“Alas! my Son, loving and beautiful.”
Ay filh! amaros e bel!
[48] “Woe on woe! grief on grief! Heaven and earth have lost their lord, and I my son; the sun its clearness; Jews have slain him, to their great dishonor. Alas! my son, what mortal grief!”
Say, say an orison
To the Virgin of the Garaison,
Ye who in this spot solace seek from pain,
Pilgrims so good,
’Neath sorrows bowed,
That your hearts may open up to hope again.