STABAT MATER.
Stabat Mater dolorosa,
Juxta crucem lacrymosa,
Dum pendebat Filius:
Cujus animam gementem,
Contristatam et dolentem,
Pertransivit gladius.
ENGLISH TRANSLATION[8]
Broken-hearted, lo, and tearful,
Bowed before that Cross so fearful,
Stands the Mother by the Son!
Through her bosom sympathizing
In his mortal agonizing
Deep and keen the steel has gone.
GREEK TRANSLATION.[9]
Ἵστη Μήτηρ ἀλγέουσα
παρὰ σταυρῷ δακρύουσα,
ἐκρημνᾶτο ὡς Τέκνον·
ἧς τὴν ψυχὴν στενάχουσαν,
πολύστονον, πενθέουσαν
διέπειρε φάσγανον.
O quam tristis et afflicta
Fuit illa benedicta
Mater Unigeniti!
Quæ mœrebat et dolebat,
Pia Mater, dum videbat
Nati pœnas inclyti.
How afflicted, how distressed,
Stands she now, that Virgin blessed,
By that tree of woe and scorn;
Mark her tremble, droop, and languish,
Gazing on that awful anguish
Of her Child, her Only-Born!
Φεῦ τοῦ ἄχθους τῆς τε λύπης
εὐλογημένης ἐκείνης
Μήτρος τοῦ Μονογένους·
ἣ ἤλγει καὶ ἠνιᾶτο,
θεοσεβὴς, ὡς ὡρᾶτο
Υἱοῦ τ' ἄλγη εὐκλεοῦς.
Quis est homo qui non fleret,
Matrem Christi si videret
In tanto supplicio?
Quis non posset contristari,
Christi Matrem contemplari
Dolentem cum Filio?
Who may see, nor share her weeping,
Christ the Saviour's mother keeping
Grief's wild watch, so sad and lone?
Who behold her bosom sharing
Every pang his soul is bearing,
Nor receive them in his own?
Τίς ἀνθρώπων οὐκ ἂν κλαίοι,
εἰ τὴν Χριστοῦ Μήτερ' ἴδοι
τοιαῦτ' ἀνεχομένην;
τίς δύναιτ' ἂν οὐκ ἄχθεσθαι
τῷ τὴν Χριστοῦ Μήτερ' ἴδεσθαι
σὺν Υἱῷ λυπουμένην;
Pro peccatis suæ gentis,
Vidit Jesum in tormentis,
Et flagellis subditum.
Vidit suum dulcem Natum
Moriendo desolatum,
Dum emisit spiritum.
Ransom for a world's offending,
Lo, her Son and God is bending
That dear head to wounds and blows;
'Mid the body's laceration,
And the spirit's desolation,
As his life-blood darkly flows.
Πρὸ τῶν κακῶν οἵο γένους
'φαν' αὐτῇ ὑβρισθεὶς Ἰησοῦς
καὶ μάστιξιν ἔκδοτος·
εἶδεν ἕον γλυκὺν παῖδα
ἐκθνήσκοντα, μονωθέντα,
ὡς ἐξέπνει ἄθλιος.
Eia Mater, fons amoris,
Me sentire vim doloris
Fac ut tecum lugeam;
Fac ut ardeat cor meum
In amando Christum Deum,
Ut sibi complaceam.
Fount of love, in that dread hour,
Teach me all thy sorrow's power,
Bid me share its grievous load;
O'er my heart thy spirit pouring,
Bid it burn in meet adoring
Of its martyred Christ and God!
Ὦ συ Μήτερ, πήγη ἔρωτος,
τῆς λύπης με πάθειν ἄχθος
δός, σοι ἵνα συμπαθῶ·
δὸς φλέγεσθαι κῆρ τὸ ἐμόν
τῷ φιλεῖν τὸν Χριστὸν Θεόν,
ὅπως οἱ εὐδοκέω.
Sancta Mater! istud agas,
Crucifixi fige plagas
Cordi meo valide.
Tui Nati vulnerati,
Tam dignati pro me pati,
Pœnas mecum divide.
Be my prayer, O Mother! granted,
And within my heart implanted
Every gash whose crimson tide,
From that spotless victim streaming,
Deigns to flow for my redeeming,
Mother of the crucified!
Ἅγνη Μήτερ, τόδε δράσον·
Σταυρωθέντος πλήγας πήξον
μοι ἐν κῆρι κρατερῶς·
σοίο τοῦ τρωθέντος Τέκνου,
ὃς πρὸ ἐμοῦ πάσχειν ἤξιου,
μέρος ποινῶν μοι διδούς.
Fac me tecum pie flere,
Crucifixo condolere,
Donec ego vixero.
Juxta crucem tecum stare,
Et me tibi sociare
In planctu desidero.
Every sigh of thy affliction,
Every pang of crucifixion—
Teach me all their agony!
At his cross for ever bending,
In thy grief for ever blending,
Mother, let me live and die!
Δός σοί μ' εὐσεβῶς συλλυπεῖν,
Σταυρωθέντι δὸς συναλγεῖν,
ἕως μοι βιώσεται·
πρὸς σταυρῷ σοι συνίστασθαι,
σοί τε μοίρας μετέχεσθαι
τοῦ πενθεῖν ὀρέγομαι.
Virgo virginum præclara,
Mihi jam non sis amara,
Fac me tecum plangere.
Fac ut portem Christi mortem,
Passionis fac consortem,
Et plagas recolere.
Virgin of all virgins highest,
Humble prayer who ne'er deniest,
Teach me how to share thy woe!
All Christ's Passion's depth revealing,
Quicken every quivering feeling
All its bitterness to know!
