While the mother caressed the body of
her beloved son, now dead, she believed
she saw the proud triumphal parade of
those who would know splendor in paradise.
His broken body, the harshness and pain
of his wounds, their shifting colors increased
the bitter wild torment ravaging her
(yes, Victoria's been there), or, should I
say, she was eased by the victory of
God's eternal realm. Her Father told her
the secret: He hadn't abandoned, but
given radiant new life to His Son.
But you bore Him, and until he was at rest
in the ground your robbed heart found no comfort.
|An image of the Italian text from Visconti's 1840 edition|
From V XCIV:254. See also B S1:108:139; MSs L, V2; Valgrisi 109. A tenth in a series to the Virgin Key