The Feast of the Goddess of Winter

This is the poem of the Feast of the Goddess of Winter, Frejamorn. It is oft sang by the peasant folk during the celebration which starts at sundown of the last day of Goodseason and concludes at sunrise the next day. The Feast of Frejamorn is the last opportunity the peasants have to rejoice in the fortune that Goodseason always brings. It is also the last time the peasants will be merry for a long time, for the winter is harsh, food is scarce and the storms rage fiercely.

The stars have told our Starmen

And they in turn told us

Goodseason shall be over

We’ll mourn the grass and clover

The hare and bear and gopher

Shall sleep, for Freja’ comes

And She shall bringeth winter

The priests have all proclaimed

There is no worth in praying

Nor sacrifice nor slaying

Of lamb or ham or slaveling

For blood she doth not crave

Prepare ye selves and listen

‘cause soon the goddess comes

And She’ll, with pow’r She wields

Lay waste to farm and field

But bone and stone to yield

And little of all else

Five moons the winter lasteth

With snow and sleet and ice

While freezing are we peasants

Fat Lords are warm and pleasant

They wine and dine on pheasant

And we break frozen bread

But …

The time is drawing nearer

Though nigh it is not yet

For now we shall be merry

And dance like elf and faery

Hear me and be not wary

If just for this one night

The Feast of Frejamorn

She comes for us at dawn

Betwixt the set and rise of Sol

We’ll dance to Summer’s Song

And eat and drink till our bellies are full

For by ‘morrow we may be gone

By ‘morrow we may be gone