Stella celi extirpavit

The Virgin Mary in a fourteenth-century manuscript, BL Royal MS 6 E VII Part 2, f. 479

Back in Advent, I revisited the poems of the 15th-century friar James Ryman in order to write this post. I read a number of Ryman's poems which I hadn't really looked at before, and kept a record of those which interested me with an eye to future blogposts. One struck me as unusual, and I took note of it, though I was pretty sure I would never find a suitable occasion to post it here. But that was Advent, and here we are in Lent - the longest Lent of our lives. And this is a prayer for a time of plague.

The heavenly star so bright and clear,
That fed the Lord of indulgence, [mercy]
Hath put away both far and near
Of ghostly death the pestilence, [the plague of spiritual death]
That our parent wrought by offence:
[May] she cease the stars' war and wrath,
That dimmeth us by sharp stroke of death.

O spouse of Christ, mother of grace,
O benign queen of heaven bliss,
Cause us in bliss to have a place,
Whereof the joy shall never miss,
Where next unto God thy throne is,
And for our sin and our misdeed
Let not Satan ay us possess.

This is Ryman's translation of Stella celi extirpavit, a hymn first recorded in manuscripts from 15th-century England, in the decades after the Black Death. This article, which gives a history of the hymn, provides the following text and translation for the most common version of Stella celi (Ryman's is a little different):

Stella celi extirpavit
que lactavit Dominum
mortis pestem, quam plantavit
primus parens hominum.
Ipsa stella nunc dignetur
sydera compescere;
quorum bella plebem cedunt
dire mortis ulcere.
O gloriosa stella maris,
a peste succurre nobis.
Audi nos: nam Filius tuus
nihil negans te honorat
Salva nos, Jesu, pro quibus
virgo mater te orat.

Star of Heaven,
who nourished the Lord
and rooted up the plague of death
which our first parents planted;
may that star now deign
to hold in check the constellations
whose strife grants the people
the ulcers of a terrible death.
O glorious star of the sea,
save us from the plague.
Hear us: for your Son
who honours you denies you nothing.
Jesus, save us, for whom
the Virgin Mother prays to you.

The hymn addresses Mary, asking that since her child did away with the plague of sin which assailed the soul, her prayers will help to end the plague which attacks the body. The specific historical context is clear: the allusion to 'ulcers of a terrible death' is a direct reference to the swellings which were one of the symptoms of the Black Death.

In keeping with scientific thinking of the time, the hymn sees sickness as originating in the alignment of the stars, and so asks for Mary's help as 'star of heaven' - she is imagined as a good star of peace and life who can restrain the malign stars of war and death. Some of the language also draws on traditional imagery of Mary as healer and nourisher, in focusing for instance on her feeding her child (lactavit Dominum). In the image of her 'uprooting' the plant of death, there's perhaps a suggestion too of the well-established medieval association of Mary with life-giving plants, which figure her as a tree who bears the fruit of life, or a doctor who brings healing herbs. Altogether Mary is presented as all that is wholesome and nourishing, a powerful intercessor and a bringer of health and hope.

This text is widely recorded in late medieval sources, both with and without music. As well as Ryman's version, written down in Canterbury at the end of the 15th century, there are two more English poems based on the hymn, attributed to the Bury St Edmunds poet John Lydgate. Here's one of them (in modern spelling; the Middle English is here):

Thou heavenly queen, of grace our lodestar,
With thy chaste milk plenteous of plesaunce [full of grace]
Gave Jesu suck, puttest away the war
Of pestilence, to appease our grievance,
Our well of mercy, our joy, our sufficence,
Flower of virgins, mother of most price, [greatest value]
Racedist up all surfetis of mischance, [eradicated all sinful excess]
That our forefather planted in Paradise.

Thou same star, of stars none so bright,
Celestial star of beauty most sovereign,
To thee we pray, on us cast down thy sight,
Only of mercy that thou not disdain,
Of infected air the mists to restrain,
That by thy gracious most wholesome influence
We have no cause on hasty death to pleyne, [lament]
Which slayeth the people by sword of pestilence.

Our trust is fully, and our confidence,
Undespaired in our opinion, [belief]
Against all weathers of corrupt pestilence,
By thy request and mediation,
And by thy Son's glorious Passion,
And remembrance of thy joys all,
Against froward airs causing infection,
Defend us, Lady, when we to thee call.

For as Phoebus chaseth mists black,
Toward midmorrow with his beams clear,
And Lucifer biddith sluggy folk awake, [the sun bids sleepy people wake]
In the orient first, when he doth appear,
Right so mayest thou in thy celestial sphere,
O star of stars, star of most excellence,
Maid and mother, by means of thy prayer, [through the intercession of your prayers]
Save all thy servants from stroke of pestilence.

Neither this poem nor Ryman's make reference to ulcers, as the Latin hymn does; their descriptions of the illness and its cause are (perhaps deliberately) more general than the Latin, more applicable to any outbreak of disease. Lydgate speaks of 'froward airs causing infection' and the unhealthy 'mists' which he asks Mary to clear away like the sun at morning. Ryman's version is less scientific, asking instead for deliverance from the force which 'dimmeth us by sharp stroke of death'. The thought that epidemics 'dim' us, i.e. cast a dark shadow over our lives, is particularly poignant. In their astrological and medical thinking, all versions of this hymn come from a medieval world very foreign to us - and yet for once it feels very near.

'Stella celi' in BL Royal Appendix MS. 58

Several early settings of this hymn survive in 15th-century manuscripts. The oldest is the unearthly setting below by John Cooke, a member of Henry V's household chapel, who went with the king to Agincourt in 1415 and seems to have ended his life as a singer at St Paul's Cathedral. His version of Stella celi is preserved in this manuscript.



From later in the century, there's this setting by Walter Lambe, from the Eton Choirbook:



And there are numerous other attestations of the hymn from England, Portugal and elsewhere, including 15th-century evidence that the hymn was in regular use among students at Oxford - sung at the ringing of the curfew bell on Marian feasts and after Compline in Magdalen College chapel. For a full list, see Christopher Macklin, 'Plague, Performance and the Elusive History of the Stella Celi Extirpavit', Early Music History 29 (2010), 1-31, available online here. Macklin proposes a connection between the hymn and the Franciscan order, who 'were intimately involved in caring for the sick during the Black Death and in subsequent epidemics', and as a result suffered catastrophic mortality rates across Europe. These learned origins would fit with the hymn's specifically astrological and medical approach to the understanding of disease.

But it was not only a hymn for friars and students. In the collection of mystery plays from 15th-century East Anglia known as the 'N-town Plays', there's a reference to this hymn in the play about the Adoration of the Shepherds. The Shepherds sing it as they go to Bethlehem to meet the Christ-child, and though the use of Stella celi is only brief (and a bit surprising - why might a prayer against the plague be thought appropriate here?), the scene is so lovely and so loving that I can't resist quoting at length. We begin when the shepherds have just heard the angels sing 'Gloria in excelsis' and, wonderfully, they're struggling to puzzle out the - to them unfamiliar - Latin words. (Again this is in modern spelling; for the Middle English see this page)

Shepherd 1: Ey, ey, this was a wonder note
That was now sung above the sky!
I have that voice full well, I wot —
They sang “Gle, glo, glory."

Shepherd 2: Nay, so mot y the, so was it nowth! [as I may thrive, it wasn't that!]
I have that song full well inum; [I got it right]
In my wit well it is wrought:
It was “Gle, glo, glas, glum."

Shepherd 3: The song methought it was “Glory."
And afterward, he said us to
There is a child born shall be a prince mighty!
For to seek that child, I rede we go. [I advise we go]

Shepherd 1: The prophecy of Boosdras is speedily sped. [swiftly fulfilled]
Now leyke we hence as that light us lead. [let's go where the light is leading us]
Might we see once that bright on bed,
Our bale it would unbind; [it would relieve our trouble]
We should shudder for no shower.
Busk we us hence to Bethlem borough [let's hurry to Bethlehem]
To see that fair fresh flower,
The maid mild in mind.