Παρθένε, τῶν κόρων λαμπρά,
ἤδη μή μοι ἴσθι πικρά,
δός μέ σοι συναλγέειν·
δὸς βαστάζειν Χριστοῦ πότμον,
τοῦ πάθους ποίει με μέτοχον,
τάς τε πλήγας ἐννοεῖν.
Fac me plagis vulnerari,
Cruce hac inebriari,
Et cruore Filii.
Flammis ne urar succensus,
Per te, Virgo, sim defensus,
In die judicii.
Bid me drink that heavenly madness,
Mingled bliss of grief and gladness,
Of the Cross of thy dear Son!
With his love my soul inflaming,
Plead for it, O Virgin! claiming
Mercy at his judgment throne!
Δὸς ταῖς πλήγαις με τρωθῆναι,
τῷδε σταυρῷ μεθυσθῆναι
καὶ τοῦ Υἱοῦ αἵματι.
πυρὶ ἀφθέντα μὴ καυθῆναι,
ἀλλὰ διὰ σοῦ σωθῆναι
κρίσεως ἐφ' ἥματι.
Christe, cum sit hinc exire,
Da per matrem me venire
Ad palmam victoriæ.[10]
Quando corpus morietur,
Fac ut animæ donetur
Paradisi gloria.
Shelter at that Cross, oh! yield me!
By the death of Christ, oh! shield me!
Comfort with thy grace and aid!
And, O Mother! bid my spirit
Joys of Paradise inherit,
When its clay to rest is laid!
Ὁπόθ' ὥρα μ' ἀπέρχεσθαι,
διὰ Μήτρος δὸς φέρεσθαι,
Χριστὲ, νικητήρια·
τεθνέωτος χρωτὸς ἐμοῦ,
εὔχομαί μοι ψυχῇ δίδου
οὐρανοῦ τὰ χάρματα.
THE BRIGAND'S GOD-CHILD.
A LEGEND OF SPAIN.
Once upon a time, as the legends say, there lived in good old Spain a poor workman, to whom destiny had given twelve children, and nothing for them to live upon. Now his wife was expecting a thirteenth, and perhaps with it would appear a fourteenth also, to run about loved but unclothed and unfed, as the others had before them. The bread was almost gone, work not to be had, and the poor man, to hide his sighs and his misery from the patient partner of his misfortunes, wandered far from home and into the woods, calling upon paradise to assist him, until he came to the ill-reputed cavern and stronghold of the bandits.
He almost fell over their captain, and came very near receiving a sabre-thrust for his pains; but his extreme misery made him no object for a robbery, so he was simply catechised as to his condition.
He told his story, moved even the brigand heart to pity, and was invited to supper; a bag of gold and a fine horse were given him, and he was sent home with the assurance that, be the new-comer boy or girl, the robber-chief would stand as god-father. The poor man, in ecstasy at such good fortune, flew rather than rode to his well-filled dwelling, and arrived there just in time to welcome number thirteen.
A boy! He gave his wife the money and a caress, and, although the night was far advanced, mounted his charger and galloped back to the cave. The brigand was astonished at his speedy return; but true to his word, appeared with him in the neighboring church in disguise of a rich old gossip, made every requisite promise for the new-born babe, and disappeared, leaving a bag of golden crowns and another purse of gold.
The angels, however, claimed the baby, and the brigand's god-child flew to paradise on golden wings, and in the splendid swaddling-clothes that his charity had provided for it.
St. Peter, porter at the gates celestial, stirred himself to welcome the little fellow to heaven; but no! he would not enter unless accompanied by his god-father.
"And who may he be?" asked St. Peter.
"Who?" responded the god-child; "The chief of the brigands."
"My poor little innocent," said the saint, "you know not what you ask! Come in yourself; but heaven was not made for such as he."
The child sat down by the door resolved not to enter, and planning in his little head all sorts of schemes to accomplish his purpose, when the Blessed Mary passed that way.
"Why do you not enter, my angel?" she said.
"I would be ungrateful," he answered, "to partake of heavenly joys if my good god-father did not share them with me."
St. Peter interposed, and appealed to the Holy Mother, saying,
"If he had only been a wax-carrier! but this man, Satan's own emissary—impossible! An incarnate demon; a robber, healthy and robust, who has taken every opportunity to do mischief! Holy Mother! could such a thing be thought of?"
But the god-child insisted, bent his pretty blonde head, joined his little hands, fell on his knees, prayed and wept. The Virgin had compassion on him and bringing a golden chalice from the heavenly inclosure, said,
"Take this; go and seek your god-father; tell him that he may come with you to heaven; but he must first fill this cup with repentant tears."
Just then, by the clear moonlight, reposing on a rock, and fully armed, lay the brigand. In his dream his dagger trembled in his hands. As he awoke, he saw near his couch a beautiful winged infant. With no fear of the savage man, it approached and presented the golden chalice. He rubbed his eyes, and thought he still dreamed; but the infant angel reassured him, saying,
"No; it is not a fancy. I have come to invite thee to go with me. Leave this earth. I am thy god-child, and I will conduct thy steps."
Then the little fellow related his marvellous story: his arrival at heaven's gate, St. Peter's refusal, and how the Blessed Mother, ever merciful, had come to his assistance and granted his request. The bandit listened, and breathed with difficulty, while, bewildered he gazed on the angelic figure, and held out his hand for the golden chalice.
Suddenly his heart seemed to burst, two fountains of tears gushed from his eyes. The cup was filled, and the radiant infant mounted with him to the skies.
Into heaven the little one entered, carrying the well-filled cup to St. Peter—who was astonished to see who followed him—and proceeded to offer it at the feet of the beautiful Queen.
She smiled on the sinner who through her compassion had been saved, while he threw himself in reverence at her feet. God himself had acquitted the debt of the child. Besides, we know that to the repentant there is always grace—and the infant had declared it would not enter alone.