Classic Poem

The woful Mary 'midst a blubber'd band
Of weeping virgins, near unto the tree
Where God death suffer'd, man from death to free,
Like to a plaintful nightingale did stand,
Which sees her younglings reft before her eyes,
And hath nought else to guard them save her cryes.
Love thither had her brought, and misbelief
Of these sad news, which charg'd her mind to fears,
But now her eyes more wretched than her tears,
Bear witness, ah! too true, of feared grief:
Her doubts made certain, did her hopes destroy,
A bandoning her soul to black annoy.
Long fixing down-cast eyes on earth, at last
She longing did them raise, O torturing sight!
To view what they did shun, their sole delight,
Embru'd in his own blood, and naked plac't
To sinful eyes, naked save that black vail
Which heaven him shrouded with, that did bewail.
It was not pity, pain, grief, did possess
The mother, but an agony more strange;
Cheek's roses in pale lillies straight did change,
Her sp'rits, as if she bled his blood, turn'd less:
When she saw him, wo did all words deny,
And grief her only suffer'd sigh, O my,
O my dear Lord and Son! then she began:
Immortal birth! tho' of a mortal born,
Eternal bounty which doth heaven adorn,
Without a mother, God; a father, man;
Ah! what hast thou deserv'd, what hast thou done!
Thus to be treat? Woe's me, my son, my son!
Who bruis'd thy face, the glory of this all,
Who eyes engor'd, load-stars to Paradise,
Who, as thou were a trimmed sacrifice,
Did with that cruel crown thy brows impale?
Who rais'd thee, whom so oft the angels serv'd,
Between those thieves who that foul death deserv'd?
Was it for this thou bred wast in my womb,
Mine arms a cradle serv'd thee to repose,
My milk thee fed, as morning-dew the rose?
Did I thee keep till this sad time should come,
That wretched men should nail thee to a tree,
And I a witness of thy pangs must be?
It is not long, the ways bestrow'd with flowers,
With shouts to ecchoing heavens and mountains roll'd,
Since, as in triumph, I thee did behold
In royal pomp approach proud Sion's towers:
Lo! what a change! who did thee then embrace,
Now at thee shake their heads, inconstant race.
Eternal Father, from whose piercing eye
Hid nought is found, that in this all is form'd,
Deign to vouchsafe a look unto this round,
This round, the stage of a sad tragedy:
Look but if thy dear pledge thou here canst know,
On an unhappy tree a shameful show.
Ah! look if this be hee, almighty King,
Before heavens spangled were with stars of gold,
E're world a center had it to uphold,
Whom from from eternity thou forth didst bring.
With virtue, form, and light, who did adorn
Skie's radiant globes, see where he hangs a scorn.
Did all my prayers tend to this? Is this
The promise that celestial herauld made
At Nazareth, when full of joy he said,
I happy was, and from thee did me bless?
How I am blest? No, most unhappy I
Of all the mothers underneath the sky.
How true and of choise oracles the choice
Was that blest Hebrew, whose dear eyes in peace
Mild death did close, e're they saw this disgrace,
When he fore-spake with more than angel's voice,
The son should, malice sign, be set a-part,
Then that a sword should pierce the mother's heart!
But whither dost thou go, life of my soul?
O stay a little till I die with thee;
And do I live thee languishing to see,
And cannot grief frail laws of life controul?
If grief prove weak, come, cruell squadrons, kill
The mother, spare the son, he knows no ill;
He knows no ill, those pangs, base men, are due
To me and all the world, save him alone;
But now he doth not hear my bitter moan;
Too late I cry, too late I plaints renew;
Pale are his lips, down doth his head decline,
Dim turn those eyes once wont so bright to shine.
The heavens, which in their mansions constant move,
That they may not seem guilty of this crime,
Benighted have the golden eye of time:
Ungrateful earth, canst thou such shame approve,
And seem unmov'd, this done upon thy face?
Earth trembled then, and she did hold her peace.