Shepherd 2: Let us follow with all our might,
With song and mirth we shall us dight [prepare]
And worship with joy that worthy wight,
That Lord is of mankind.
Let us go forth, fast on hie
And honour that babe worthily
With mirth, song and melody.
Have done! This song begin.

Stage direction, in Latin: 'Then the shepherds will sing Stella celi extirpavit as they go to look for the Christ'

Shepherd 1: Hail, flower of flowers, fairest found!
Hail, pearl, peerless primrose of price!
Hail, bloom on bed! We shall be unbound
With thy bloody wounds and works full wise!
Hail, God greatest! I greet thee on ground!
The greedy devil shall groan grisly as a gryse [like a boar]
When thou winnest this world with thy wide wounds
And puttest man to Paradys with plenty of price! [abundance]
To love thee is my delight.
Hail, flower fair and free,
Light from the Trinity!
Hail, blessed may thou be!
Hail, maiden fairest in sight!

Shepherd 2: Hail, flower over flowers found in frith! [in the woods]
Hail, Christ kind in our kith! [sharing in our nature]
Hail, worker of weal to wonen us with! [doer of good, come to dwell with us]
Hail, winner, iwis,
Hail, former and friend, [creator and friend]
Hail, feller of the fiend,
Hail, clad in our kind!
Hail, Prince of Paradise!

Shepherd 3: Hail, lord over lords who lies full low!
Hail, king over kings, thy kindred to know!
Hail, comely knight, the devil to overthrow!
Hail, flower of all!
Hail, worker to win
Bodies bound in sin!
Hail, in a beasts' bin, [manger]
Bestad in a stall. [laid in a stall]

Joseph: Herds on hill [shepherds from the hills]
Be not still, [silent]
But say your will
To many a man:
How God is born
This merry morn —
That is forlorn
Find he can. [he can find the one who is lost - i.e. like the Good Shepherd]

Shepherd 1: We shall tell
By dale and hill
How Harrower of Hell
Was born this night,
Mirths to mell [to speak joy]
And fiends to quell,
That were so fell
Against his right.

[Having paid homage to the baby, they take their departure.]

Shepherd 2: Farewell, babe and bairn of bliss!
Farewell, Lord that lovely is!
Thee to worship, thy feet I kiss.
On knees to thee I fall,
Thee to worship, I fall on knee.
All this world may joy of thee!
Now farewell, Lord of great pousté! [power]
Yea, farewell king of all.

Shepherd 3: Though I be the last that take my leave,
Yet, fair mullynge, take it not at no grieve. [don't be upset, pretty darling]
Now, fair babe, well may thou cheve! [thrive]
Fair child, now have good day.
Farewell, mine own dear darling:
Iwis, thou art a right fair thing!
Farewell, my Lord and my sweeting!
Farewell, born in poor array.

Mary: Now ye herdsmen, well may ye be;
For your homage and your singing
My son shall quit you in heaven see, [reward you in heaven]
And give you all right good ending.

Though at first not even able to recognise the angels' song, the shepherds are very soon inspired to sing themselves in words of eloquent praise, with tender affection for the 'dear darling' and the 'fair flower' his mother. They are so very sweet towards the baby (kissing his feet!), but they also trust him to overthrow the devil and deliver the whole world from pain. Perhaps that's why they sing Stella celi, a hymn which with extraordinary confidence finds its hope for deliverance from sickness not only in the motion of the stars, but in the most everyday act of love: a mother who by feeding her baby saved the world from disaster.

'Com, Shuppere, Holy Gost'

BL Arundel 157, f.12v

Com, Shuppere, Holy Gost, ofsech oure thouhtes;
Ful wyth grace of hevene heortes that thou wrouhtest.

Thou, that art cleped forspekere and gyft from God ysend,
Welle of lyf, fur, charite, and gostlych oynement,

Thou gyfst the sevene gyftes, thou finger of Godes honde,
Thou makest tonge of fleshe speke leodene of uche londe.

Tend lyht in oure wyttes, in oure heortes love,
Ther oure body is leothewok gyf strengthe from above.

Shyld ous from the feonde, and gyf ous gryth anon,
That we wyten ous from sunne thorou the lodesmon.

Of the Fader and the Sone thou gyf ous knoulechinge,
To leve that of bothe thou ever be lovinge.

Wele to the Fader and to the Sone, that from deth aros,
And also to the Holy Gost ay be worshipe and los.

This is a translation of Veni, Creator Spiritus by the Franciscan William Herebert (d.1333). I posted it some years ago here along with some other translations of the hymn, but I thought I'd give it its own post today. It could be rendered thus:

Come, Creator, Holy Ghost, search our thoughts;
Fill with grace of heaven the hearts which thou hast wrought.

Thou who art called For-speaker and gift from God sent,
Well of life, fire, charity, and spiritual ointment,

Thou givest the seven gifts, thou finger of God's hand,
Thou makest tongues of flesh speak languages of every land.

Kindle light in our wits, in our hearts love,
Where our body is weak, give strength from above.

Shield us from the fiend, and give us peace anon,
That we may keep ourselves from sin through the Guardian.

Of the Father and the Son give us knowledge,
To believe that thou ever art of both praising.

Glory to the Father and to the Son, who from death arose,
And to the Holy Ghost also be ever worship and praise.

One of the pleasures of reading Herebert's translations is how familiar the vocabulary is; that's one of the reasons I like blogging about them, because to me they give a clearer sense than almost any other texts of the line of continuity in English religious writing beginning in the Anglo-Saxon period, and running in some ways up to the present day. There's only a few words here which present any difficulties to a speaker of Modern English: the occasional rare word like leothewok (which means 'pliant in body, weak') and words now obsolete like leodene 'languages', gryth 'peace', los 'praise'. Otherwise there's the odd poetic touch like lodesmon, which is translating Latin ductore and means 'leader, guardian' but also 'steersman, pilot of a ship', and Shuppere, 'Creator' - descended from one of the first words many people learn when studying Old English, 'scyppend'. There's actually an Old English gloss of this hymn which begins Cum, þu scyppend gast - not very different from Herebert.

BL Lansdowne 383, f.14

In fact Herebert, writing seven centuries ago, seems hardly less far away than the world in which this version of the hymn was recorded:

An Anglo-Saxon Hymn to St Dunstan

Dunstan, BL Royal 10 A XIII, f. 2v

Today is the feast of St Dunstan, one of the greatest saints of Anglo-Saxon England - statesman, archbishop of Canterbury, scholar, monk, musician, metal-worker, and noted tormenter of devils. The multi-talented Dunstan, who died on 19 May 988, is a fascinating saint for a number of reasons: an influential figure in a formative period for the Anglo-Saxon church and state, adviser to successive kings and credited with a leading role in the tenth-century monastic revival, he was also for centuries after his death a genuinely popular saint in England and beyond. Two years ago I wrote a series of posts with my seven favourite stories about him, starting here (and it was hard to narrow it down to seven!); there you can read about Dunstan's skill in metal-working and music - and magic (alleged) - as well as his various encounters with the devil and posthumous miracles.

This is a hymn to St Dunstan for use on his feast-day, which was probably composed at Canterbury early in the eleventh century.

Ave Dunstane, presulum
sidus decusque splendidum,
lux vera gentis Anglice
et ad deum dux praevie.

Tu spes tuorum maxima,
dulcedo necnon intima
spirans odorum balsama
vitalium melliflua.

Tibi, pater, nos credimus,
quibus te nil iocundius,
ad te manus expandimus,
tibi preces effundimus.

Oves tuas, pastor pie,
passim premunt angustie.
Mucrone gentis barbare
necamur, en, cristicole.

Offer, sacerdos, hostias
Christo precum gratissimas,
quibus placatus criminum
solvat catenas ferreas,

Per quas Anglorum terminis
ecclesiæque filiis
et nationes perfide
pestesque cedant noxiæ.

Per te, pater, spes unica,
per te, proles, pax unica
et spiritus, lux unica
adsit nobis in secula. Amen.

