Elf or Sceadugenga.

But who hast seen them in the face,

Or chasing prey at their fast pace,

Or at their nest in their full grace,

The Sceadugengan.

Only brave men with charms showing,

On their tunics pouches sowing,

Spells and galdors to their knowing,

Risk the Sceadugenga.

Distant sounds of branches snapping,

Pitter patter stealthily tapping,

Slowly with thine spirit sapping,

Go the sceadugengan.

Who dares to go at dark of moon,

With shadows shifting into doom,

Guarded with that sacred rune,

The spell casting genga.

Swiftly moving gliding shadows,

Speeding faster than thine arrows,

Seeking the unguarded hallows,

Spector Sceadudenga.

In shadows spirits come and go,

Hel's cold dark demons from below,

As they do reap so shall they sow,

Come sceadugengan.

At deepest dark of night they meet,

Beware that thee do not them greet,

or thee may well become their meat,

Hungry sceadugengan.

Copyright Andrew Rea July 2014

T'Rowan Poem (or Oh eck I'm on' t'moors bah tat)

Background folklore:
In Yorkshire, the second of May was called ‘Witchwood(rowan) Day’, when rowan pieces were taken and fixed over the door, for the head of the bed and so on. They must be cut with a household knife from a tree the cutter had never seen before. It must be taken home by a different route from the one taken to get there.

A branch of rowan in the bed prevented the occupant from being hag ridden [i.e. having nightmares caused by the Night Hag] while a piece placed on the pillow kept both evil spirits and witches away.

This poem attempts to portray the antics of a Yorkshire man, of no fixed intelligence, attempt to use this tree to rid him of his nightmares.

Useful expressions:Bah tat - without hat

Pop me clogs - die
Lass - wife
Go, t' foot of stairs - be surprised
A|fooar - before
To ride bear-arsed t'brat-fud on that - a knife or chisel that is very blunt
Fell, beck an dale - moor, stream and hill
O-erm - home
Befuddled - confused
By t'rack o'th'eye - without the use of a measure
N'matter - no difference
Tak - take
Any road up - in any case
Nowt but spit an glue - not very well made
Neither nowt nor summat - neither nothing nor something, ie it's useless.

T'Rowan Poem  (or Oh eck I'm on' t'moors bah tat)

I had nightmares, about an old nag,

After so many nights, being ridden by ’hag.

I were barely middlin, and gone t'dogs,

And were feeling that, I might pop me clogs.

Now I've herd that, a branch o’ rowan tree,

In’t bed will keep nightmares, away from thee.

Lass she'll go, t' foot of stairs wi dogs!

If owt like, will stop me popping me clogs.

Now t’ second of May, be Witchwood Day,

So I gang t'fetch rowan, feeling bit gay.

Then I gang down t’ gate, feeling bit pore,

T' get a knife, I ad’nt seen afooar.

Well I went t’ Jack, an ee gave me one,

A knife that is! It were all blunt an done.

I could ride bear-arsed t'brat-fud on that,

But Jack ee ses nowt, ee just grinned an sat.

Nah then I'm oft t'fells, t'find 'rowan tree,

So oft I gang, t'cut branches three.

Oft I gang over, t'fell, beck an dale,

If ever I get o-erm, I'll tell thee a tail.

  

A proper witchwood, growing from out 'rock.

By 'eck, it were champion, proud as a... thingy in't front.

Wi blunt knife in't and, I climbed up quite high,

I cut two fine twigs, by t'rack o'th'eye.

I bound twigs wi care, wi red thread t' form 'cross,

Of right equal length, then in't bag did toss.

Wi spare twig f 'bed, I must be mad as 'hatter,

It were same length, near as makes n'matter.

Well it's important, to tak new path o-erm,

But I only knew, one way back t'roam.

So I spun round, an went t'way I faced,

Befuddled wi hast, in't fells I raced.

Six hour later, I found village again,

Arf o which I were, trudging in't rain.

Lass she told me that, I must be insane,

And any road up, it were all in vain.

But over 'door I laid, witchwood cross t'rest,

When me lass saw it, she were well impressed.

