PATH OF MIRACLES

Herr Santiagu 
Grot Sanctiagu 
Eultreya esuseya 
Deius aia nos.

Eodem autore tempore misit Herodes rex manus ut adfligeret quosdam de ecclesia occidit autem Iacobum fratrem 
Iohannis gladio.

En aquel mismo tiempo el rey Herodes echó mano a algunos de la iglesia para maltratarles. Y mató a espada a 
Jacobo, hermano de Juan.

Aldi hartan, Herodes erregea eliz elkarteko batzuei gogor erasotzen hasi zen. Santiago, Joanen anaia, ezpataz 
hilarazi zuen.

Ver ce temps-là, le roi Hérode se mit à persécuter quelques-un de membres de l’Église. Il fit mourir par l’épée 
Jacques, frère de Jean.

Now about that time Herod the king stretched forth his hands to vex certain of the church. And he killed James, the 
brother of John with the sword.

Um dieselbige Zeit legte der König Herodes die Hände an, etliche von der Gemeinde, sie zu peinigen. Er tötete aber 
Jakobus, den Bruder des Johannes, mit dem Schwert.

Before this death the Apostle journeyed, 
preaching the word to unbelievers.

Returning, unheeded, 
to die in Jerusalem – 
a truth beyond Gospel.

Jacobus, filius Zebedaei, frate Johannis, 
Hic Spaniae et occidentalia loca praedicat, (1)

foy el o primeiro que preegou en Galizia (2)

Herod rots on a borrowed throne, 
while the saint is translated 
to Heaven and Spain, 
the body taken at night from the tomb,

the stone of the tomb becoming the boat 
that carries him back ad extremis terrarum, 
back to the land that denied him in life.

Huius beatissimi apostoli 
sacra ossa ad Hispanias translata; (3)

Et despois que o rrey Erodes mãdou matar en Iherusalem, 
trouxerõ o corpo del os diçipolos por mar a Galiza (4)

From Jerusalem to Finisterre, 
from the heart of the world 
to the end of the land in a boat made of stone, 
without rudder or sail. 
Guided by grace to the Galician shore. 
abandonnant à la Providence 
la soin de la sepulture, (5)

O ajutor omnium seculorum, 
O decus apostollorum,
 
O lus clara galicianorum, 
O avocate peregrinorum, 
Jacobe, suplantatur viciorum 
Solve nostrum 
Cathenes delitorum
 
E duc a salutum portum.

O judge of all the world, 
O glory of the apostles, 
O clear light of Galicia, 
O defender of pilgrims, 
James, destroyer of sins, 
deliver us from evil and lead us to safe harbour.

At night on Lebredon 
by Iria Flavia 
the hermit Pelayo 
at prayer and alone

saw in the heavens 
a ring of bright stars 
shining like beacons 
over the plain

and as in Bethlehem 
the Magi were guided 
the hermit was led 
by this holy sign

for this was the time 
given to Spain 
for St. James to be found 
after eight hundred years

in Compostella, by the field of stars.

Herr Santiagu 
Grot Sanctiagu 
Eultreya esuseya 
Deius aia nos.

Innkeepers cheat us, the English steal, 
The devil waits at the side of the road. 
We trust in words and remnants, prayers and bones.

We know that the world is a lesson 
As the carved apostles in the Puerta Alta 
Dividing the damned and the saved are a lesson. 
We beat our hands against the walls of heaven.

St. Julian of Cuenca, 
Santa Casilda, pray for us.

Remember the pilgrim robbed in Pamplona, 
Cheated of silver the night his wife died; 
Remember the son of the German pilgrim 
Hanged as a thief at the gates of the town, 
Hanged at the word of an innkeeper’s daughter.

Innkeepers cheat us, the English steal, 
The devil waits at the side of the road. 
We trust in words and remnants, prayers and bones.

Santiago Peregrino:

His arm is in England, his jaw in Italy 
And yet he works wonders. 
The widower, the boy on the gallows – 
He did not fail them. 
One given a horse on the road by a stranger, 
One kept alive for twenty-six days, 
Unhurt on a gallows for twenty-six days. 

His jaw is in Italy, yet he speaks. 
The widower robbed in Pamplona: 
Told by the Saint how the thief 
Fell from the roof of a house to his death.

His arm is in England, yet the boy, 
The pilgrim’s son they hanged in Toulouse 
Was borne on the gallows for twenty-six days 
And called to his father: Do not mourn, 
For all this time the Saint has been with me. 
O beate Jacobe.

Innkeepers cheat us, the English steal. 
We are sick of body, worthy of hell.

The apostles in the Puerta Alta 
Have seen a thousand wonders; 
The stone floor is worn with tears, 
With ecstasies and lamentations. 
We beat our hands against the walls of heaven.

