Poem 42

1. Poem 42
Vergine e madre, il tuo figlio sul petto
Stringesti morto, ma il fido pensero
Scorgea la gloria e’l bel trionfo altero
Ch’ei riportava d’ogni spirto eletto
L’aspre su piaghe e il dolce umile aspetto
T’accendeva il tormento acerbo e fero,
Poi la vittoria grande e l’onor vero
Portava a l’alma nuovo alto diletto.
E so che in quella umanità sentisti
Che Dio non la lasciava, anzi avea cura
Di ritornarla gloriosa e viva;
Ma perché vera madre il partoristi,
Credo che insino a la tua sepoltura
Di madre avesti il cor d’ogni ben priva.
Virgin and mother, you clasped your dead son
upon your breast, but in your faithful mind
you saw the glory and the holy victory
that he brought to every elected soul.
His bitter wounds and sweet humble countenance
increased your harsh and potent torment,
but the great triumph of true honor
brought to your soul a new and pure delight.
I know you saw that God
had not left his soul in that mortal body, but rather
would be certain to resurrect it into glorious life;
yet because you bore him as a human mother,
I believe that from that moment until death
your maternal heart was robbed of any joy.