How the blog works

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 15 March 2014

An attempt at recreating an Anglo-Saxon Pagan charm against stomach sickness



The recreated Pagan charm against stomach sickness:
I swear to Wodan, our Drychten, who cured the horse of Baldr. The Scucca that causes such bad pain in thy stomach, that is the source of health of thine servants. In thy holy name, give healing to (Insert name).
So mote it be.
(See notes below)
Basis of the charm written in a margin of an Anglo-Saxon document:

With magan seocnesse. (MS. C.G.C. 41, p. 346, margin).

Adiurer (Adiuua) nos deus salutaris noster exclude angelum
lanielum malum qui stomachum dolorem stomachi facit
sed in dormielo sancto angelo tuo sanitatem serui tui
in tuo sancto nomine sanationem ad ad tribuere
per.

Translation
Against stomach sickness

I swear to God, our Saviour, who shut out the evil angel
Lanielum (the) wicked, stomach pain in his stomach that makes
but the health of thine servants. Thine holy angel Dormielo
in thy holy name, give healing to (Insert name).
so mote it be.
Likely original of the note, from a similar note, in the margin of Bede (volume given by Leofric to Exeter P326)

Adiuua nos deus salutaris noster exclude angelum sanielem (should read Lanielum) angelum malum qui stomachum dolorem stomachi facit sed in dormielo sancto angelo tuo sanitatem serui tui in tuo sancto nomine sanatione(m) ad ad tribuere. per”

Translation
Help us God, our Saviour, who shut out the evil angel Lanielum
(The) wicked angel, who makes the stomach pain in his stomach, but the Holy Angel Dormielo your health to give to your servant in your holy name of healing. by

Notes to the recreated charm
Drychten is the Old English (OE) for lord.
Baldr was a son of Wodan and a god of light. He is mentioned in one of the two Merseburg Incantations (C9/10) where he rode into a wood with Phol (Baldr). There Balder's horse was injured, and Wodan, with goddesses, cured the horse with charms.

Goblins or demons in OE these were known as scucca. The OE word scucca has lent itself to a number of fantastic beasts across our landscape the most famous of which is possibly Black Shuck, an East Anglian demon dog.

Saturday 1 March 2014

A charm of protection

Introduction

This Anglo-Saxon charm of protection was written as a note in a margin.  It has a beauty of its own. I have had some fun with it sweeping out references to the new religion and replacing them with reference to the old! Note: Drychten was the OE word for lord and here is a reference to Wodan.

Fly leaf Leechdoms  (MS. C.C.C. 41, p. 400 margin).
A charm of protection

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 helmet,
boar 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.            

Tuesday 25 February 2014

Four Angels

This poem draws on Enochian traditions and of course the Book of Enoch.

Four Angels

Angel Raphael, with thine bright blade,
Before me stand, become my aid,
Seraph spirit, make our wounds fade,
Lord of pure peace, the wise one Say'ed,
Help healing RA-PHA-EL.
Thee art above, minds of men,
Will all the wounds, of children stem,
Dark diseases, banish again,
Here to keep us w'ell.

Angel Gabriel, chalice in hand,
From drakes and snakes, protect the land,
Over Cherubs, chubby bright band,
Above Eden's, shores of soft sand,
Give guidance GA-BRI-EL.
Set over all, other powers,
Thee third angel, of the small hours,
Stand behind me, guard the towers,
Enochian an'gel.

Angel Michael, with thine red wand,
On my right side, from far beyond,
Big bright blue moon, in starry pond,
Teach me the truth, I pledge my bond,
Speak thy name MI-CHA-El.
Michael show me, thy hidden name,
Crystals of fire, cauldron of flame,
From all the stars, light lumens came,
Lend loving light to Hel.

Angel Uriel, with pentagram,
Left hand angel, of Abraham,
Over the world, over the lamb,
Chief of thine flock, like lord of ram,
Real angel AU-RI-EL.
Guide me show me, all of the law,
Beyond, behind, thine formless door,
The Moon and Sun, their motions saw,
Measuring time's sp'ell.


Copyright Andrew Rea February 2014

Saturday 15 February 2014

Londinium

Introduction
This poem reflects on the effect of the Roman legions leaving Britain, taking with them also most of the weaponry and some of our young men (prospects in the Roman army were often seen as better than staying, given the certain threat of multiple invasions).
The populous then set about smashing the Roman gods and destroying the fine buildings, even those with central heating! The Roman buildings seemed to hold a certain foreboding so London was moved to the west and the old city became a kind of ghost town.

