The Vespers Hymn for the Feast of the Seven Sorrows of Mary

I admit that when I read the first line of this hymn for the Vespers (Evening Prayer) for today's feast, I had to read it again: "Iam toto subitus vesper eat polo"--"eat polo"?!?!?

Iam toto subitus vesper eat polo,
Et sol attonitum præcipitet diem,
Dum sævæ recolo ludibrium necis,
Divinamque catastrophen.

Spectatrix aderas supplicio parens,
Malis uda, gerens cor adamantinum:
Natus funerea pendulus in cruce
Altos dum gemitus dabat.

Pendens ante oculos Natus, atrocibus
Sectus verberibus, Natus hiantibus
Fossus vulneribus, quot penetrantibus
Te confixit aculeis!

Heu! sputa, alapæ, verbera, vulnera,
Clavi, fel, alœ, spongia, lancea,
Sitis, spina, cruor, quam varia pium
Cor pressere tyrannide!

Cunctis interea stas generosior
Virgo martyribus: prodigio novo,
In tantis moriens non moreris parens,
Diris fixa doloribus.

Sit summæ Triadi gloria, laus, honor,
A qua suppliciter, sollicita prece,
Posco virginei roboris æmulas
Vires rebus in asperis. Amen.

According to this website, this hymn dates to the eighteenth century:

Office hymn that was historically sung, first at Matins, subsequently at Vespers, on the feast of the Seven Sorrows of Our Lady. Its composition is ascribed to Callisto Palumbella, a bishop of the 18th century, who was a member of the Servites, and to whom the feast had been granted in 1688. The meter is minor asclepiadic in the first three lines of each strophe and glyconic in the fourth line. Within the space of its six stanzas the hymn details the sufferings of Christ upon the cross and stresses their effect on His Mother.

You probably won't be surprised to learn that Father Edward Caswall of the Oratory translated this hymn into English:

Come, darkness, spread o’er Heav’n thy pall,
And hide, O sun, thy face;
While we that bitter death recall,
With all its dire disgrace.

And thou, with tearful cheek, wast there;
But with a heart of steel,
Mary, thou didst his moanings hear,
And all his torments feel.

He hung before thee crucified;
His flesh with scourgings rent;
His bloody gashes gaping wide;
His strength and spirit spent.

Thou his dishonour’d countenance,
And racking thirst, didst see;
By turns the gall, the sponge, the lance,
Were agony to thee.

Yet still erect in majesty,
Thou didst the sight sustain ;—
Oh, more than Martyr! not to die
Amid such cruel pain!

Praise to the blessed Three in One;
Oh, may that strength be mine,
Which, sorrowing o’er her only Son,
Did in the Virgin shine!

And if you would like a beautiful image of the Seven Sorrows of the Blessed Virgin Mary, I recommend this one from Cedars & Stars!

More about this feast here.