Natural History

Source.

The Easter Bunny is actually a hare, and the fecundity of hares and rabbits is one reason why the Germanic peoples of England and Northern Germany venerated them during their spring fertility festivals. Just as the hares and rabbits would bring forth many young, so too did the Germanic peoples of these regions want better crop yields.

Here are the lyrics to this song:

I sall go until a hare

Wi sorrow and sick mickle care

I sall goe in the devil’s name

An while I come home again.

I am ruled by the moon, I move under her mantle.

I am the symbol of her moods, of rebirth cycle.
I am ruled by the moon, I move under her mantle.
I am the symbol of her moods, of rebirth cycle.
I am companion to the gods, I can conceive while I’m pregnant.
I call the dawn and spring in, I am the advent.
I bring life from water in a cup that must be broken.
I whisper to the bursting egg, I’m Aestre’s token.

Scent of dog, scent of man.
Closer, closer, smell them coming.
Hot breath, hot death.
Closer, closer, hard the running.
Tongues pant, hearts thump.
Closer, closer, through the fields.
Teeth snap, Bones crack.
Closer, closer, at my heels.
Nearer yet and nearer.
I can feel the poacher’s knife.
He is running for his dinner.
I am running for my life.

Wynter wakeneth al my care
nou this leues waxeth bare
Ofte y sike ant mourne sare
When hit cometh in my thoht
Of this worldes joie hou hit geth al to noht.

Man sprays no weeds.
The scythe cuts, the corn bleeds.
Leverets trapped in a harvest blade.
Tis the time of man the hare said.
Here’s the tractor, here’s the plough.
And where do we go now?
We’ll lie in forms as still as the dead.
In the open fields the hare said.
No cover but the camouflage
From the winter’s wild and bitter rage.
All our defense is in our legs.
We run like the wind the hare said.

I’ve been cursed, I’ve been despised
As a witch with darkest powers
I sall goe until a hare
I’ve been hunted, trapped and punished
In these my darkest hours
Wi sorrow and such mickle care.
I’ve been thrown into the fire
But I do not fear it
I sall goe until a hare.
It purifies and resurrects
And I can bear it
Wi sorrow and such mickle care.
I have outrun dogs and foxes
And I’ve dodged the tractor wheels
I sall goe until a hare
I’ve survived you persecution
And your ever-changing fields
Wi sorrow and such mickle care.
I will run and run forever
Where the wild fields are mine
I sall go until a hare
I’m a symbol of endurance
Running through the mists of time
Wi sorrow and such mickle care.

The first part of it is derived from “The Allansford Pursuit” by Robert Graves, which is a poem based upon the shape-shifting incantation of Isobel Gowdie, a Scottish woman convicted of witchcraft in the seventeenth century.

My favorite part of this poem goes like this:

I will go into a hare

with sorrow and sighing and mickle care,

and I will go in the Devil’s name,

aye ’til I be fetched hame

– Hare, take heed of a bitch greyhound

will harry thee all these fells around

for here come I in Our Lady’s name

all but for to fetch thee hame

Cunning and art he did not lack

but aye her whistle would fetch him back

Happy Ostara, everyone!