The so-called “Witches’ Chant,” whose most widespread formula reads:
Eko, eko, azarak. Eko, eko, zomelak.
Bagabi lacha bachabe, Lamac cahi achababe.
Karrellyos.
Lamac lamac bachalyas.
Cabahagy sabalyos. Baryolos.
Lagoz atha cabyolas. Samach atha famolas.
Hurrahya.
O ccupies an emblematic place within the Gardnerian tradition and, by extension, within the liturgical development of modern Wicca. Its archaizing sonority, repetitive cadence, and apparent Semitic flavor have led many practitioners and scholars to regard it as an extremely ancient relic—perhaps a survival of pre-Christian cults or a fragment of lost Hebraic liturgy. Yet a rigorous historical and philological examination dismantles this assumption without diminishing the chant’s ritual relevance.
The earliest documentable portion of the chant in its extended form leads us to the thirteenth century, specifically to the French drama Le Miracle de Théophile, attributed to Rutebeuf. In this Christian moralizing work, the character Salatin pronounces a conjuration in a language that imitates Hebrew: “Bagahi laca bachabe lamac cahi achabahe karrelyos lamac lamec bachalyos cababagi sabalyos baryolas lagozatha cabyolas samahac et famyolas harrahya.” The context is unmistakably demonological. The formula serves to invoke the Devil within a narrative pact later redeemed through Marian intervention. From a linguistic standpoint, the passage does not constitute authentic Hebrew. It lacks coherent triliteral root structure, shows no Semitic grammatical agreement, and combines Romance endings with Latin particles such as et. Its function is not liturgical but theatrical: to produce exoticism and associate Hebraizing sounds with arcane power for a medieval audience that perceived Hebrew as an ancient and mysterious tongue.
In the twentieth century, J.F.C. Fuller introduced in The Black Arts (1929) an abbreviated version of the formula: “Eko! Azarak! Eko! Eko! Zomelak!” Fuller provided neither verifiable historical documentation nor precise etymology, presenting it instead as an invocation of ancient resonance, presumably Assyrian or Chaldean. Yet here as well, no solid philological foundation can be established. The structure remains fundamentally phonosymbolic: binary repetition, open syllables, incantatory rhythm. The formula had by then detached itself from its medieval moralizing context and assumed a modern esoteric character.
The decisive transition occurred in 1949 with the publication of High Magic’s Aid by Gerald B. Gardner under the pseudonym “Scire.” In the initiatory scene of the novel, Morven redraws the circle with her athame, leaves a ritual doorway, and—after circumambulating three times sunwise while invoking the “Mighty Ones” of the four cardinal directions—chants: “Eko, eko, azarak. Eko, eko, zomelak. Bagabi lacha bachabe…” The context is radically different from the medieval one. This is neither a demonological conjuration nor an exorcism; it is a chant of opening, an energetic prelude preceding formal initiation. The formula functions as a catalyst of ritual consciousness, marking the transition from profane space to consecrated space.
Subsequently, the same formula reappears in the early material of the Book of Shadows, integrated into the circle liturgy as a means of raising energy. The chant no longer constrains spirits nor invokes infernal forces; it operates as a mechanism of coven cohesion and activation.
A comparative analysis therefore reveals a clear evolution: from medieval theatrical pseudo-Hebrew to modern occult formula, and from there to Wiccan liturgical element. At no point can authentic Hebrew continuity be demonstrated. The absence of identifiable Semitic roots, the lack of coherent syntax, and the presence of Romance endings confirm that we are dealing with aesthetic Hebraization rather than transcription of genuine cabalistic prayer.
Nevertheless, from a contemporary hermeneutical perspective, a different exercise may be proposed. If the phonetic framework were reformulated into coherent Hebrew within a Solomonic ceremonial context, what meaning might it acquire? One possible reconstruction could read:
Eko, Eko, Azor li.
Eko, Eko, Shlomo ha-Melech.
