Today I was struck by an antiphon in the office of Lauds and Vespers for the 5th and final psalm of the hour, Ps 148.
Ant. Fulcíte me flóribus, * stipáte me malis, quia amóre lángueo.
Which is rendered in the DRV used at Divinum Officium as:
Ant. Revive me with flowers, * stay me up with apples for I am swooning with love.
Looking up the verse in the RSV I found:
Sustain me with raisins, refresh me with apples; for I am sick with love.
That’s weird, quoth I. I wondered “What does the prayer really say?”
Given that the Psalm is in Hebrew, I figured I bet check the Hebrew. I got:
Sustain/revive me with flagons, comfort (make a bed = refresh) with apples for I am sick of love.
That “flagon”, which is usually a container as for wine, in biblical contest can mean a cake of pressed raisins as is in the RSV.
Fathers commenting on that bit “I am sick/wounded with love” remark that it is a wound “without a sore” and it is, for Ambrose, inflicted by God in Scripture, so it is wound without a sore. Augustine says that, “It’s a wound as long as we desire and don’t yet have”, referring the happiness of Heaven. Gregory the Great extends the image: in the preaching of sermons words are like arrows. When they are drawn by the voive of those leading holy lives, they transfix the hearts of the hearers. “With these arrows holy Church has been struck, saying, ‘I am wounded with love’.” (Moralia 34.21)
I’d like to get into it more, but I lack access to Patristic commentaries on the Song of Songs, which are quite rich.
On another note the Vespers hymn by the 18th c. Servite, Callisto Palombella, Iam toto súbitus vesper eat polo is odd and wonderful.
What’s the meter? We have 3 asclepiads and 1 glyconic, hence, 2nd Asclepiadian like an Ode of Horace. — u u — — u u — u — — A choriamb (— u u —) followed by another choriamb (— u u —) then an iambic close (u —), and a final long syllable.
| Iam toto súbitus vesper eat polo, Et sol attónitum præcípitet diem, Dum sævæ récolo ludíbrium necis, Divinámque catástrophen. |
Now let sudden evening go across the whole sky, And let the astonished sun cast down the day, While I recall the savage mockery of death, And the divine catastrophe. |
| Spectátrix áderas supplício, Parens, Malis uda, gerens cor adamántinum; Natus funérea péndulus in cruce Altos dum gémitus dabat. |
You were present as a spectator at the punishment, O Mother, Wet from evils, bearing an adamantine heart, While your Son, hanging on the funereal Cross, Uttered deep groans. |
| Pendens ante óculos Natus, atrócibus Sectus verbéribus, Natus hiántibus Fossus vulnéribus, quot penetrántibus Te confíxit acúleis! |
Your Son, hanging before your eyes, with savage, Scourgings torn, your Son, with gaping Wounds pierced, with how many stabbing Thorns He transfixed you also! |
| Eheu! Sputa, álapæ, vérbera, vúlnera, Clavi, fel, áloë, spóngia, láncea, Sitis, spina, cruor, quam vária pium Cor pressére tyránnide! |
Alas! The spittle, the blows, the scourges, the wounds, The nails, the gall, the aloe, the sponge, the spear, The thirst, the thorn, the blood, how manifoldly the pious Heart they oppressed with tyranny! |
| Cunctis intérea stas generósior, Virgo, Martýribus: prodígio novo, In tantis móriens non móreris, Parens, Diris fixa dolóribus. |
Meanwhile you stand more noble than all, O Virgin, than the Martyrs: by a new wonder, In so great sufferings, dying, you do not die, O Mother, Fixed in dread sorrows. |
| Sit summæ Tríadi glória, laus, honor, A qua supplíciter, sollícita prece, Posco virgínei róboris ?mulas Vires rebus in ásperis. Amen. |
Glory, praise, honor be to the most high Trinity, From whom, with humble and urgent prayer, I ask for powers that may rival virginal strength For things that are hard. Amen. |
It’s time for another appeal. Thanks to reader HL for nudging me about this today.
In the Divine Praises we pray:
