Medieval Christmas Poetry (iii)

In a deft move, designed to thwart my critics who have been yelling 'Old hat!' at my last two Christmas poetry posts, I am pleased - indeed proud - to present a poem new to me, and therefore new to this blog.

It dates from the 13th Century; unfortunately I only have it in a translated version. Nonetheless, it is a pleasing verse: another macaronic poem, like Of on that is so fayre and bright.

Holy Mary, mother mild.

Mater salutaris

Fairest flower of any field,

Vere nuncuparis

With Jesus Christ you were with child;

You drive me from my musings wild

Potente,

Which make me go to death, I know,

Repente.

My thoughts are wild like any roe, 

Luto gratulante

They plunge me in the utmost woe,

Illaque favente.

But if the Christ from me should go,

I know my heart would break in two,

Fervore. 

By night and day I lose my way

Dolore.

Jesu, through your power and might

Omnia fecisti:

The Holy Ghost in Mary alit,

Sicut voluisti.

Since we call him Lord Almighty,

Jesu, bring my thought to Christ

Constanter,

That it shall stay, not go astray

Fraudanter.

Jesus Christ, so high aloft,
Digno tu scadente;
Heaven and earth below you wrought
Victore triumphante;
With your body mankind you bought:
His soul at any cost you sought,
Nec dare,
And gave the blood that was so good
Tam gnare.

Sweetest Lady, flower of all,

Vere consolatrix,

Be my helper lest I fall, 

Cunctis reparatrix.

Gentlest Queen of chosen sway,

Be before me night and day

Precantis!

Give me grace to see the face

Infantis!

That through your sweetest prayers I may,

Tutrix orphanorum,

Leave this world's vexatious way,

Solamen miserorum;

And to you, Lady, may I take

My sins and them thereby foresake

Volente,

And so not miss your heavenly bliss: 

Poscente.

(Trans: Brian Stone)

From the Penguin Medieval Verse - which is well worth buying!