All hushed beneath the holy rood, 
  Save the low sobs of her who stood
With claspèd hand uplift in prayer, 
  Wailing -- in deep despair! 
Suddenly, on silent wing, 
  A quiv'ring bird (a tender thing) 
Up from the dark'ning valley soared 
  Into the right hand of the Lord : --
With frantic wrench of bill and claw 
  It sought the cruel nail to draw 
Out of the bruised and bleeding hand 
  That saved us all! 
Panting -- stained with the Sacred Blood,
  It ceased and clinging to the rood,
Sang unto her, who weeping stood,
  This plaintive song of sorrow : --
    "Dolorosa, et Lacrymosa, O Maria, 
    Stans juxta crucem Domini!" 

The Virgin, startled by the sound, 
  Rushed to the Cross -- and stood, spell-bound, 
With arms outstretched and anxious ear, 
  Listening in mingled hope and fear;
Watching -- in agony intense --
  Watching the Lord -- in dread suspense --
Her soul all-pending on those lips 
  She thought had moved! -- 
She gazed -- when lo, on silent wing, 
  The tender bird (the piteous thing)
Up to the crimson heaven soar'd 
  Out of the right hand of the Lord; 
And, hov'ring o'er the sacred rood 
  Where still the heart-rent mother stood,
Poured forth once more its touching flood
  Of plaintive song and sorrow: --
    "Dolorosa, et Lacrymosa, O Maria, 
    Stans juxta crucem Domini!"