Some examples of this assocition:
In Yorkshire; Grimescar wood (meaning spectre’s skerry) is the site of a Roman settlement - as yet still unexcavated.
In Hertfordshire; Puckeridge (pooker ridge) grew on the site of the Roman town Ad Fines which had a temple to Minerva.

I speculate that some magical rites of cleansing would have been performed after their departure possibly by the Romano Celts and shortly later by the Saxon invaders. 
Flowing Isis refers to the Thames. 
Glædmód means happiness 

Londinium

Romans retreated, with all our war gear,
Saxons left city, they fled out of fear.
With belligerent force, was Albion blighted,
Strange foreign gods, were not invited.

Smash the old gods and, drown them in water,
In case they return, and bring us slaughter.
Break down brick buildings, and cleanse with fierce fire,
Westward of Walbrook, its safe to retire.

Across flowing Isis, no longer a road,
No soul now dares go, to this grim abode.
Shadow of spirits, doth Saxons unnerve,
Hypocaust heating, just spectre to serve.

Strange eerie still sights, seen in spectral town,
Spell casting wizard, in long flowing gown.
Cast spells to banish, evil oppressor,
Twilight spells sung at, foreign aggressor.

Be gone ye Romans, return to thy kin,
To darkest Helheim, return thee within.
Be gone malignance, thy powers recede,
We cast ye hence forth, with songal of seed.

By sacred power, of the old stone god,
We banish ye spirits, with flaming rod.
No sinister war spears, for ye to spin,
Out ye dammed spirits, dwell not ye herein.

With runes in the air, oaken rod to write,
Ese of Albion, we doth ye invite.
We write magic runes, with fire and smoke,
Wodan of Wild Hunt, we doth thee invoke.

We conjure thine spirit, with sacred chant,
Invoke runic spells, thine help us to grant.
In glædmód we wassail, thy sacred rite,
Spell casting by singing, into the night.


Copyright Andrew Rea May 2013

Sunday 9 February 2014

Leechbook III LXII - 1, 2 and 3 Against Aelfadle

Three charms found in Leechbook III all against a sickness caused by elves (aelfadle). I have simply replaced certain references to former Christian inclusions, the green bits. The translated original text is included at the end for reference.

The Paganised reconstruction:

Leechbook III LXII - 1 Against aelfadle 
Against aelfadle; take bishopwort, fennel, lupin,
the lower part of enchanters nightshade, and moss or
lichen from an earth fast stone and incense,
of each a hand full; bind all the worts in a cloth, dip
it thrice in hallowed water, have sung over
it three galdors. Then
put gledes in a glede pan, and lay the worts on: reek
the man with the worts before nine in the morning,
and at night, and sing three galdors and write a rune on each of
his limbs, and take a little hand full of worts of the
same kind similarly hallowed, and boil in milk, drop
thrice some hallowed water into it, and let him sip of it
before his meat; it will soon be well with him.

Leechbook III LXII – 2
For that ilk. Go on Thursday evening, when the sun is
set, where thou knowest that helenium stands, then
sing the " three galdors,
and stick thy knife into the wort, make it stick
fast, and go away: go again, when day and night just
divide (In early morning) at the same period go first to the grove and
and commend thyself to thy God; then go in
silence, and though anything soever of an awful sort or
man a meet thee, say not thou to him any word, ere
thou come to the wort, which on the evening before
thou markedst; then sing the three galdors, delve up the wort, let the knife
stick in it; go again as quick as thou art able to
the grove, and lay it under the altar with the knife; let
it lie till the sun be up, wash it afterwards, and
make into a drink, and bishopwort, and lichen off an earth fast stone;
boil in milk thrice, thrice pour holy water
upon it, and sing over it the three galdors plus one,
and score with a sword round about it on three
sides a rune, and then after that let the man drink
the wort; soon will it be well with him.

Leechbook III LXII – 3
Again for that; lay these worts under the altar, have nine galdors
sung over them, incense, holy salt, three heads of
cropleek, the netherward part of enchanters nightshade,
helenium; take in the morning a cup full of milk,
drop thrice some holy water into it, let the man sup
it up as hot as he can: let him eat therewith three
bits of enchanters nightshade, and when he hath a
mind to rest, let him have in his chamber coles, let
him lay on the στνραξ (Styrax - used as incense) and elfthone, and reek
him therewith till he sweat, and reek the house all
through; earnestly also sign the man a rune
and when he is going to bed, let him eat
three bits of helenium, and three of cropleek, and three
of salt, and let him have a cup full of ale, and thrice
drop holy water into it; let him sup up each bit, and
afterwards rest himself. Let him do this for nine
mornings and nine nights, it will soon be well with

him. 