The text comes from Hymns of the Anglo-Saxon Church, ed. Inge B. Milfull (Cambridge, 1996), pp. 317-8. Here's a translation:

Hail Dunstan, star and shining adornment of bishops, true light of the English nation and leader preceding it on its path to God.

You are the greatest hope of your people, and also an innermost sweetness, breathing the honey-sweet fragrance of life-giving balms.

In you, Father, we trust, we to whom nothing is more pleasing than you are. To you we stretch out our hands, to you we pour out our prayers.

Your sheep, holy shepherd, are oppressed by troubles on all sides. See how we Christians are being slaughtered by the swords of the pagan nation!

Offer, O priest, the sacrifice to Christ of most welcome prayers, so that by them he may be appeased and release us from the iron fetters of our transgressions.

Through them may heathen peoples and harmful diseases depart from the lands of the English and the sons of the church.

Through you may the Father, our only hope, through you may the Son, our only peace, and the Spirit, our only light, be with us forever. Amen.

In the manuscript, the 'Durham Hymnal' (Durham Cathedral, B.III.32), this hymn has an Old English gloss, which tells us that Dunstan is, among other things, a 'tungel 7 wlite scinende biscopa' and an 'arfæsta heorde', 'orþiende wyrtbræþa swetnyssa, liflicra hunigswete'. It seems likely that the 'swords of the pagan nation' (swurde þeode hæþenre) mentioned in the fourth verse are neither hypothetical nor hyperbolic; they must be the swords of the Danes, who were pressing close on Canterbury and the whole of England in the first decade of the eleventh century. Archbishop Dunstan had lived through a few decades of respite from Viking attacks on England, but the last years of his life saw a return of raiding along the sea-coast, which was to increase in intensity, and spread further inland, in the years following his death in 988. In those years the first Lives of Dunstan were composed, along with this hymn and a number of prayers to England's newest saint. We could probably picture the monks of Canterbury singing this hymn on St Dunstan's day 1011, not knowing that within a few months the Danish army would occupy and burn the city itself, and capture and kill Archbishop Ælfheah. Ælfheah had been a protégé of St Dunstan, and strenuously promoted his cult at Canterbury, so this hymn may well have been written at his instigation. This context adds great poignancy to the hymn: never had Dunstan's sheep had greater need of their shepherd's prayers.

Dunstan in Canterbury Cathedral

Conditor alme siderum: Holy maker of sterres bright

Creation of the stars, BL Royal E IX, f. 3v

Among the Office Hymns for Advent is 'Conditor Alme Siderum', best known in translation today as 'Creator of the stars of night'. Intended to be sung in the evening, as the early dusk of a winter night descends, this hymn praises God as the creator of the stars - those stars which seem to shine so much more brightly in a cold and frosty sky. It draws a parallel between the darkness which envelops us each day and a yet deeper darkness, 'the world's evening hour', which Christ, bright as the sun, illuminates by his entry into the world.

This hymn dates back to the seventh century, and in the medieval church was used at Vespers. Here's the hymn sung in Latin:



And in English by Ely Cathedral Choir:

Creator of the stars of night,

Thy people’s everlasting light,

O Jesu, Saviour of us all,

Hear thou thy servants when they call.

Thou, grieving at the bitter cry

Of all creation doomed to die,

Didst come to save our ruined race

With healing gifts of heavenly grace.

Thou camest, Bridegroom of the bride,

As drew the world to evening-tide;

Proceeding from a virgin shrine,

The Son of Man, yet Lord divine.

At thy great name exalted now

All knees must bend, all hearts must bow;

And things in heaven and earth shall own

That thou art Lord and King alone.

To thee, O holy One, we pray

our judge in that tremendous day,

preserve us, while we dwell below,

from every onslaught of the foe.

All praise, eternal Son, to thee,

whose advent sets thy people free,

whom with the Father we adore,

and Spirit blest, for evermore.

The best-known translation today is from the 19th century, but the hymn was first rendered into English about 800 years before that. In an Anglo-Saxon hymnal from 11th-century Canterbury, the Latin hymn is accompanied by a version in English, not a poetic translation but a full word-by-word gloss. It begins 'Eala, ðu halga scyppend tungla' ('hail, thou holy creator of the stars') and contains some recognisable vocabulary, most notably in the third verse, where the hymn alludes to Psalm 18: Christ, like the sun, comes forth 'as a bridegroom coming out of the bridal chamber'. In Old English, this is 'brydguma of brydbure', 'bridegroom from bridal bower'.

Two years ago I posted a medieval English translation of this hymn written in the early fourteenth century by the Franciscan friar William Herebert. Herebert is an excellent translator and his version of the hymn is a lovely one; the opening phrase which renders God as 'holy wright' of the stars (starwright?) particularly sticks in the mind. In this post I want to look at two more Middle English translations of this hymn, from the end of the fifteenth century. This is by another Franciscan, James Ryman:

Holy maker of sterres bright,
Of feithefull men eternall light,
Crist, that ayene mankynde hast bought,
Here oure prayers of buxum thought.

Having rewth this worlde shulde be spilte
Thurgh the perell of dedly gilte,
Thou savedest fro grete doloure
To the gilty geving socoure.

This worlde drawing nyghe vnto nyght,
As spowse of bowre, thou came out right
Fro the clausure moost clenly dight
Of moder Mary, virgyne bright.

To whose grete myght, as it is right,
On knees boweth euery wight:
Alle heuenly and erthily thinge
Knowlege them meke to thy beknyng.

O holy lorde, we beseche the,
Of alle this worlde that iuge shall be,
Terme of oure lyfe defende vs froo
The darte of the fals fende, oure foo.

Lawde and honoure, ioye and vertue
To god and to his sonne Ihesue,
Also vnto the holigoost,
Bothe thre and one, of myghtis moost.

James Ryman was a master of carols: he left to posterity a manuscript containing no fewer than 170 (!) English carols and songs on all kinds of religious topics (the text is all online here). The carol form is deliberately simple and clear in its vocabulary, and this hardly needs glossing - but just in case, here's a literal version:

Holy maker of stars bright,
Of faithful men eternal light,
Christ, who again mankind hast bought, [bought again = redeemed]
Hear our prayers of humble thought.

Having pity that this world should be spilte [destroyed]
Through the peril of deadly guilt,
Thou savedest it from great dolour
To the guilty giving succour.

This world drawing nigh unto night,
As spouse from bower, thou came aright
From the enclosure most cleanly dight [made]
Of mother Mary, virgin bright.

To whose great might, as it is right,
On knees boweth every wight:
All heavenly and earthly thing
Acknowledge themselves meek at thy beckoning. [command]

O holy Lord, we beseech thee,
Of all this world who Judge shall be,
Throughout our life defend us fro [from]
The dart of the false fiend, our foe.

Laud and honour, joy and virtue [power]
To God and to his Son Jesu,
And unto the Holy Ghost,
Both three and one, of mights most.

Most of the poems in Ryman's collection bear some relationship to a particular Latin text, but they vary quite a bit in how close that relationship is; often the English poem has only the loosest connection with the hymn it quotes. This, however, is a faithful translation - perhaps because it would be difficult to improve on the beauty of the original, with its stars and chambers and bridegrooms and the world's 'evening hour'. I like the run of rhymes in verses 3-4, seven rhymes on 'ight' in just six lines (or eight, if you count 'nigh'); and 'drawing nigh unto night' finds an appropriately alliterative English echo of the Latin's 'vergente... vespere'. In verse 3 this translation also preserves the hymn's quotation of Psalm 18 more precisely than the most common modern translation does: 'as spouse from bower' is the psalm and hymn's 'uti sponsus de thalamo'. 'In them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun, which cometh forth as a bridegroom out of his chamber, and rejoiceth as a giant to run his course...'

