Through the Jews’ quarter he goes one day, singing this sweet song that bubbles from him as he walks; and they—set on by Satan, who “hath in Jewe’s herte his waspës nest”—conspire and plot, and lay hold on him, and cut his throat, and cast him into a pit.
But—a wonder—a miracle!—still from the bleeding throat, even when life is gone, comes the tender song, “O Alma Redemptoris!” And the wretched mother, wandering and wailing, is led by the sweet, plaintive echoes, whose tones she knows, to where her poor boy lies dead; and even as she comes, he, with throte y-carven, his
Alma Redemptoris gan to sing
So loude that al the placë gan to ring.
Then the Christian people take him up, and bear him away to the Abbey. His mother lies swooning by the bier. They hang those wicked Jews—and prepare the little body for burial and sprinkle it with holy water; but still from the poor bleeding throat comes “evermo’” the song:
O Alma Redemptoris mater!
And the good Abbot entreats him to say, why his soul lingers, with his throat thus all agape?
“My throte is cut unto my nekkë bone,”
Saidë this child, “and as by way of kynde,
I should have dyed, ye longë time agone,