G is for Graveyard Rabbits #paganblogproject

In February, when I joined the Pagan Blog Project, I discovered another group -- the Association of Graveyard Rabbits. I found this group through one of the PBP bloggers -- Yeshe Rabbit, who is herself a member of both groups and maintains this blog about graveyard rabbiting.

The Association is, according to its own words, "dedicated to the academic promotion of the historical importance of cemeteries, grave markers, and the family history to be learned from a study of burial customs, burying grounds, and tombstones; and the social promotion of the study of cemeteries, the preservation of cemeteries, and the transcription of genealogical/historical information written in cemeteries."

In my last post, I wrote about familiars, mine being -- of course -- the hare. I've also mentioned on more than one occasion that I work quite a lot with the Mighty Dead, and I consider myself a necromancer. How excited was I, then, to discover a link between the rabbit and the grave?

And why not? Why shouldn't there be such a connection? The rabbit is a symbol of life and fecundity. In the great balance, it seems more than natural that she should also be linked to death.One, after all, invariably leads to the other.

Here is my own beginning of a blog in my work and research as an American Gypsy Graveyard Rabbit. I've just begun, so it's slim, but I'll be adding a lot in months and years to come.

The Graveyard Rabbit
by Frank Lebby Stanton

In the white moonlight, where the willow waves,
He halfway gallops among the graves—
A tiny ghost in the gloom and gleam,
Content to dwell where the dead men dream,

But wary still!        
For they plot him ill;
For the graveyard rabbit hath a charm
(May God defend us!) to shield from harm.

Over the shimmering slabs he goes—
Every grave in the dark he knows;        
But his nest is hidden from human eye
Where headstones broken on old graves lie.

Wary still!
For they plot him ill;
For the graveyard rabbit, though sceptics scoff,        
Charmeth the witch and the wizard off!

The black man creeps, when the night is dim,
Fearful, still, on the track of him;
Or fleetly follows the way he runs,
For he heals the hurts of the conjured ones.        

Wary still!
For they plot him ill;
The soul’s bewitched that would find release,—
To the graveyard rabbit go for peace!

He holds their secret—he brings a boon        
Where winds moan wild in the dark o’ the moon;
And gold shall glitter and love smile sweet
To whoever shall sever his furry feet!

Wary still!
For they plot him ill;        
For the graveyard rabbit hath a charm
(May God defend us!) to shield from harm. 


The Hare
by Walter de la Mare

In the black furrow of a field
I saw an old witch-hare this night;
And she cocked a lissome ear,
And she eyed the moon so bright,
And she nibbled of the green;
And I whispered "Wh-s-st! witch-hare,"
Away like a ghostie o'er the field
She fled, and left the moonlight there.