 

Creation of the stars, BL Royal 6 E VI, f. 1

The sun of the psalm becomes in the hymn Christ, the Son - a piece of sacred wordplay not of course available to the Latin hymnographer, but one which writers have exploited to great effect since the earliest days of vernacular Christian writing in English. (See, for instance, the Anglo-Saxon poem based on 'O Oriens', which makes much of wordplay on the sun, the Son, the stars and the planets in an Advent context.) It's not surprising that this pun should also have occurred to the anonymous author of our second translation of 'Conditor Alme Siderum':

O first fownder and hevenly creature
Off sterrys shynynge in þe sperys hye,
Everlastynge lyght, gydyng frome errovre,
Cryst þat lyst reydeme vs all and bye,
Enclyne tyll vs thyne earys of mercye,
Yeue gracyows audience tyll vs all,
Whyche aye for mercy to þe clepe and calle.

Thorough condolent pete in þi mercy pyght
Yenste force of dethe thys world embandownyng,
Provydyng remyde be þi grace and myght,
Slomboryng in synne and dedly langwysshyng,
Thys worlde frome deth to lyffe reconsylyng,
To gylty sawlys pleyne pardone and remidye,
Sealyng thy self the Chartyre off mercy.

Thys world envyryng toward hys end and fyne,
Endarkyd by synne approchyng his evenyng,
O sonne of grace that lyst one vs to shynne,
And os a spowse frome hys chambyr goyng,
ffrome all damage owr frealte rauysshynge,
Passyng by þe clere cloysytre consecrate
Off mary modyr virgyn immaculate.

To whos myghty power and nowimparaile,
All creaturys owyth humble obeissaunce,
Off heyvyns hygh thow hast þe governayle,
T[h]ys world, also, is thoro þi pyssance,
The fendys also fell for all þeyr bobance
Mote the obey, it may no nother be;
Thus euery thyng for lord most knowlege the.

We prey the, lorde of mercy and grace,
Whane thow shalt come & ben owr hygh justice,
ffor gette owr gylt, for yeue hus owr trespace;
lett nott þe fende reioice hys Entirprise;
Hys dedly dart thy mercy do venquyse;
That dredfull dey, gud lord, vs all conserufe
ffrome thy mercy that we ne flyte ne swerve.

Laud, honor & thankes reuerente,
Endles joy, glorye Emperialle
Be yeue to the fadyr omnipotente,
And to þe sone in godhede peregale,
And to the holy spyryte celestiall
More then men mey wrytyn or discerne
By tymes now and infinite eterne.

This is from the manuscript of hymn translations British Library, MS. Additional 34193, from which I've posted several pieces before. They are paraphrases and expansions more than strict translations, and very different in style from Ryman's simple carol diction:

O first Founder and heavenly Creator
Of stars shining in the spheres on high,
Everlasting light, guiding from error,
Christ, who would redeem us all and buy,
Incline to us thine ears of mercy,
Give gracious audience unto us all,
Who aye for mercy to thee clepe and call.

Through condoling pity in thy mercy pight
Against force of death this world embandownyng, [against the force of the death which had this world in thrall]
Providing remedy by thy grace and might,
Slumbering in sin and deathly languishing,
This world from death to life reconciling,
To guilty souls clear pardon and remedy,
Sealing thyself the charter of mercy.

This world revolving toward his end and fin, [close]
Endarkened by sin, approaching his evening,
O son of grace that pleased on us to shine,
And as a spouse from his chamber going,
From all damage our frailty ravishing, [carrying off]
Passing through the clear cloister consecrate
Of Mary mother virgin immaculate.

To whose mighty power and nonpareil,
All creatures owe their humble obeisance,
Of heavens high thou hast the governance,
This world, also, is through thy puissance,
The fiends who fell, for all their bobance, [pride]
Must thee obey, it may none other be;
Thus every thing for lord must acknowledge thee.

We pray thee, Lord of mercy and grace,
When thou shalt come and be our high justice,
Forget our guilt, forgive us our trespass.
Let not the fiend rejoice in his enterprise;
His deadly dart thy mercy vanquish;
On that dread day, good Lord, us all preserve
From thy mercy that we not fly nor swerve.

Laud, honour and thanks most reverent,
Endless joy, glory imperial
Be given to the Father omnipotent,
And to the Son in Godhead peregale, [fully equal]
And to the Holy Spirit celestial
More than men may write or discern
By times now and infinite eterne.

To me this version, with its stately Latinate diction, loses something of the hymn's concise power, but that's just a matter of taste. It's always interesting to see how differently two contemporary medieval translators could render the same text, and it's also worth bearing in mind that these translations are nearer to us in time (being just over 500 years old) than they were to their Latin source, which was written in the seventh century. This was an ancient hymn for them too, and part of their Advent as it is part of ours.

Christ the bridegroom coming forth from his chamber, in an illustration of Psalm 18 (BL Harley 603, f. 10v)

A Morning Hymn: The Bird of Bliss

British Library, Harley 2813 f. 442v

The gladsome bird, the day's messenger,
Singing with musical harmony,
Sayeth in his song the day begins to clear,
And biddeth us address ourselves and hie
Towards the life, the life that shall not die;
This is the voice right of the bird of bliss
Singing to us that the day coming is.

This biddeth this heavenly pursuivant:
That we should all from slumbering arise,
And that we should been wholly attendant
To please God devoutly with service;
Righteous and chaste and eke in sober wise, [also in a sober manner]
The light of grace is drawing to us near
Of our darkness the clouds away to clear.


The text as printed in Frank Allen Patterson, ‘Hymnal from MS. Additional 34193 British Museum’, in Medieval Studies in Memory of Gertrude Schoepperle Loomis (New York: Columbia University Press, 1927), pp.443-488:

The gladsom Byrd, þe deys mesanger,
Synggyng with musicall armonye,
Sayth in hys song þe dey gynnyth to clere,
And byddyth vs Adressone us and hye
Toward þe lyff, þe lyf þat schall not dye;
Thys is ye voyce ryght of þe byrd of blys
Syngynge tyll vs þat þe dey cummyng is.

Thys byddyth þis heyvynly pursyuant,
That we schuld all from slomoryng Aryse,
And þat we schuld bene holly attendaunt
To plesen godd deuotly with seruice;
Ryghtwos and chast and eke in sobre wyse,
The lyght of grace is drawyng tyll vs nere
Of owr derknes þe clowdes for to clere.


This is a translation of the first two verses of a morning hymn by Prudentius, 'Ales diei nuntius'. It comes from a fifteenth-century manuscript of English hymn translations of which I have previously posted an Advent hymn, another morning hymn, and a hymn to the Holy Ghost. The whole manuscript is full of delights, and this is no exception. There are three things about this hymn which I particularly love:

1) the word 'gladsome', possibly my favourite word in the English language

2) the word 'pursuivant', a royal messenger or herald, perhaps familiar to those of you who know Malory, or his loyal Victorian imitators like William Morris; it's the language of the court and of literary romance, and thus a splendid example of a translator adapting a Latin hymn to the imaginative world of his own culture.

3) the fact that it reminds me of the wonderful Middle English proverbial phrase 'as glad as a bird when the day dawns', which I wrote about here. I almost wonder if this phrase, or at least this idea, was in the translator's mind as he worked - his happy bird with its 'musical harmony' is more suggestive of a dawn chorus than Prudentius' crowing cock. It's such a vivid simile, a striking way to express exuberant joy. I've been more than usually aware of the dawn chorus this summer; a tree near my bedroom window is a veritable choir-stall, and birdsong has seemed to be everywhere, even in the city - not only in April do 'smale foweles maken melodye, that slepen al the nyght with open ye'. In past years I've hardly taken notice of it, but what a remarkable thing it is, if you take a moment to think about it: if you were reading a novel about a fantasy world in which little winged creatures flitted around in the trees, singing and chirping, each different and with their own distinctive song, you'd think it a delightful invention. And there they are, all the time, not caring if you listen to them or not. It's one of those things for which 'we need nothing but open eyes to be ravished like the cherubims' - or open ears, in this case.

Here's the loveliest manuscript illustration I've found recently, this bluetit from BL, Royal 3 D VI:

This thirteenth-century English manuscript contains several very naturalistic birds (take a look at this stork!), and I find them mesmerising. They seem to have been drawn from nature, which means that the little bird this artist saw - and heard - died seven hundred years ago; and yet here he is. Isn't he a gladsome bird indeed, a bird of bliss? I could look at this picture all day.

