Ēole

Moonfed this moss, sky-torched our trail a soothspell of caves, at season's end we seek you
For we are all Pagan, children of cinder eaters of seed, walkers of wheels.

Now stir earth with eve-light, rebirth spun by song
Step soft into the cave, with the gifts we once gave
For we are all Pagan, reavers of winter reapers of rite, sowers of spring.

Hear us! Hear us! Hear us! Hear us! Hretha!

Blood burns like balefire, a torch tapped from palms
For a year spring lived in our veins, till end meets beginning again.

Moonfed this moss, sky-torched our trail a soothspell of caves, at season's end we seek you
For we are all Pagan, children of cinder eaters of seed, walkers of wheels.

Hretha!

Hands hilled with the bones of her last meal mouth open for the first.
Squeeze palm-weeping upon her tongue/grant goddess the grave-gift.

Her teeth ruddy her teeth ruddy her teeth ruddy with our red
Elkling calf with green eyes, she holds its sapling stare
She nurses it on snow-nectar, our palm-blood from her breast
Bone to bloom, fast to feast bone to bloom, fast to feast.

Séo eftborenu gydenu ástýraþ of hire hrúse-hreðer
Læfað wæccendeu héo æt hire fót-galdor
Þa treowu scíedeaþ hire snáw-scinn
Þa bán-mónþas beoð fullpungenan.

Rén-snaca, hire blód yðgaþ swá swá se tagl-etere forgnægeþ
Eorðmægen, swá swá þæt holmmægen hwileð
Tó foldan tumbað, þæm tó wolcne astigeþ.

In spring, she seeks pastures for her elkling
Fiddlehead and field for fodder berries, bones and birch bark.

Rén-snaca, hire blód yðgaþ...

At summer's end, foothills and forests/the elkling feasts upon mist
Autumn comes/two months of blood in a smoky hall
A meat-gorge before the end/elk-bones at her feet.

Þa se Geóla þa se forst þa þá giclas
And hire slæpig andwlita biþ freórig eolhblóde
Wé híe bringaþ tó þæm cofan.