Classic Poem

Virgin most Fair, who, clad and crown'd with sun
And stars, didst please the Sun supreme so well
That for his light he made a tent in thee,
Love bids me something of thy praises tell,
But nought, without thy aid, can be begun,
And his, who loved thy body's guest to be.
I cry to one, who answers graciously
Whoe'er in faith implore.
If ever yet the sore
Sufferings of man have touched thy clemency,
Virgin, oh, now to my petition lean;
Do thou my warfare aid,
Though I be made
Of earth, and thou Heaven's Queen.
Virgin most Wise, and numbered in that band
Of virgins that are blessèd and discreet;
Yea, first thereof, and with the clearest light—
Thou trusty Shield, when death and fortune beat
Poor wretches down, that canst all blows withstand,
Assuring us of triumph, not retreat;
Relief of troubled hearts from that wild heat
Which here men's follies raise—
O Virgin, let the gaze
Of those fair eyes, which did in sorrow meet
On thy sweet Son's dear limbs each ghastly trace,
Be turned to my distress
Who, succourless,
For succour seek thy face.

Virgin most Pure, in whom no blemish lies,
Daughter and Mother of thy Birth Divine,
Light of this life, of yonder life the Grace,
Thou bright and lofty Window of the skies,
By thee our most High Father's Child and thine
Came down to save the latest of our race;
And amid every mortal dwelling-place,
Thou, Saintly Maid, alone
Wast chosen, that the moan
Of Eve thou shouldst with jubilee replace.
Oh, make me, for thou canst, his grace beseem,
Thou hast beyond all bound
Art blest, and crowned
In yonder court supreme.

Virgin most Holy, Full of grace, that wast
Exalted by thy deep, true humbleness
To heaven, whence thou my orison dost hear;
Thou broughtest forth the Fount of tenderness
And Sun of justice, who the world, when lost
In errors dense and dark, made bright and clear.
Three names thou linkest, that are sweet and dear—
Mother and Child and Bride.
O Virgin, glorified
Queen of that Lord who to this earthly sphere,
Loosing our bonds, brought liberty with bliss;
True Comforter, impart
Peace to my heart,
By those blest wounds of his.

Virgin, apart from all and singly placed,
Who with thy beauties hast enamoured heaven,
Whom none precedeth, none hath seconded;
Thou that to God hast veritably given,
By holy thoughts and acts devout and chaste,
A temple in thy fruitful maidenhead;
By thee my life to gladness can be led,
If by my prayer, kind Maid,
Sweet Mary, thou be swayed
Where sin abounds, that grace as far may spread.
So, on my spirit's bended knees I pray,
That, tow'rd a better end,
Thou may'st amend
My misdirected way.

Bright Virgin, that for ever dost abide,
Thou Load-star on this ocean tempest-vexed,
Thou trusted Guide of every seaman true—
Look, with how dire a storm I stand perplexed,
Helpless, without one helper at my side,
How close on me the pangs of death pursue.
But thou my soul's Hope art; to thee I sue,
While sinful granting it—
Virgin, do not permit
Thy foe to boast that he can make me rue.
Remember, that God, even for our sin,
To rescue us from doom,
Did flesh assume
Thy virgin shrine within.

Virgin, how many tears have I now spent,
With many a blandishment and many a vow,
All to my hurt and my incumbrance sore.
Since I was born in Arno's vale till now,
By turns to this and that direction bent,
My life has been but trouble evermore.
Of mortal charms, words, graces, what a store
Hath cumbered all my mind.
O Virgin, holy and kind,
Delay not, for my last year I may score.
As swift as arrows fly, my days have flown
In wretchedness and sin;
And I begin
To wait for death alone.

Virgin, thou know'st who moulders, and my heart
Leaves wretched, which she kept in languishment;
And where a thousand things were wrong, not one
I knew; yet had I known them all, the event
Were equal—had she played a different part,
Her fame and my salvation were undone.
O Queen of Heaven, our goddess, if I run
Into no terms, forbid—
Thou, from whom nought is hid,
Deep-scanning Virgin, things as yet by none
Performed are nought to thy great potency.
Now therefore, end my woe;
Reap honour so
Thyself, and save thou me.

Virgin, on whom alone my hopes relie,
Who canst and wilt to my sore trouble give
Thy succours, be thou with me to my end.
Regard not me, but by whose grace I live;
Let not my merit, but that image high
Which in me dwells, a man so mean, commend.
Thou seest me like a rock, from which descend,
O Virgin, idle streams;
Some Gorgon, or my dreams,
Have shaped me thus; but sorrows do thou send
More soft and holy to this breast outworn.
Make my last years devout
And pure throughout,
Though some were madness-born.

Virgin Humane, pride's Foe, if dear thou hold
The common prototype of thee and us,
Have pity upon my humbled heart contrite.
For if I loved, with faith so marvellous,
A piece of earth, a brittle mortal mould,
Thou, noblest thing, may'st more my zeal incite.
If then, from my debased and wretched plight,
Thy hand uplifteth me,
Virgin, I pledge to thee
My chastened pen, my thoughts, my inmost might,
My tongue, my heart, and every tear and sigh;
Oh, let my changed desire
Thy grace acquire;
Guide me where true fords lie.
My hour is toward—far it cannot lurk;
Time runs and flies so well,
O Virgin nonpareil,
While on my heart both death and conscience work.
Commend me to thy Son, for God indeed
And Man indeed is he,
That peacefully
My last breath he may speed.