And here's some bird-like harmony to start the day:



Last week I was at a concert in Canterbury Cathedral which featured 'The Lark Ascending'. A young violinist was playing the solo, and as those last trilling notes died away into the darkness of the nave there was a silence of the kind where no one wants to breathe; then after a few heartbeats it was broken by the cathedral bell, high above us, tolling the hour.

'Now Holy Ghost, our true Comforter'

BL Royal 2 B XIII, f.19

A medieval English translation of the hymn to the Holy Spirit Nunc sancte nobis spiritus, attributed to St Ambrose:

Now holy gost, owr verry counfortowre,
Oon to the fadyr and with sone also;
In tyll owr soule distyll the suet licowre
Of grace, þat wer euer we byde or goo,
Owr soules, lord, þi grace depart not froo,
lest we fall tyll erroure or disioynte
Wyth þi karisme profownde vs and enoynte.

Owr mouth of lavde mak confession;
Owr tvnge also mote speke to þi plesance;
Owr mynd be perfyt meditacione,
Owr wyttes echon with þer sufficance;
Owr strengthes all aftyr þer hole puissance;
Owr charite more flame and in fyre
Owr neghburs all þat bene of gud desyre.

Text from Frank Allen Patterson, ‘Hymnal from MS. Additional 34193 British Museum’, in Medieval Studies in Memory of Gertrude Schoepperle Loomis (New York, 1927), pp.443-488 (476).

This dates to the fifteenth century, and comes from the manuscript of hymn translations from which I've previously posted versions of 'Vox clara ecce intonat', 'Conditor alme siderum', 'Hostis Herodis impie', and others. These translations are very much in a recognisable style of fifteenth-century English poetry, with a tendency to the verbose, and delighting in ornate Latinate diction, sometimes made up on the spot for the purposes of translation - if you can properly call that 'translation'! Having said that, the second verse here, with all those parallel clauses beginning 'our', is entirely the translator's ingenuity; and sometimes he hits on a felicitous phrase, such as 'the sweet licour of grace' (licour = liquid, dew; compare the third line of the Prologue to the Canterbury Tales). For something simpler, you might like to look at the Middle English translation of 'Veni creator spiritus' ('Com, Shuppere, Holy Gost') which I posted a little while ago.

A modern version (the second verse will make more sense if you read an implied 'may' before every clause):

Now Holy Ghost, our true Comforter,
One with the Father and with the Son also;
Into our souls distil the sweet licour
Of grace, that wherever we may bide or go,
Our souls, Lord, thy grace may depart not fro; [from]
Lest we fall to error or disjoint [distress, difficulty]
With thy grace fill us and anoint.

Our mouths with praise make confession,
Our tongues also speak to thy content;
Our minds be perfect meditation,
Our wits each [used] to their full extent,
Our strengths all with their whole power;
Our charity more flame out and enfire
Our neighbours all who are of good desire.

The Latin is:

Nunc, Sancte, nobis, Spiritus,
Unum Patri cum Filio,
Dignare promptus ingeri
Nostro refusus pectori.

Os, lingua, mens, sensus, vigor
Confessionem personent.
Flammescat igne caritas,
Accéndat ardor proximos.

And the translation I know best is John Henry Newman's:

Come, Holy Ghost, Who ever One
Art with the Father and the Son;
Come, Holy Ghost, our souls possess
With Thy full flood of holiness.

In will and deed, by heart and tongue,
With all our powers, Thy praise be sung;
And love light up our mortal frame,
Till others catch the living flame.

'Full flood of holiness' is such a wonderful phrase. I like how, poetically speaking, Pentecost is a feast of mixed metaphors - it's really against all the laws of imagery to describe something as wind and fire and a flood of water, because they cancel each other out (like a holy game of 'Rock, Paper, Scissors')! Such are the dangers in speaking of the unspeakable!

'At early morn the day-light springeth'

 

British Library, Stowe 12, f.87

An ernemorwe þe day-li3t spryngeþ,
þe angles in heuene murye syngeþ,
þe world is bliþe and ek glad,
þe uendus of helle beþ sorwuel & mad,
Whanne þe kyng godus sone
þe strengþe of þe deþ hadde ouercome:
Helle dore he brak wiþ his fot,
& out of pyne vs wreches he tok.

This little poem for the dawn of Easter Day is a translation of the first two verses of Aurora lucis rutilat, an Easter hymn attributed to St Ambrose (you can listen to the hymn here). It dates to the early fourteenth century, and comes from a manuscript (Oxford, Merton College, MS. 248) which belonged to John Sheppey, Bishop of Rochester, who died in 1360. His manuscript is a collection of sermons by Sheppey and others, enlivened by short English verses, translations of Latin hymns - I posted another of them, 'Steadfast Cross', here. This is simple enough, but rather lovely: the rhyming couplets work nicely and there's something charming about seeing those all-purpose Middle English words of happiness, 'merry' and 'blithe' and 'glad', applied to something as earth-shaking as the triumph of the Resurrection!

'Ernemorwe', the only apparently difficult word in the poem, is actually just a compound from OE  'ærmorgen', early + morning. The phrase 'þe dayli3t spryngeþ' suggests, of course, not only the dawn of Easter morning but Christ the sun 'springing' from the tomb. A modernised version:

At early morn the daylight springeth,
The angels in heaven merry singeth,
The world is blithe and glad,
The fiends of hell are sorrowful and mad,
Now that the king, God's son,
The strength of death hath overcome:
Hell's door he broke with his foot,
And out of torment us wretches he took.

BL Lansdowne 462, f.50v

Here's Lassus' version of the hymn:

'Our weary limbs refreshed now with rest'

A man wakes and greets the sun, from the beginning of Prime in a 13th-century 

English Book of Hours, BL Egerton 1151

Our weary limbs refreshed now with rest,
After our sleep we wake and up arise.
Our sluggish bed no longer be our nest;
We dress us, Lord, as we can best devise,
Singing devoutly hymns of service,
Beseeching thee always be us among,
Who now praise thee most heartily in song.

Our tongue praise thee, good Lord, principally,
And in thy laud most joyously resound.
Our heart and our mind, our spirit worldly,
With ardent will thee clasp and envirowne [embrace]
So that no sin may throw our souls down;
All our acts which yet are following, [are still to come]
Begin thou, Lord, and bring to good ending.

Darkness of sin and all obscurity
Give place to light, that it may clearly shine.
The day coming, the night must needs flee;
Suffer no blame our hearts to undermine,
Illumine us, Lord, with light of grace divine,
Removing sin that stole on us by night,
And guide us, Lord, by clearness of thy light.

We pray thee and beseech thee humbly
With heart and will and our sufficans, [ability]
Our sins all to wash away and wrie [cast out]
And grant us be so perfect in creaunce [belief]
That we may thee praise and do thy pleasance [will]
And perfectly give thee laud and praising
With hymns all that we may read or sing.

This is a fifteenth-century English translation of the Office morning hymn 'Somno refectis artubus', from a collection of hymn translations in the manuscript British Library, Additional 34193.  It's a delightful translation - my favourite line is 'our sluggish bed no longer be our nest'!


Here's the text in the original spelling, which I got from Frank Allen Patterson, 'Hymnal from MS. Additional 34193 British Museum', Medieval Studies in Memory of Gertrude Schoepperle Loomis (New York, 1927), pp.443-488:

Owr wery lymes refreschyd now with rest,
Afftyr our slepe we wak and up a rysse;
Owr sluggisshe bed no lengar be owr nest;
We dresse vs, lord, as we can best devise,
Synggyng deyvowtly hympnes off seruice,
Besesechyng þe all wey ben vs a monge,
That preysyne the most hertyly with songe.

Owr twnge the preysse, god lord, principally,
And in thy lawd most noyously reysown;
Owr hert and owr mynd, owr speryt in wordly,
Wyth ardaunt wyll the clype and envirowne
So þat no synne supprise owr sowlys downe;
Owr actes all that yet ben folowyng,
Begynne thow, lord, and bryng to gud endyng.