The Christianised version:

Leechbook III P345 LXII -1
Against elf disease; take bishopwort, fennel, lupin,
the lower part of enchanters nightshade, and moss or
lichen from the hallowed sign of Christ, and incense,
of each a hand full ; bind all the worts in a cloth, dip
it thrice in hallowed font water, have sung over
it three masses, one "Omnibus Sanctis,"  another
"Contra tribulationem," 2 a third "Pro infirmis" Then
put coles in a cole pan, and lay the worts on: reek
the man with the worts before nine in the morning,
and at night, and sing a litany, and the credo, and
the Pater noster, and write Christs mark on each of
his limbs, and take a little hand full of worts of the
same kind similarly hallowed, and boil in milk, drop
thrice some hallowed water into it, and let him sip of it
before his meat; it will soon be well with him.

Leechbook III LXII - 2
For that ilk. Go on Thursday evening, when the sun is
set, where thou knowest that helenium stands, then
sing the " Benedicite," and " Pater noster," and a litany,
and stick thy knife into the wort, make it stick
fast, and go away: go again, when day and night just
divide (In early morning) at the same period go first to church and
cross thyself, and commend thyself to God; then go in
silence, and though anything soever of an awful sort or
man a meet thee, say not thou to him any word, ere
thou come to the wort, which on the evening before
thou markedst; then sing the Benedicite, and the Pater
noster, and a litany, delve up the wort, let the knife
stick in it; go again as quick as thou art able to
church, and lay it under the altar with the knife; let
it lie till the sun be up, wash it afterwards, and
make into a drink, and bishopwort, and lichen off a
crucifix; boil in milk thrice, thrice pour holy water
upon it, and sing over it the Paternoster, the Credo,
and the Gloria in excelsis deo; (Luke ii 14) and sing upon it a
litany, and score with a sword round about it on three
sides a cross, and then after that let the man drink
the wort; soon will it be well with him.

Leechbook III LXII – 3
Again for that; lay these worts under the altar, have nine masses
sung over them, incense, holy salt, three heads of
cropleek, the netherward part of enchanters nightshade,
helenium; take in the morning a cup full of milk,
drop thrice some holy water into it, let the man sup
it up as hot as he can: let him eat therewith three
bits of enchanters nightshade, and when he hath a
mind to rest, let him have in his chamber gledes, let
him lay on the coles στνραξ (Styrax - used as incense) and elfthone, and reek
him therewith till he sweat, and reek the house all
throug; earnestly also sign the man with the sign of
the cross, and when he is going to bed, let him eat
three bits of helenium, and three of cropleek, and three
of salt, and let him have a cup full of ale, and thrice
drop holy water into it; let him sup up each bit, and
afterwards rest himself. Let him do this for nine
mornings and nine nights, it will soon be well with
him. 

Saturday 1 February 2014

Ode to a Vegi Rissole

Introduction

On Burns Night it is a custom to read poems by the bard during the course of the dinner, it is not unknown for someone at the table to declare that they have recently found an unpublished lost poem from the bard. 

Well I recently discovered this going through my great uncle's things, who like me was a vegetarian. It was clearly penned by the bards hand and may remind you of another of his great poems. I shall leave you to ponder the implications.

Ode to a Vegi Rissole

Fair be thine honest merry face,
Great lord of the vegetable race,
Above them all you take your place,
Grated carrot, courgette and oats.
Well be thee worthy of a grace,
To sliver down our throats.

The groaning platter there thee fill,
Thine buttocks like a distant hill,
Thine spatula would repair a mill,
In time of need.
Thine juices emerge, what a thrill,
It is to see you bleed.

Thine knife be ready for the rite,
And cuts you up without a fight,
Digging into thine gushing insides bright,
Like any witch.
And then, oh what a glorious sight,
Warm, steaming, rich.

Then, with silver weapons they strive,
Devil take the last man, on they drive,
Until their swollen bellies arrive,
Are stretched like drums.
But now who’s belly wilt survive,
When the time comes.

There be that loose French Ragout,
Or soya that would sicken a sprout,
Or fricassee would make them shout,
This be no winner!
Looks down with a sneering scornful doubt,
On such a dinner.

Poor devil, see him over his blush,
As weak as a withered rush,
His spindle-shank reduced to mush
His clenched fist extremely split.
Through a bloody battle field to crush,
Oh how unfit.

But note the rissole fed St George,
fashioned in the vegan forge,
Clasped in his hefty fist to gorge
He'll make it whistle.
Its savoury innards to disgorge,
Like the tops of thistles.


Thee powers who make mankind your care,
And dish them out their bill o' fare,
Old England wants no watery ware,
That splashes in the bowl.
But if you wish her grateful prayer,
Gie her a vegi rissole!


Copyright Andrew Rea 2009