The Hymn of HÉLOÏSE

O Abélard, my Abélard,
Twelve summers have passed since first we kissed.
There is no love like that of a bard:
Who loves him lives in a golden mist!

Nor word of French nor Roman tongue,
But only Brezonek could I speak,
When round my lover’s neck I hung
And heard the harmony of the Greek,

The march of Latin, the joy of French,
The valiance of the Hebrew speech,
The while its thirst my soul did quench
In the love-lore that he did teach.

The bossed and bound Evangel’s tome
Is open to me as mine own soul,
But all the watered wine of Rome
Is weak beside the magic bowl.

The Mass I chant like any priest,
Can shrive the dying or bury the dead,
But dearer to me to raise the Beast
Or watch the gold in the furnace red.

The wolf, the serpent, the crow, the owl,
The demons of sea, of field, of flood,
I can run or fly in their forms so foul,
They come at my call from wave or wood.

I know a song that can raise the sea,
Can rouse the winds or shudder the earth,
Can darken the heavens terribly,
Can wake portents at a prince’s birth.

The first dark drug that ever we sipped
Was brewed from toad and the eye of crow,
Slain in a mead when the moon had slipped
From heav’n to the fetid fogs below.

I know a well as deep as death,
A gloom where I cull the frondent fern,
Whose seed with that of the golden heath
I mingle when mystic lore I’d learn.

I gathered in dusk nine measures of rye,
Nine measures again, and brewed the twain
In a silver pot, while fitfully
The starlight struggled through the rain.

I sought the serpent’s egg of power
In a dell hid low from the night and day:
It was shown to me in an awful hour
When the children of hell came out to play.

I have three spirits—seeming snakes;
The youngest is six score years young,
The second rose from the nether lakes,
And the third was once Duke Satan’s tongue.

The wild bird’s flesh is not their food,
No common umbles are their dole;
I nourish them well with infants’ blood,
Those precious vipers of my soul.

O Satan! Grant me three years still,
But three short years, my love and I,
To work thy fierce, mysterious will,
Then gladly shall we yield and die.

Héloïse, wicked heart, beware!
Think on the dreadful day of wrath,
Think on thy soul; forbear, forbear!
The way thou tak’st is that of death!

Thou craven priest, go, get thee hence!
No fear have I of fate so fell.
Go, suck the milk of innocence,
Leave me to quaff the wine of hell!

The Moon-lit Huntress of the grove, Diana

Although most commonly associated with the hunt, and the moon, the goddess Diana also makes herself known through the untouched wilderness and the wildlife that inhabit it.

A master bowman, she held off the many advances of persistent suitors as she preferred the solitude of the wild, with forest creatures as her preferred company.

Thought she often prefers sweet solitude, Diana would seek the companionship of woodland and water nymphs every now and then, such as her partner Egeris.

One of the most beloved myths involving Diana is told by Roman poet Ovid in his first century masterpiece the Metamorphoses:

The story is told of young Actaeon, a hunter who led his hounds into the woods pursuing a group of stags. The hunt was a success and the day hot, so Actaeon made his way to a cool spring in a clearing of the dense forest.

Diana was bathing in the cool spring waters, unaware that intruders were about to disrupt her wash.

Actaeon unwittingly spied Diana’s nude form in the waters. Clearly angered, startled, and embarrassed all at once, Diana turned toward her bow before thinking better of it and splashing Actaeon with water from the spring.

The splash was not in in jest or playful. The water was enchanted to transform Actaeon into a stag. The change was immediate, and Actaeon became less human and sprouted hair and horns, although he still retained his identity.

Actaeon’s hounds, still in high spirits from the previous hunt, set upon him as he fled as quickly as he could, but the pack was too quick for him and it was not long before they brought their master down.

In ancient times, Diana was worshipped at a festival called Nemoralia, or “the Festival of Torches”, celebrated annually on August 13.

After washing their hair and dressing it with flowers, Diana’s followers would proceed around Lake Nemi, also referred to as “Diana’s Mirror” with torches. The reflection from their torchlight joining the moon’s.

Still today, many Pagans celebrate Diana on August 13, where she is asked to protect the harvest from autumn storms.

Robert Wilhelm Ekman - Väinämöinen and Ilmarinen by the Giant Spruce

Walter Runeberg - Ilmarinen Forging the Moon

Lemminkäinen asks help from Ukko ylijumala with crossing the lake in fire on his route to Pohjolan häät.

Ivan Popyalof

Once upon a time there was an old couple,
and they had three sons.
Two of these had their wits about them,
but the third was a simpleton,
Ivan by name, surnamed Popyalof.