Darknes of synne and all obscurite,
Yeve place to lyght þat hyt mey clerly shynne;
The dey commyng, þe nyght most nedes flee;
Suffyr no blame owr hertes vndyr myne,
Illumyne vs, lord, with lyght of grace dyvyne,
Reymevyng synne þat stale one vs be nyght,
And gyd vs, loord, be clerness off þi lyght.

We prey the and besechen hvmbylly
Wyth hert and wyll And owr sufficans,
Owr synnes all to wasshe Awey and wrie
And grawnt vs be so perfyt of creaunce,
We mey the preysse and do thy pleasance
And perfytly yeve the lavd and preysyng
Wythe ympnes all þat we mey rede or synge.

BL Egerton 1151, f.38

Hostis Herodes impie: 'Thou cruel Herod, thou mortal enemy'

Two years ago I posted a medieval English translation of the Epiphany hymn 'Hostis Herodes impie' by the Franciscan friar William Herebert, and today I have another one to share. This is anonymous, and from the fifteenth century; it appears in British Library, MS. Additional 34193, the manuscript of English hymn translations from which I posted back in Advent.  You can read the text of the hymn and a useful list of later translations here.  This version is a bit more wordy than Herebert's translation, but the first verse is wonderfully dramatic.  I particularly like the lines 'The water clere that erst was cristallyne / As ruby red is changed in to wyne' - crystalline being one of those new-fangled Latinate words which fifteenth-century English poets loved so very much. And there's some interesting enjambment too, especially in the first and third verses.

Thow cruell herode, thow mortall enemye,
Of criste whi art þow ferd? whi dost thow drede
That he wyll put the frome thi regallye?
The hevynly kynge to thyng terrene no nede
May have; he yevyth hevinly mede;
He settyth not be þi mortall Empyre;
What eylyth the ayenst þis lord Conspire?

The kinges iii out of þo orient
In theyr iorney to gydyn and conveye
A ster aperyd, Ryght in the firmament;
Non soo bryght a for that tyme was seye,
So lyght by lyght deyvowtly sekyn they,
And madyn knolege in theyr offerynge
To mortall man, prest and heyvyne kynge.

The lawly lambe of hvmbyll innocence
To be baptized in the Streme fontall,
And purgen vs frome gylt & greet offence
Inclynyd hym; to no synne was he thralle;
Bot vs to wasshe and vs to clensyne all,
That with synne ne schuld be supprisyde,
Of Jon Baptyste in iordan was baptizede.

A novelty gestys for to glade
By power and mervelows myghte diuine
Of verry water verry wynne was made
The water clere that erst was cristallyne
As ruby reed is changed in to wyne;
Thys kyng of myght may byd hys creature
Aftyr hys wyll to changene hys natur.

To the lord that þis day apere,
Be yeuen lawde wyth praysyng and glorie,
In tymes reuolute frome yere to yere;
Thys solempe fest, thys blessyd Epyphany,
Off thyne aperance makyng memory;
We wyrshyp the fadyr of myghtes most,
Criste hys sone and eke the holy gost. Amen.


More readable:


Thou cruel Herod, thou mortal enemy,
Why art thou afraid of Christ? why dost thou dread
That he will put thee from thy royalty? [i.e. royal place]
The heavenly king for earthly thing no need
May have; he giveth heavenly mede; [reward]
He careth not for thy mortal empire;
Why trouble thee against this lord to conspire?

The kings three out of the orient
In their journey to guide and to convey
A star appeared, right in the firmament;
None so bright a path at any time saw they!
So light by light devoutly seek they,
And made acknowledgement in their offering
To mortal man, priest and heavenly king.

The lowly lamb of humble innocence
To be baptised in the stream fontal,
And purge us from guilt & great offence
Inclined himself; to no sin was he thrall;
But us to wash and us to cleanse all,
That we with sin should never be supprisyde, [overcome]
By John Baptist in Jordan he was baptised.

A new deed to inspire a tale,
By power and marvellous might divine
Of true water true wine was made:
The water clear which first was crystalline,
Now ruby red is changed into wine;
This king of power can bid his creature
According to his will to change its nature.

To the lord who this day doth appear,
Be given laud with praise and glory,
In proper time, from year to year;
This solemn feast, this blessed Epiphany,
Of thine appearance making memory; [i.e. recalling]
We worship the Father of mights most, [greatest in power]
Christ his son, and eke the Holy Ghost. Amen.

Christ, whose glory fills the skies

Christ, whose glory fills the skies,
Christ, the true, the only Light,
Sun of Righteousness, arise,
Triumph o’er the shades of night;
Dayspring from on high, be near;
Day-star, in my heart appear.

Dark and cheerless is the morn
Unaccompanied by Thee;
Joyless is the day’s return
Till Thy mercy’s beams I see;
Till they inward light impart,
Glad my eyes, and warm my heart.

Visit then this soul of mine,
Pierce the gloom of sin and grief;
Fill me, Radiancy divine,
Scatter all my unbelief;
More and more Thyself display,
Shining to the perfect day.




I had never thought of Charles Wesley's 'Christ, whose glory fills the skies' as an Advent hymn before - it was written as a hymn for the morning, I believe - but I heard it sung at Evensong the other day, and it works well at this time of year. Perhaps it's because the phrase 'Sun of Righteousness' (which is from Malachi 4:2) recalls Wesley's other more famous Christmas hymn (and there's also this; I think he liked that image!).  Or perhaps it's just the imagery of light triumphing over darkness which makes it so appropriate for this season - 'the year's midnight'.

Veni redemptor gentium

The other day I promised a post on English translations of the Advent hymn 'Veni redemptor gentium', and since this is a hymn of St Ambrose, his feast-day seems a good time to post it. The hymn is fairly securely attributed to him, at least according to the evidence adduced on this site. Here's the Latin:

1. Veni, redemptor gentium,
ostende partum Virginis;
miretur omne saeculum:
talis decet partus Deum.

2. Non ex virili semine,
sed mystico spiramine
Verbum Dei factum est caro
fructusque ventris floruit.

3. Alvus tumescit Virginis,
claustrum pudoris permanet,
vexilla virtutum micant,
versatur in templo Deus.

4. Procedat e thalamo suo,
pudoris aula regia,
geminae gigas substantiae
alacris ut currat viam.

5. Aequalis aeterno Patri,
carnis tropaeo cingere,
infirma nostri corporis
virtute firmans perpeti.

6. Praesepe iam fulget tuum
lumenque nox spirat novum,
quod nulla nox interpolet
fideque iugi luceat.

7. Sit, Christe, rex piissime,
tibi Patrique gloria
cum Spiritu Paraclito,
in sempiterna saecula. Amen.




This is my favourite form of this hymn:



The music has such a wonderful, elegant movement to it! But we're considering the words, which in this case are by J. M. Neale. As usual, he does a splendid job:

1. Come, Thou Redeemer of the earth,
And manifest Thy virgin birth:
Let every age adoring fall;
Such birth befits the God of all.

2. Begotten of no human will,
But of the Spirit, Thou art still
The Word of God in flesh arrayed,
The promised Fruit to man displayed.

3. The virgin womb that burden gained
With virgin honour all unstained;
The banners there of virtue glow;
God in His temple dwells below.

4. Forth from His chamber goeth He,
That royal home of purity,
A giant in twofold substance one,
Rejoicing now His course to run.

5. From God the Father He proceeds,
To God the Father back He speeds;
His course He runs to death and hell,
Returning on God’s throne to dwell.

6. O equal to the Father, Thou!
Gird on Thy fleshly mantle now;
The weakness of our mortal state
With deathless might invigorate.

7. Thy cradle here shall glitter bright,
And darkness breathe a newer light,
Where endless faith shall shine serene,
And twilight never intervene.

8. All laud to God the Father be,
All praise, eternal Son, to Thee;
All glory, as is ever meet,
To God the Holy Paraclete.


Rendering Ambrose's concise Latin into equally concise English is so difficult, and Neale does it so well. Isn't verse 7 beautiful? We may wonder whether a cradle really 'glitters', but even so, you can't fault it.

