Then, as the executioner plucked her son from her breast, one of the women said:
| "Why are you
tearing Away to his doom The child of my caring, The fruit of my womb. Till nine months were o'er, His burthen I bore, Then his pretty lips pressed The glad milk from my breast, And my whole heart he filled, And my whole life he thrilled. "All my strength dies; My tongue speechless lies; Darkened are my eyes; His breath was the breath of me; His death is the death of me!" |
Then another woman said:
| "Tis my own son
that from me you wring, I deceived not the King. But slay me, even me, And let my boy be. A mother most hapless, My bosom is sapless. Mine eyes one tearful river, My frame one fearful shiver, My husband sonless ever, And I a sonless wife To live a death in life. O, my son! O, God of Truth! [64] O, my unrewarded youth! O, my birthless sicknesses, Until doom without redress! O, my bosom's silent nest! O, the heart broke in my breast!" |
Then said another woman:
| "Murderers,
obeying Herod's wicked willing, One ye would be slaying, Many are ye killing. Infants would ye smother? Ruffians ye have rather Wounded many a father, Slaughtered many a mother. Hell's black jaws your horrid deed is glutting, Heaven's white gate against your black souls shutting. "Ye are guilty of the Great Offence! Ye have spilt the blood of innocence." |
And yet another woman said:
| "O Lord Christ
come to me! Nay, no longer tarry! With my son, home to Thee My soul quickly carry! O Mary great, O Mary mild, Of God's One Son the Mother, What shall I do without my child, For I have now no other. For Thy Son's sake my son they slew, Those murderers inhuman; My sense and soul they slaughtered too, I am but a crazy woman. Yea! after that most piteous slaughter, When my babe's life ran out like water, The heart within my bosom hath become A clot of blood from this day till the Doom!" |