[Christine’s Halloween Monster and Faery List]

Queens: M

Hogmagog, Gogmagog (Expansion, Extension) / Gog (Cuckoo) & Magog (Regenerating, Glow-worm) Gogyrwen (Spiritual Being) Margaret, Gretchen (Pearl)

Shall not my chair be defended from the cauldron of Ceridwen? May my tongue be free in the sanctuary of the praise of Gogyrwen. The praise of Gogyrwen is an oblation which has satisfied Them with milk, and dew, and acorns. – Book of Taleisin

(pron. GOHG) Mother Goddess. She is a solar diety of the mountains and the spiritual guardian of London, progenitor of the Sarmatians (Lower Don River), Scythians a.k.a Magogites (Armenia and North of the Black Sea), Slavonians (A region in eastern Croatia, northern Yugoslavia), and Tartars/Tatar (Tatarstan, Russia. Siberia is known as Tartary and the Crimea as Little Tartary).
  Britain’s Megg’s Hills are named for her, and several hillside chalk effigies portray her. One is carved into the earth at Wandlebury near Cambridge. She is usually depicted as a four breasted woman astride a horse. In patriarchal times she became England’s St. Margaret who was beheaded after entering the body of a red dragon and re-emerging from its stomach. In her male aspect she is Grandson of Noah, who became the ancestor of Partholón: Shape of a Woman and Nemed: Sacred Grove. During the middle ages, the Syrians applied Magog as a geographical term for Asiatic Turkey. The Arabians also applied Magog as a general name of the country north of the Caucasus Mountains between the Black and Caspian Seas. Her feast day is December 31st, Hogmanay. Gogzichensis: Gozeca. (58, 76, 99, 116, 134, 188)
Sweet William’s Ghost: Scotland

There came a ghost to Margaret’s door,
With many a grievous grone,
And ay he tirled at the pin;
But answer made she none.

Is this my father Philip?
Or is’t my brother John?
Or is’t my true love Willie,
From Scotland new come home?

Tis not thy father Philip;
Nor yet thy brother John:
But tis thy true love Willie
From Scotland new come home,

O sweet Margret! O dear Margret!
I pray thee speak to mee:
Give me my faith and troth, Margret,
As I gave it to thee.

Thy faith and troth thou’se nevir get,
Of me shalt nevir win,
Till that thou come within my bower,
And kiss my cheek and chin.

If I should come within thy bower,
I am no earthly man:
And should I kiss thy rosy lipp,
Thy days will not be lang.

O sweet Margret, O dear Margret,
I pray thee speak to mee:
Give me my faith and troth, Margret,
As I gave it to thee.

Thy faith and troth thou’se nevir get,
Of me shalt nevir win,
Till thou take me to yon kirk yard,
And wed me with a ring.

My bones are buried in a kirk yard
Afar beyond the sea,
And it is but my sprite (spirit), Margret,
That’s speaking now to thee.

She stretched out her lilly-white hand,
As for to do her best:
Hae there your faith and troth, Willie,
God send your soul good rest.

Now she has kilted her robes of green,
A piece below her knee:
And a’ the live-lang winter night
The dead corps followed shee.

Is there any room at you head, Willie?
Or any room at your feet?
Or any room at your side, Willie,
Wherein that I may creep?

There’s nae room at my head, Margret,
There’s nae room at my feet,
There’s no room at my side, Margret,
My coffin is made so meet.

Then up and crew the red red cock,
And up then crew the gray:
Tis time, tis time, my dear Margret,
That I were gane away.

No more the ghost to Margret said,
But, with a grievous grone,
Evanish’d in a cloud of mist,
And left her all alone.

O stay, my only true love, stay,
The constant Margret cried:
Wan grew her cheeks, she clos’d her een,
Stretch’d her saft limbs, and died. (130)

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