This American translation, by William M. Reynolds, is also excellent:

1. Savior of the nations, come;
Virgin’s Son, here make Thy home!
Marvel now, O heaven and earth,
That the Lord chose such a birth.

2. Not by human flesh and blood;
By the Spirit of our God
Was the Word of God made flesh,
Woman’s offspring, pure and fresh.

3. Wondrous birth! O wondrous Child
Of the virgin undefiled!
Though by all the world disowned,
Still to be in heaven enthroned.

4. From the Father forth He came
And returneth to the same,
Captive leading death and hell
High the song of triumph swell!

5. Thou, the Father’s only Son,
Hast over sin the victory won.
Boundless shall Thy kingdom be;
When shall we its glories see?

6. Brightly doth Thy manger shine,
Glorious is its light divine.
Let not sin o’ercloud this light;
Ever be our faith thus bright.

7. Praise to God the Father sing,
Praise to God the Son, our King,
Praise to God the Spirit be
Ever and eternally.




Catherine Winkworth Englished a German translation of the hymn, rather well:

1. Redeemer of the nations, come!
Ransom of earth, here make Thy home!
Bright Sun, oh dart Thy flame to earth,
For so shall God in Christ have birth!

2. Thou comest from Thy kingly throne,
O Son of God, the Virgin's Son!
Thou Hero of a twofold race,
Dost walk in might earth's darkest place.

3. Thou stoopest once to suffer here,
And risest o'er the starry sphere;
Hell's gates at Thy descent were riven,
Thy ascent is to highest Heaven.

4. One with the Father! Prince of might!
O'er nature's realm assert Thy right,
Our sickly bodies pine to know
Thy heavenly strength, Thy living glow.

5. How bright Thy lowly manger beams!
Down earth's dark vale its glory streams,
The splendour of Thy natal night
Shines through all Time in deathless light.


I love 'hero of a twofold race'!

And another from David Thomas Morgan (1809-1886), whose longer lines give him a bit more space to work with:

1. O come, Redeemer of mankind, appear,
Thee with full hearts the virgin born we greet;
Let every age with rapt amazement hear
That wondrous birth which for our God is meet.

2. Not by the will of man, or mortal seed,
But by the Spirit's breathed mysterious grace
The Word of God became our flesh indeed,
And grew a tender plant of human race.

3. Lo! Mary's virgin womb its burden bears;
Nor less abides her virgin purity;
In the King's glory see our nature shares;
Here in His temple God vouchsafes to be.

4. From His bright chamber, virtue's holy shrine
The royal Bridegroom cometh to the day;
Of twofold substance, human and divine,
As giant swift, rejoicing on His way.

5. Forth from His Father to the world He goes,
Back to the Father's face His way regains,
Far down to souls beneath His glory shows,
Again at God's right hand victorious reigns.

6. With the eternal Father equal, Thou,
Girt with our flesh dost triumph evermore,
Strengthening our feeble bodies here below
With endless grace from Thine own living store.

7. How doth Thy lowly manger radiant shine!
On the sweet breath of night new splendor grows;
So may our spirits glow with faith divine,
Where no dark cloud of sin shall interpose.

8. All praise and glory to the Father be,
All praise and glory to His only Son,
All praise and glory, Holy Ghost, to Thee,
Both now, and while eternal ages run.


And finally a fifteenth-century translation from the hymnal I mentioned the other day, British Library, MS. Additional 34193. This was the first hymn I encountered from that collection and it was the translation of the 'cradle' verse which most attracted me - 'no cloudes black, no darkness noctiall!' It's rather Dunbar-esque. There are some nice bits of alliteration, too: 'from the chosen chamber of chaste cleanness' and 'banners of bliss' and best of all, 'This is the feast of our felicity'.


Come now, gud lord, now come, owr savyowr,
Come, shew thy byrth of mary, modyr & mayde;
Discende, gude lord, ryght frome thy heyvenly towre;
Now lat all worldys merueyll & be dysmayde,
How in owr kynd lyst to be Areyde,
And os þe son bemes peryth in þe glace,
Thy modyr mayd permaynyng os sche was.

Partles of mannes knolege or mixture,
Thys holy byrth, thys blessyd natiuite,
Whan god to mane is ioynyd in nature,
The holy gost by grace did hyt so be;
Thys is the fest of owr felicite,
Yn wyche þe wombe of þe uirgyne
The frute of lyff tyll vs did sontyfie.

The sacred wombe and cloystyr virginale,
Evyr vnwemmed and inviolate,
Thowgh it be fore ful sklendyr and small
[line missing in the manuscript]
The baners of blys bene splaied & preparate,
Ther can no thynge thys reherce,
loo, god and mane in temple is convers!

ffrom þe chosyne chambyr of chast clennes
Procedyng, and pure paleys of plesance,
Thurgh hys grace owr myscheff to reydres,
A myghty Gyant off dowbyll substance,
ffor to reypresse þe feendis fowle pywssance,
ffrome heyvyne tyl Erth hys cowrs hath swetyly tak
To cause owr joye and owr fynaunce to make.

Of þe fadyr eternall, generate
By generacyone enarrable,
In owr nature be comene incarnate,
So passyng owte be manes mercyable,
In to thys world and eftsone reyturnable,
Whane he hath putte the feendes to silence,
Vnto þe fadyr by merveilows ascence.

O goddes sone, evyn and peregalle
Vnto the fadyr in hys deytee,
In mannes wed by trophe trivmphall,
We the beschen, arreaye þi maieste,
Support well wyth þat owr infirmite,
Ne cause us not to fallene in Rvyne;
Conseruf us, lord, by thy uertu dyvyne.

The bestys crybbe, the humble assys Stall,
As pure gold Burned most fayr And bryght
Noo clowdys Blak, noo darknes noctyall,
May defare þe beemes of þis light;
Most orient and most persaunt of myght
Owr feyth, owr hope, & all owr hole creaunce
Ys in thys dey and all owr Esperance.

Too owr lord god, fadyr omnipotent,
Be yeuone lawd with joy ond all honowr,
And to þe sone that in þis fest is sent,
To help vs and ben owr savyowr,
And to þe holy gost, owr cownfortowr,
As well in erth os in the heyvyns hye,
Now and euer, Amen incessauntly.


That is:

Come now, good Lord, now come, our Saviour,
Come, show thy birth of Mary, mother and maid;
Descend, good Lord, down from thy heavenly tower.
Now let all worlds marvel and be dismayed,
How in our kind he wills to be arrayed;
And as the sunbeam appeareth in the glass,
Thy mother a maid remained, as she was,

Without man's knowledge or mixture;
This holy birth, this blest nativity,
When God to man is joinèd in nature -
The Holy Ghost by grace caused it so to be.
This is the feast of our felicity,
In which the womb of the virgin
The fruit of life to us did sanctify.

The sacred womb and cloister virginal,
Ever unstainèd and inviolate,
Though it before slender was and small
[...]
The banners of bliss are displayed and prepared;
There can no thing this truth explain or tell,
Lo, God and man within this temple dwell!

From the chosen chamber of chaste cleanness
Proceeding, and pure palace of pleasance, [joy]
Through his grace our sorrows to redress,
A mighty giant of double substance,
For to repress the fiend's foul puissance,
From heaven to earth his course did sweetly take
To cause our joy, and our redemption make.

Of the Father eternal, generate
By generation inerrable,
In our nature become incarnate,
So passing forth by means merciful,
Into this world and soon again returning,
When he hath made the fiends silent,
Unto the Father by marvellous ascent.

O God's Son, equal and peregalle [fully equal]
Unto the Father in his deity,
In mankind's weeds, by victory triumphal,
We thee beseech, show forth thy majesty,
Support us well in our infirmity,
And cause us not to fall in ruin;
Preserve us, Lord, by thy virtue divine.

The beasts' crib, the humble asses' stall,
As pure gold burned most fair and bright;
No clouds black, no darkness noctial,
May impede the beams of this light;
Most orient and most piercing of might,
Our faith, our hope, and all our whole creance [belief]
Is in this day, and all our esperance. [hope]

To our Lord God, Father omnipotent,
Be given laud with joy and all honour,
And to the Son who in this feast is sent,
To help us and to be our Saviour,
And to the Holy Ghost, our comforter,
As well in earth as in the heavens high,
Now and ever, Amen incessantly.