For twelve whole years Ivan lay
among the ashes from the stove;
but then he arose, and shook himself,
so that six pounds of ashes fell off from him.

Now in the land in which Ivan lived
there was never any day, but always night.
That was a Snake’s doing.
Well, Even undertook to kill that Snake,
so he said to his father,
“Father, make me a mace five pounds in weight.”

And when he had got the mace,
he went out into the fields and flung
it straight up in the air,
and then he went home.

The next day he went out into
the fields to the spot from which
he had flung the mace on high,
and stood there with his
head thrown back.
So when the mace fell down again
it hit him on the forehead.
And the mace broke in two.

Ivan went home and said to his father,
“Father, make me another mace,
a ten pound one.”
And when he had got it
he went out into the fields,
and flung it aloft.
And the mace went flying through
the air for three days and three nights.

On the fourth day Ivan went
out to the same spot,
and when the mace came
tumbling down, he put his knee
in the way, and the mace broke
over it into three pieces.

Ivan went home and told his father
to make him a third mace, one of
fifteen pounds weight.
And when he had got it, he went
out into the fields and flung it aloft.
And the mace was up in the air six days.

On the seventh Ivan went to the
same spot as before.
Down fell the mace,
and when it struck Ivan’s forehead,
the forehead bowed under it.
Thereupon he said,
“This mace will do for the snake!”

So when he had got everything ready,
he went forth with his brothers to
fight the Snake.
He rode and rode, and presently there
stood before him a hut on fowl’s legs,
and in that hut lived the Snake.

There all the party came to a standstill.
Then Ivan hung up his gloves, and said
to his brothers, “Should blood drop
from my gloves, make haste to help me.”
When he had said this he went into the hut
and sat down under the boarding.


Presently there rode up a Snake with three heads.
His steed stumbled, his hound howled,
his falcon clamored. Then cried the Snake:

“Wherefore hast thou stumbled, O Steed,
hast thou howled, O Hound,
hast thou clamored, O Falcon?”

“How can I but stumble,” replied the Steed,
“When under the boarding sits Ivan Popyalof?”

Then said the Snake,
“Come forth, Ivanushka,
Let us try our strength together.”
Ivan came forth, and they began to fight.
And Ivan killed the Snake, and then
sat down again beneath the boarding.

Presently there came another Snake,
a six-headed one, and him too Ivan killed.
And then there came a third, which had
twelve heads. Well, Ivan began to fight
with him, and lopped off nine of his heads.
The Snake had no strength left in him.
Just then a raven came flying by, and it croaked:

“Krof? Krof!”

Then the Snake cried to the Raven,
“Fly, and tell my wife to come
and devour Ivan Popyalof.”

But Ivan cried: “Fly, and tell my brothers to come,
and then we will kill this Snake,
and give his flesh to thee.”

And the Raven gave ear to what
Ivan said, and flew to his brothers
and began to croak above their heads.
The brothers awoke, and when they
heard the cry of the Raven, they hastened
to their brother’s aid.
And they killed the Snake, and then,
having taken his heads, they went into
his hut and destroyed them.
And immediately there was bright light
throughout the whole land.

After killing the Snake, Ivan Propyalof
and his brothers set off on their way home.
But he had forgotten to take away
his gloves, so he went back to fetch them,
telling his brothers to wait for him meanwhile.
Now when he had reached the hut
and was going to take away his gloves,
he heard the voices of the Snake’s wife
and daughters, who were talking with each other.
So he turned himself into a cat, and began
to mew outside the door. They let him in,
and he listened to everything they said.
Then he got his gloves and hastened away.

As soon as he came to where his brothers were,
he mounted his horse, and thy all started afresh.
They rode and rode; presently they saw before
them a green meadow, and on that meadow lay
silken cushions. Then the elder brothers said,
“Let’s turn out our horses to graze here,
while we rest ourselves a little.”

But Ivan said, “Wait a minute, brothers!”
And he seized his mace, and struck the cushions
with it. And out of those cushions there streamed blood.

So they all went on further.
They rode and rode; presently there stood
before them an apple-tree, and upon it were
gold and silver apples.
Then the elder brothers said,
“Let’s eat an apple apiece.”

But Ivan said, “Wait a minute, brothers;
I’ll try them first,” and he took his mace,
and struck the apple-tree with it.
And out of the tree streamed blood.

So they went on further. They rode and rode,
and by and by they saw a spring in front of them.
And the elder brothers cried, “Let’s have a
drink of water.” But Ivan Popyalof cried;
“Stop, brothers!” And he raised his mace
and struck the spring, and its waters became blood.

