"A salve against the elfin race and nocturnal goblin visitors: take wormwood, lupin.... Put these worts into a vessel, set them under the altar, sing over them nine masses, boil them in butter and sheep's grease, add much holy salt, strain through a cloth, throw the worts into running water."--_Leech Book_, III. 61.
One charm in the _Lacnunga_ which is perhaps not too long to quote speaks of some long-lost tale. It appears to be a fragment of a popular lay, and one wonders how many countless generations of our ancestors sang it, and what it commemorates:--
"Loud were they loud, as over the land they rode, Fierce of heart were they, as over the hill they rode. Shield thee now thyself; from this spite thou mayst escape thee! Out little spear if herein thou be! Underneath the linden stood he, underneath the shining shield, While the mighty women mustered up their strength; And the spears they send screaming through the air! Back again to them will I send another. Arrow forth a-flying from the front against them; Out little spear if herein thou be! Sat the smith thereat, smoke a little seax out. Out little spear if herein thou be! Six the smiths that sat there-- making slaughter-spears: Out little spear, in be not spear! If herein there hide flake of iron hard, Of a witch the work, it shall melt away. Wert thou shot into the skin, or shot into the flesh, Wert thou shot into the blood, or shot into the bone, Wert thou shot into the limb-- never more thy life be teased! If it were the shot of Esa, or it were of elves the shot Or it were of hags the shot; help I bring to thee. This to boot for Esa-shot, this to boot for elfin-shot. This to boot for shot of hags! Help I bring to thee. Flee witch to the wild hill top ... ... But thou--be thou hale, and help thee the Lord."
Who were these six smiths and who were the witches? One thinks of that mighty Smith Weyland in the palace of Nidad king of the Niars, of the queen's fear of his flashing eyes and the maiming of him by her cruel orders, and of the cups he made from the skulls of her sons and gems from their eyes. We think of these as old tales, but instinct tells us that they are horribly real. We may not know how that semi-divine smith made himself wings, but that he flew over the palace and never returned we do not doubt for an instant. To the fairy stories which embody such myths children of unnumbered generations have listened, and they demand them over and over again because they, too, are sure that they are real.