Vox Clara Ecce Intonat: 'Behold, a voice of pleasant harmony'

Prayers and rubrics for Advent in a 14th-century English Breviary (BL Stowe 12, f.1v)

Vox clara ecce intonat,
obscura queque increpat:
pellant eminus sompnia;
ab ethere Cristus promicat.

Behold a voyce of plesant armony
Resownyth owt and bringyth gud mesage,
And sayth owr helth shall come frome heyvens hye
Whyche owr langowr shall lessone and assvage,
And shall vs save frome deth and all damage,
Cryst, goodys sone, charyng awey þe nyght,
And on vs hath spred þe beemys of hys lyght.

Mens iam resurgat torpida
que sorde exstat saucia;
sidus refulget jam nouum,
ut tollat omne noxium.

Now lette owr mynd reyvyvoen and respire,
That hathe ben slowe infecte wyth synfulnes,
Latte vs lyft vp owr hert and howr desyre!
Behold þe sterre of excellent hyghnes
Schynyth new, rapelyng of darknes!
The lyghtsome sterre raplenyschyth with pleasance
Wyll gyden vs frome all old greuance.

Ex sursum agnus mittitur
laxare gratis debitum;
omnes pro indulgencia
vocem demus cum lacrimis.

ffrome heyvyn is sent a lambe of innocence,
To mak for vs raunsone and finaunce,
Wythe owr trespas frely to dispence,
And to for yeue owr wrecched ignorance,
Wyth humble hert mak we owr creaunce
Vnto þat lambe with teerys lavvabyll.
Be sechyng hyme to vs be mercyabyll.

Secundo ut cum fulserit
mundum horror que cinxcerit,
non pro reatu puniat,
sed nos pius tunc protegat.

Whane he shall come and yeue hys last sentance,
And all þe world shall quak for feer & drede,
Hys mercy may be to vs defence,
Syth noo thyng els mey helpe vs in þat nede.
Latte nott owr gyltys receyvyne than heer mede,
But beynyngly pray hym hys mercy vse
So that owr gylt hys pyte wyll excuse.

This is a translation of the Advent hymn 'Vox clara ecce intonat', from a fifteenth-century English manuscript which is now British Library, MS. Additional 34193. This manuscript contains many translations of the Latin hymns de tempore, each verse of Latin interspersed with a verse in English; the English is not a literal translation, but a paraphrase and poetic elaboration on the original. The hymns, which are anonymous, are all transcribed in Frank Allen Patterson, 'Hymnal from MS. Additional 34193 British Museum', in Medieval Studies in Memory of Gertrude Schoepperle Loomis (New York, 1927), pp.443-488, where this hymn is at 448-9. I've posted several of this manuscript's translations before: 'Conditor alme siderum', 'Hostis Herodis impie', a hymn to the Holy Spirit, and three morning hymns. They're really rather lovely (especially the morning hymns), and this version of 'Vox clara' is no exception.

John the Baptist (BL Stowe 12, f. 257)

A modernised version:

Vox clara ecce intonat,
obscura queque increpat:
pellant eminus sompnia;
ab ethere Cristus promicat.

Behold, a voice of pleasant harmony
Resoundeth out, and bringeth a good message,
And saith: Our health shall come from heaven high,
And shall our langour lessen and assuage,
And shall us save from death and all damage;
Christ, God's son, chasing away the night,
On us hath spread the beams of his light.

Mens iam resurgat torpida
que sorde exstat saucia;
sidus refulget jam nouum,
ut tollat omne noxium.

Now let our minds revive and reinspire,
Which have been slothfully infected with sinfulness,
Let us lift up our hearts and our desire.
Behold the star of excellent highness
Newly shineth, repelling the darkness!
This lightsome star, replenishing our joyfulness,
Will guard us from all old distress.

Ex sursum agnus mittitur
laxare gratis debitum;
omnes pro indulgencia
vocem demus cum lacrimis.

From heaven is sent a Lamb of innocence,
To make for us ransom and recompense,
With our trespass freely to dispense,
And to forgive our wretched ignorance;
With humble heart make we our obedience
Unto that Lamb with purifying tears,
Beseeching that he be merciful to us.

Secundo ut cum fulserit
mundum horror que cinxcerit,
non pro reatu puniat,
sed nos pius tunc protegat.

When he shall come and give his last sentence,
And all the world shall quake for fear and dread,
His mercy may be to us a defence,
Since nothing else may help us at that need.
Let not our sins receive then their meed,
But humbly pray that he his mercy use
So that our guilt his pity will excuse.



This is the hymn 'Vox clara' - 'plesant armony', indeed! Some modern translations of the hymn can be found here; perhaps the most familiar is Caswall's 'Hark, a herald voice is calling'.

Joy and triumph everlasting

I'm a bit late with this post, but today is something of a bonus feast-day for me, patron-saints-wise - two for the price of one.  St Hilda, the seventh-century abbess of Whitby, is the patron and namesake of my first Oxford college, and St Hugh of Lincoln is one of the patrons of my last; they share a feast today, by one of the coincidences of history.  They lived five hundred years apart, and I'm not sure whether they have much in common apart from their feast-day (and me).  They did both have an affinity with birds -St Hugh famously had a pet swan which used to follow him around and guard him while he slept; legend had it that St Hilda was so respected by the sea-birds of Whitby that they would dip their wings in her honour as they flew over the abbey.

Anyway, in honour of these two confessors, here's an 'all saints' kind of hymn.  The words are Robert Bridges' translation of a sequence by Adam of St Victor ('Supernae matris gaudia'), first published in 1899.  This is the tune, and you can see a scanned version of the text in the Yattendon Hymnal here - it's distinctly odd in appearance and spelling, so worth a look...

St Hugh, from Brasenose chapel

Joy and triumph everlasting
Hath the heavenly Church on high;
For that pure immortal gladness
All our feast days mourn and sigh:
Yet in death’s dark desert wild
Doth the Mother aid her child;
Guards celestial thence attend us,
Stand in combat to defend us.

Here the world’s perpetual warfare
Holds from heav’n the soul apart;
Legioned foes in shadowy terror
Vex the Sabbath of the heart.
O how happy that estate
Where delight doth not abate!
For that home the spirit yearneth,
Where none languisheth nor mourneth.

There the body hath no torment,
There the mind is free from care,
There is every voice rejoicing,
Every heart is loving there.
Angels in that city dwell;
Them their King delighteth well:
Still they joy and weary never,
More and more desiring ever.

There the seers and fathers holy,
There the prophets glorified,
All their doubts and darkness ended,
In the light of light abide.
There the saints, whose memories old
We in faithful hymns uphold,
Have forgot their bitter story
In the joy of Jesu’s glory.

There from lowliness exalted
Dwelleth Mary, queen of grace,
Ever with her presence pleading
'Gainst the sin of Adam's race.
To that glory of the blest,
By their prayers and faith confest,
Us, us too, when death hath freed us,
Christ of his good mercy lead us.

St Hilda, from All Saints, Evesham

This hymn was new to me today, and although it immediately appealed to me, it's somewhat odd.  Robert Bridges has an idiosyncratic poetic style at the best of times, and in some places this doesn't even manage to be competent versifying - the couplet 'the saints, whose memories old / We in faithful hymns uphold' is just weak ('memories old'?  Really, Robert?)  You might expect better of a Poet Laureate and friend of Gerard Manley Hopkins - it's no 'All my hope on God is founded', is all I'm saying.  But what I do like very much is the paradox in the first verse: 'For that pure immortal gladness / all our feast days mourn and sigh'.  The very act of rejoicing at annual festivals, fixed points in earthly time, causes us to mourn for a place where there will be no time, and no feast-days - 'no ends nor beginnings but one equal eternity', as John Donne has it.  And in the second verse, similarly: 'for that home the spirit yearneth, / Where none languisheth nor mourneth' - we yearn for no more yearning, for 'no fears nor hopes but one equal possession'.