On November 1st was Samhain,
Summer's end.
Take my tidings,
Stag's content,
Snow's descent,
Summer's end.
A chill-wind raging,
The sun low-keeping,
Swift to set,
Over seas high-sweeping,
Dull red the fern,
Shapes are shadows,
Wild geese moan,
Over misty meadows,
Keen god-limes each weaker wing,
Icy times,
Such I sing,
Take my tidings.
From first winter's song.
Flocks were driven in,
And men first had leisure after harvest toil.
Fires were built as thanksgiving to Baal for harvest.
The old fire on the altar was quenched before the night of October 31st,
And the new one made,
As were all sacred fires,
By friction.
It was called forced fire.
A wheel and spindle were used.
The wheel,
The sun symbol,
Was turned from east to west sun-wise.
The sparks were caught in tau,
Placed upon the altar,
And were passed on to light hilltop fires.
The new fire was given next morning,
New Year's Day,
By the priests,
To the people to light their hearts.
Herds,
Where all fires had been extinguished,
Their blessed fire was thought to protect the year.
Through the home it warmed.
In Ireland the altar was Tlatca,
Or the eel of ward in meat,
Where sacrifices,
Especially black sheep,
Were buried in the new fire.
From the dead struggles and look of the creatures,
Omens for the future year were taken.
The year was over,
And the sun's life of year was done.
Celts thought that at this time the sun fell a victim for six months to the powers of winter darkness.
In Egyptian mythology,
One of the sun gods,
Osiris,
Was slain at the banquet by his brother Situ,
The god of darkness.
On the anniversary of the murder,
The first day of winter,
No Egyptian would begin any new business for fear of bad luck,
Since the spirit of evil was then in power.
From the idea that the sun suffered from his enemies on this day grew the association of Samhain with death.
The melancholy days are come,
The saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds and naked woods and meadow-browns and seer.
Heaped in the hollows of the grove,
The withered leaves lie dead.
They rustled the eddying gust and the rabbit's tread.
The robin and the wren are flown,
And from the shrub the jay,
And from the wood top calls the crow,
Through all the gloomy day.
The winter flower and the violet,
They perished long ago,
And the wild rose and the orchids died amid the summer glow.
But on the hill the golden rod,
And the ester in the wood,
And the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn beauty stood,
Till fell the frost from the cold clear heaven,
As falls the plague on men,
And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland glade and glen.
From Bryant,
Dead of the flowers.
In the same state as those who are dead,
Are those who have never lived,
Dwelling right in the world,
But invisible to most mortals,
At most times.
Seers could see them at any time,
And if very many were abroad at once,
Others might get the chance to watch them too.
There is a world in which we dwell,
And yet a world invisible,
And do not think that naught can be,
Save only what with eyes you see.
I tell ye that,
This very hour,
Had but your sights a spirit's power,
Ye would be looking eye to eye at a terrific company.
These supernatural spirits root the dead.
There were two classes,
The Tuatha de Danann,
The people of the goddess Danu,
Gods of light and life,
And spirits of darkness and evil.
Tuatha brought under their power the islands about them.
On a midsummer day they vanquished the fear-bulks,
And gained most of Ireland by the battle of Moitura.
A long time afterwards,
Perhaps,
Thousand B.
C.
,
The former sea-demons,
After destroying nearly all their enemies by plagues,
Exacted from those remaining as tribute,
A third part of their corn,
A third part of their milk,
And a third part of their children.
This tax was paid on Samhain.
It was on the week before Samhain that the former landed upon Ireland.
On the eve of Samhain,
The gods met them in the second battle of Moitura,
And they were driven back into the ocean.
As Deacon Mas,
A mythical king of Ireland,
Was sacrificing the firstling of every issue,
And the shields of every clan,
Grom Kroik,
The king's idol,
And lay prostrate before the image,
He and three-fourths of his men mysteriously disappeared.
Then came Tegermas,
The prince of Tar-Yondar.
On Halloween with many hosts,
A cause of grief to them was the deed,
Dead were the men of Bamba's host,
Without happy strength,
Around Tegermas,
The destructive man of the north.
This was direct invocation,
But the fire rites which were continued so long afterwards,
Were really only worshipping the sun,
By proxy in its nearest likeness,
Fire.
Samhain was then a day sacred to the death of the sun,
On which had been paid a sacrifice of death to evil powers.
Though overcame at Moitura,
Evil was ascended at Samhain.
Methods of finding out the will of spirits,
And the future naturally worked better then.
Charms and invocations had more power,
For the spirits were near to help,
If care was taken not to anger them,
And due honours paid.
The Tree Samhain.
On November 1st was Samhain,
Summer's end.
Take my tidings,
Stag's content,
Snow's descent,
Summer's end.
A chill-wind raging,
The sun low-keeping,
Swift to set,
Over seas high-sweeping,
Dull red the fern,
Shapes are shadows,
Wild geese moan,
Over misty meadows,
Keen god-limes each week o'wing,
Icy times,
Such I sing,
Take my tidings.
From first winter's song.
Flocks were driven in,
And men first had leisure after harvest toil,
Fires were built as thanksgiving to Baal for harvest,
The old fire on the altar was quenched before the night of October 31st,
And the new one made,
As were all sacred fires,
By friction.
It was called forced fire,
The wheel and spindle were used,
The wheel,
The sun-symbol was turned from east to west sun-wise,
The sparks were caught in tau,
Placed upon the altar,
And were passed on to light hilltop fires.
The new fire was given next morning,
New Year's Day,
By the priests,
To the people to light their hearts.
Herds,
Where all fires had been extinguished,
Their blessed fire was thought to protect the year.
Through the home it warmed.
In Ireland the altar was Tlatca,
Or the eel of ward in meat,
Where sacrifices,
Especially black sheep,
Were buried in the new fire.
From the dead struggles and look of the creatures,
Omens for the future year were taken.
The year was over and the sun's life of year was done.
The Celts thought that at this time the sun fell a victim for six months to the powers of winter darkness.
In Egyptian mythology one of the sun-gods,
Osiris,
Was slain at the banquet by his brother Situ,
The god of darkness.
On the anniversary of the murder,
The first day of winter,
No Egyptian would begin any new business for fear of bad luck,
Since the spirit of evil was then in power.
From the idea that the sun suffered from his enemies on this day grew the association of Samhain with death.
The melancholy days are come,
The saddest of the year,
Of wailing winds and naked woods and meadow browns and seer.
Heaped in the hollows of the grove,
The withered leaves lie dead.
They rustled the edding gust and the rabbit's tread.
The robin and the wren are flown,
And from the shrub the jay,
And from the wood top calls the crow,
Through all the gloomy day.
The winter flower and the violet,
They perished long ago,
And the wild rose and the orchids died amid the summer glow.
But on the hill the golden rod,
And the ester in the wood,
And the yellow sunflower by the brook in autumn beauty stood,
Till fell the frost from the cold clear heaven,
As falls the plague on men,
And the brightness of their smile was gone from upland glade and glen,
From bryant dead of the flowers.
In the same state as those who are dead are those who have never lived,
Dwelling right in the world,
But invisible to most mortals,
At most times.
Seers could see them at any time,
And if very many were abroad at once,
Others might get a chance to watch them too.
The end.
Thank you for listening.
