Classic Poem

(For a sudden stitch: feverfew, and the red nettle that grows into the house, and plantain; boil in butter.)

Loud were they, loud, as they rode o'er the hill;
Fierce was their mood as they rode through the land;
Shield thee now and be healed of this hurt;
Out little spear, if in here it be!
I lifted up linden, my shining shield,
When the mighty women mustered their strength,
And sped against me their screaming spears.
Back again I'll give them another,
A flying arrow full in the front;
Out little spear, if in here it be!
Sat a smith a little knife shaping,
Most cutting of irons, wondrous keen;
Out little spear, if in here it be!
Six smiths sat slaughter-spears shaping;
Out spear! Be not in, spear!
If here within be a whit of iron,
The work of witches, it shall melt away.
Be thou shot in fell, or shot in flesh,
Or shot in blood, or shot in bone,
Or shot in limb be thy life unscathed!
Were it shot of Esa, or shot of elves,
Or shot of hags, now will I help thee!
This — to heal Esa-shot; This — to heal elf-shot;
This — to heal hag-shot; So will I help thee!
Fly, witch, to the wood; healed be this hurt!
So help thee the Lord!