AND AFTER THIS OUR EXILE

-> (sung version here) <-

Salve Regina, Mater misericordiæ,

vita, dulcedo, et spes nostra, salve.

Ad te clamamus exsules filii Hevæ,

Ad te suspiramus, gementes et flentes

in hac lacrimarum valle.

Eia, ergo, advocata nostra, illos tuos

misericordes oculos ad nos converte;

Et Jesum, benedictum fructum ventris tui,

nobis post hoc exsilium ostende.

O clemens, O pia, O dulcis Virgo Maria.

Hail, O Queen, Mother of mercy,

our life, our sweetness, and our hope.

To thee we cry, Eve’s exiled children;

to thee we sigh, mourning and weeping 

in this valley of tears.

Turn, then, thou who plead'st for us, 

thine eyes of mercy upon us;

and after this our exile show us 

Jesus, the blessed fruit of thy womb.

O grave and merciful, 

Gentle Virgin Mary.

I have come to love this old (twelfth century) Marian hymn, sung in the clip above by the Benedictines of Santo Domingo de Silos. It was often sung at evening Hours, and at funerals, especially those of priests. And, of course, T. S. Eliot refers to it in 'Ash Wednesday' part III with the last line 'and after this our exile'  . My translation is perhaps a little free: I wanted to avoid too much syrupy sentimentality. Some purists might object to 'grave' for 'pia'; but 'pious' has been degraded almost beyond recovery, and in the memory of 'pius AEneas' there is a kind of gravity respectful of the Divine. Likewise, 'gentle' seemed reasonable for 'dulcis': rather than the Sulpician 'sweet' it was Horace's 'dulce loquentem, dulce ridentem' that came to mind. 

The image is a detail of Michelangelo's last Pietà, the Rondanini Pietà in Milan's Castello Sforzesco, which I have always found profoundly moving.