Be-gavo lecha be-chesed.
Melech chai be-ahavah.
Kera El Elyon.
Melech Melech be-chayim.
Kevod YHWH Tzevaot. Bar-El.
Le-oz Atah Kevod Yah.
Semach Atah be-Chemlah.
Ha’er Yah.
In Hebrew script:
אֵקוֹ אֵקוֹ עֲזֹר לִי
אֵקוֹ אֵקוֹ שְׁלֹמֹה הַמֶּלֶךְ
בְּגָבוֹ לְךָ בְּחֶסֶד
מֶלֶךְ חַי בְּאַהֲבָה
קְרָא אֵל עֶלְיוֹן
מֶלֶךְ מֶלֶךְ בְּחַיִּים
כְּבוֹד יְהוָה צְבָאוֹת. בַּר־אֵל
לְעֹז אַתָּה כְּבוֹד יָהּ
שְׂמַח אַתָּה בְּחֶמְלָה
הָאֵר יָהּ
Translation:
Eko, Eko, help me.
Eko, Eko, Solomon the King.
In the depths, with mercy.
Living King in love.
Invoke the Most High God.
King, King, in life.
Glory of YHWH of Hosts.
For strength, You are the glory of Yah.
Rejoice in compassion.
Illuminate, O Yah.
Translated, the text would express a coherent invocation to King Solomon and to the Most High God, requesting assistance, mercy, and illumination. It must be emphasized that this reconstruction is not historical but interpretive. It does not claim that the medieval text concealed an authentic Hebrew prayer; it merely demonstrates that the phonetic pattern may be reorganized into a consistent Semitic syntax.
This exercise reveals something deeper. The ritual efficacy of the chant does not depend upon its grammar. Binary repetition (“Eko, Eko”), emphatic duplication (“Melech, Melech”), guttural consonance, and circular cadence generate a collective vibratory field. In group magical work, chant synchronizes breathing, unifies intention, and facilitates altered states of consciousness. In Gardnerian terms, it channels what is called the “cone of power.” Comparative magical history shows that many effective formulas lack clear lexical meaning; their potency lies in sonic structure and ritual context.
Demystifying the chant’s supposed Semitic origin does not weaken it; rather, it situates it within its proper historical framework. It is a medieval literary construction, reinterpreted by modern occultism and liturgically formalized by Gardner within an emergent religion. It is not a lost Hebrew relic nor a pre-Christian survival, but a performative creation that acquired sacred status through use. Its true nature may lie not in antiquity but in efficacy.
Within Seax-Wica, one might therefore envision a specifically Saxon Witch’s Chant, shaped by its own rhythm and alliteration to empower ritual work:
Seax Galdor
Ēala, ēala, Wōden!
Ēala, ēala, Frīg!
Sende, sende, mægen!
Sende, sende, miht!
Wōden, Wōden, ārīs!
Frīg, Frīg, wef wyrd!
Mægen, mægen, weaxe!
Mægen, mægen, ārīs!
Be seaxe, be gāste!
Be Wyrde, be willan!
Ārīs, ārīs, mægen!
Ārīs, ārīs, mægen!
Translation:
Hail, hail, Woden!
Hail, hail, Frig!
Send, send, vital force!
Send, send, power!
Woden, Woden, arise!
Frig, Frig, weave fate!
Power, power, grow!
Power, power, rise!
By the seax, by the spirit.
By fate and by will.
Rise, rise, power!
Rise, rise, power!
Here again, repetition, alliteration, and rhythmic compression function as vehicles of collective empowerment. Whether medieval pseudo-Hebrew or reconstructed Anglo-Saxon galdor, the principle remains the same: chant transforms sound into shared force.
EXTRACT WITH PERMISSION- ©The Forest – A further guide for the Experienced Seax-Wica Practitioner: Insights After a Decade of Practice(2019) by Juan Manuel Espinoza Guzmán.
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