The Hunters Night (Heathen Yule tale)

Late is my departure from this station far afield-

I know too well the night upon I ride-

hooves through ice rip on moor and heath-

the cold night air cuts my face like the sword of winter-

my mistake now inflight hard born to the back of my horse-

the moonlit frozen fields giving solace-

before me swelling in black the holt awaited my ill fated journey-

the closing in of the night sky I know who rides on mist and moonlit ray-

Herne with hound, Woden Shinning Eye-

my faithful gold comb holds the line-

blackened oaks reach for heaven as if clutching hands from the mound-

the narrowing path closing in alas, the oak gate is in site-

the flickering of Elven eyes behind each stone and post betray my flight-

I have drawn the gaze of those unseen in this midwinter charge to home-

merry I made too well and left my host to late to escape the swelling night-

there it it is the gate of the wood-

reigns taut and pace held fast as the cover of oaks break-

a swell of mist has taken the moor, the wind has grown restless-

the path now obscured still bearing hard, a visage doom in the mist grim and unmoving-

upon a ghostly steed the figure stood, a hunter with hat and cloak in grey-

my horse stopped cold as if by unseen reigns, my personage thrown thusly to the earth-

my wits shattered with the doom of my situation-

the hunter now dismounted towards me moves like an eagle to prey, I fail to stand awaiting the cursed spear-

The figure spoke: Know I do you traveler? brave dumb or both is any man in want to wander on such a night-

I lay speechless, The figure spoke: Stand up now son of men. The figure put forth his hand ghostly white in the light of the moon-

In my state I grasped the hand and was pulled to my feet-

The hunters face obscured but for a glint of his one eye-

he returned to his horse procuring a flagon-

The figure spoke: Of this drink take for all chill should leave you traveler-

I drank from the vessel a brew of strange import, my eyes saw, ears heard and of sudden importance could see as if daylight shown-

The Figure spoke: Take to your mount traveler, us to join you are required-

My eyes now gleaming from the brew could see the hunters and hounds in a host of ghostly fury all around me-

To my horse I took, the hunter with spear outreached touched my horses reigns and as if by the haunting ring of that iron doom myself and horse became as the host-

The figure Spoke: Ride hard son of men, cut the sky and moonlit night , the souls await our roaring host-

Ride I did with the host, a booming throng, from the lands bellow came men of ancient times each brought up into the host-

a fleet ghostly horse given until the host could hold no more-

over town and wood we rode bringing the departed Wigenda to our fray-

My mind was lost, sight blurred as the fury rolled-

Awakened by my horse under an oak with still clinging to green, old gold comb you are still in good standing-

I looked upon myself to see if mortal wound had befell me but Lowe to my hands did find ingots of gold-

among the gleaming bits a strange addition did I find, an amulet of a mask with horns becoming birds, it shown blue as if fired from within-

my journey of which could never be told to another I kept at heart-

on the witching night of those old fires, of that old Winterfylleth tide the amulet would begin to ring and glow until the Yule had passed-

To the holt I returned some winter eves but to only hear the din Woden Shinning Eye passing with his furious hunters in the ghostly mist.

Fin-

obviously by influenced other poems, myths and folklore but In my own words.

Copyright 2020 COS.

Glæd Ġēol

Hroðbeorht-

December 24, 2020 | Categories: Ancient Northern Europe, Ancient Scandinavia, Anglo Saxon Frisian, Anglo Saxon Runes, Anglo-Norda, Axe Culture, ænglisc, Celtic culture, denmark, Eald Englisc, English Runes, European Culture, Frisian, Futhorc/Futhark/Futhork, Knife making-Blacksmithing, Middle English, nature, Norð Sea, Norse Culture, North Sea Coast, North Sea Germanic Jutland, Old English, old norse, Proto Germanic Language, runes, vendel era, West Germanic Language | Tags: Anglo Frisian, anglo frisian runes, anglo saxon, Anglo Saxon Frisian, anglo saxon poetry, Anglo Saxon Runes, anglo saxon words, asatru, asatruar, geol, herne the hunter, hunters night, Jul, modern anglo saxon poetry, pagan, pagan host, wild host, wild hunt, yUle, yule time, Yule Wild Hunt, yuletide | Leave a comment