For the meadow, the silken cushions,
the apple-tree, and the spring, were all
of them daughters of the Snake.

After killing the Snake’s daughters,
Ivan and his brothers went on homewards.
Presently came the Snake’s Wife flying
after them, and she opened her jaws
from the sky to the earth,

and tried to swallow up Ivan.
But Ivan and his brothers threw
three pounds of salt into her mouth.

She swallowed the salt, thinking it
was Ivan Popyalof, but afterwards—when
she had tasted the salt, and found out
it was not Ivan—she flew after him again.

Then he perceived that danger was at hand,
and so he let his horse go free, and
hid himself behind twelve doors in
the forge of Kuzma and Demian.
The Snake’s Wife came flying up, and
said to Kuzma and Demian,
“Give me up Ivan Popyalof.”

But they replied:

“Send your tongue through the
twelve doors and take him.”
So the Snake’s Wife began licking
the doors.

But meanwhile they all heated iron pincers,
and as soon as she had sent her tongue
through into the smithy, they caught tight
hold of her by the tongue, and began
thumping her with hammers.

And when the Snake’s Wife was dead
they consumed her with fire, and scattered
her ashes to the winds.

And then they went home, and there they
lived and enjoyed themselves, feasting and
revealing, and drinking mead and wine.

I was there too, and had liquor to drink;
it didn’t go into my mouth, but only ran down my beard.

The Baba Yaga

Once upon a time there was an old couple.
The husband lost his wife and married again. But he had a daughter by the first marriage, a young girl, and she found no favor in the eyes of her evil step-mother, who used to beat her, and consider how she could get her killed outright. One day the father went away somewhere or other, so the stepmother said to the girl, “Go to your aunt, my sister, and ask her for a needle and thread to make you a shift.”

Now that aunt was a Baba Yaga. Well, the girl was no fool, so she went to a real aunt of hers first, and says she:

“Good morning, auntie!”
“Good morning, my dear! What have you come for?”
“Mother has sent me to her sister, to ask for a needle and thread to make me a shift.”

Then her aunt instructed her what to do. “There is a birch-tree there, niece, which would hit you in the eye—you must tie a ribbon round it; there are doors which would creak and bang—you must pour oil on their hinges; there are dogs which would tear you in pieces—you must throw them these rolls; there is a cat which would scratch your eyes out—you must give it a piece of bacon.”

So the girl went away, and walked and walked, till she came to the place. There stood a hut, and in it sat weaving the Baba Yaga, the Bony-Shanks.

“Good morning, auntie,” says the girl.
“Good morning, my dear,” replies the Baba Yaga.
“Mother has sent me to ask you for a needle and thread to make me a shift.”
“Very well; sit down and weave a little in the meantime.”

So the girl sat down behind the loom, and the Baba Yaga went outside, and said to her servant-maid:
“Go and heat the bath, and get my niece washed; and mind you look sharp after her. I want to breakfast off her.”

Well the girl sat there in such a fright that she was as much dead as alive. Presently she spoke imploringly to the servant-maid, saying:
“Kinswoman dear, do please wet the firewood instead of making it burn; and fetch the water for the bath in a sieve.”
And she made her a present of a handkerchief.

The Baba Yaga waited awhile; then she came to the window and asked;
‘Are you weaving, niece? Are you weaving, my dear?”
“Oh yes, dear aunt, I’m weaving.”
So the Baba Yaga went away again, and the girl gave the cat a piece of bacon, and asked:
“Is there no way of escaping from here?”
“Here’s a comb for you, and a towel,” said the cat; “Take them, and be off. The Baba Yaga will pursue you, but you must lay your ear on the ground, and when you hear that she is close at hand, first of all throw down the towel. It will become a wide, wide river."

And if the Baba Yaga gets across the river, and tries to catch you, then you must lay your ear on the ground again, and when you hear that she is close at hand, throw down the comb. It will become a dense, dense forest; through that she won’t be able to force her way anyhow.”

The girl took the towel and the comb and fled. The dogs would have rent her, but she threw them the rolls, and they let her go by; the doors would have begun to band, but she poured oil on their hinges, and they let her pass through; the birch-tree would have poked her eyes out, but she tied the ribbon around it, and it let her pass on. And the cat sat down to the loom, and worked away; muddled everything about, if it didn’t do much weaving.

Up came the Baba Yaga to the window, and asked: “Are you weaving, my dear?”
“I’m weaving, dear aunt, I’m weaving,” gruffly replied the cat.