"It looks nowt but spit an glue" ses she. Oh!

"It’s neither nowt nor summat y know"! Oh!

Thought t' give er ride, on 'white handled knife,

Bear-arsed t'brat-fud an back, but feeling rife.

I put spare sprig on, er pillow at 'head,

Perhaps t'night, I won't ave hag in't bed.

Copyright Andrew Rea Litha 2014

Through the Ash Tree

Introduction

This poem expands on the traditional belief that the ash tree has healing and strengthening powers. Ash sap was given to babies to make them strong and a sick baby could be passed three times deosil (clockwise) through a split ash sapling. The sapling was then bound up and if it went on to grow strong then so would the child. Country folk therefore often had their own carefully guarded ash tree.

I have chosen to set the event at the break of dawn as liminal moments were thought to have the strongest magical power and also the symbolic association between a new life and dawn.

Middengeard was one of the nine worlds, the one where people lived.

Leechcraft from leech (physician) referred to a healers craft. A galdor was a charm or spell which was sung, often to accompany a herbal remedy or other healing practice.

The name Aelfric derives from elf and power, so denotes someone with the power of an elf.

Through the Ash Tree

In dead of dark night, before break of dawn,

Into the wild wood, past tall bearded corn.

Along the deep track, by the brook babbling,

Three times deosil, through split ash sapling.

Upon a moist morn, soft chanting like bard,

In realm of spirit, misty Middangeard.

Black birds are about, conjuring the dawn,

With knife in her hand, and her first babe born.

Small leaves on trees, didst quiver and shiver,

Lifting her eyes looking, hither and thither.

She cut with great care, that it not wither,

The ash on the bank, to side of the river.

She uses this leechcraft, so he be full hale,

Passed down from before, it wilt never fail.

She passed the babe though, split tree three times round,

This galdor she sung, was no common sound.

Crowned with fairy cowl, was his lucky head,

Last laying him down, on a mossy bed.

With magical craft, enchanted is he,

Elfin power in name, Aelfric to be.

In height of summer, sunshine wilt burn bright,

Spell crafting by singing from darkest night.

As still morning mist, did it slowly fade,

Finally the spell, was solemnly laid.

Copyright Andrew Rea May 2014

A charm against dweorh

Introduction

This is a simple poetic rending of the Spider Spell to banish a dwarf from With Dweorgh II (Against a Dwarf II) from the Lacnunga manuscript. (see also Charming a Dwarf July 2013 and for a full discussion the introduction to Charming a Dwarf also posted in July 2013.
The charm begins with the building of an amulet made of wafers. When hanging the amulet, you must sing a Spider spell charm.                      

Here cometh hither, a creature stalked past,
Had his bridle held tight, in his hand fast,

He said that thee beest, his own mare,
He laid for thee, his bond on thine neck there,

They beganeth, from the land to moveth,
As quickly as from the land, they cameth,

Then thine limbs, beganeth to suffer cold,
Then came stalking, the fever's sister bold,

She sworeth the oaths, and maketh an end,

Never this to the sick one, doth thee unmend,

Nor the one who, this charm might implore,
Or who kneweth how, to sing this galdor.

So mote it be.

A-Maying

Introduction

This poem explores the practice of gathering a basket of flowers on the morning of May Day  in the villages. A practice that was common up until Victorian times.

A-Maying

Young ladies to, celebrate The May,

Out early morn, finding a bouquet.

Their families' homes. to soon adorn,

Gathering May baskets, in the corn.

Young wenches with, young lads doth play,

And laugh and court, in meadows stray.

On a warm and sunny, spring day such deeds,

May simply be guessed, among the meads.

In every bush, a song be’est made,

The landscapes beauty, is now laid.

In some secrete place, within the field,

Young men and maidens, willingly yield.

Oft ten maiden, who went to the May,

Nine returned home, with infant that day.

Its best be said: ‘courtship bed and wed’,

Else ‘grass widows’ women, be thee instead.

In every marriage, it be’est said,

In Avalon’s fields, bed precedes wed.

Love poems, to mistresses be writ,

Before to wenches, they doth commit.

Copyright Andrew Rea 2008