Santiago Peregrino:

The devil waits in a turn in the wind 
In a closing door in an empty room. 
A voice at night, a waking dream.

Traveller, be wary of strangers, 
Sometimes the Saint takes the form of a pilgrim, 
Sometimes the devil the form of a saint.

Pray to the Saints and the Virgen del Camino, 
To save you as she saved the man from Lyon 
Who was tricked on the road by the deceiver, 
Tricked by the devil in the form of St. James 
And who killed himself from fear of hell;

The devil cried out and claimed his soul. 
Weeping, his companions prayed. 
Saint and Virgin heard the prayer 
And turned his wound into a scar, 
From mercy they gave the dead man life.

Innkeepers cheat us, the English steal, 
We are sick of body, worthy of hell. 
We beat our hands against the walls of heaven 
And are not heard. 
We pray for miracles and are given stories; 
Bread, and are given stones. 
We write our sins on parchment 
To cast upon his shrine 
In hope they will burn.

We pray to St. Julian of Cuenca, 
To St. Amaro the Pilgrim, 
To Santa Casilda, 
To San Millan and the Virgin of the Road. 
We pray to Santiago.

We know that the world is a lesson 
As the carved apostles in the Puerta Alta 
Dividing the damned and the saved are a lesson. 
We pray the watching saints will help us learn.

Ora pro nobis, Jacobe,
 
A finibus terrae ad te clamavi. (6)

Li soleus qui en moi luist est mes deduis, 
Et Dieus est mon conduis.(7)

We have walked 
In Jakobsland:

Over river and sheep track, 
By hospice and hermit’s cave.

We sleep on the earth and dream of the road, 
We wake to the road and we walk.

Wind from the hills 
Dry as the road,

Sun overhead, 
Too bright for the eye.

Li soleus qui en moi luist est mes deduis, 
Et Dieus est mon conduis. (8)

Rumours of grace on the road, 
Of wonders:

The miracles of Villasirga, 
The Virgin in the apple tree.

The Apostle on horseback – 
A journey of days in one night.

God knows we have walked 
In Jakobsland:

Through the Gothic Fields, 
From Castrogeriz to Calzadilla,

Calzadilla to Sahagun, 
Each day the same road, the same sun.

Quam dilecta tabernacula tua, Dominum virtutem.(9) 

Here is a miracle. 
That we are here is a miracle.

Here daylight gives an image of 
The heaven promised by His love.

Beate, qui habitant in domo tua, Domine; 
In saecula saeculorum laudabant te. (10)

We pause, as at the heart of a sun 
That dazzles and does not burn.

The road climbs through changing land. 
Northern rains fall 
On the deepening green of the slopes of the valley, 
Storms break the summer’s heat; 
At Foncebadon a pass can be lost, 
In one night, to the snow.

The road climbs for days through the highlands of Bierzo, 
to the grassland and rocks 
of the Valcarce valley. 
White broom and scrub-oak, 
Laburnum and gorse 
Mark the bare hills 
Beside the road.

At O Cebreiro, mountains. 
The road follows the ridgetop 
By meadows of fern, by fields of rye.

By Fonfria del Camino, by Triacastela. 
Towns are shadows 
The road leaves behind. 
It moves over the slate hills 
Palas do Rei. Potomarin. 
The names are shadows.

Then, from the stream at Lavacolla 
To the foot of Monte de Gozo, 
A morning; 
From the foot of Monte de Gozo 
To the summit of Monte de Gozo 
The road climbs, 
Before the longed-for final descent 
To Santiago.

Herr Santiagu 
Grot Sanctiagu 
Eultreya esuseya 
Deius aia nos.

Ver redit optatum 
Cum gaudio, 
Flore decoratum 
Purpureo; 
Aves edunt cantus 
Quam dulciter, 
Cantus est amoenus 
Totaliter. (11)

Jacobo dat parium 
Omnis mundus gratis 
Ob cuius remedium 
Miles pietatis 
Cunctorum presidium 
Est ad vota satis. (12)

O beate Jacobe 
Virtus nostra vere 
Nobis hostes remove 
Tuos ac tuere 
Ac devotos adibe 
Nos tibi placere. (13)

Jacobo propicio 
Veniam speramus 
Et quas ex obsequio 
Merito debemus 
Patri tam eximio 
Dignes laudes demus (14)

At the Western edge of the world 
We pray for our sins to fall from us 
As chains from the limbs of penitents.

We have walked out of the lives we had 
And will return to nothing, if we live, 
Changed by the journey, face and soul alike.

We have walked out of our lives 
To come to where the walls of heaven 
Are thin as a curtain, transparent as glass,

Where the Apostle spoke the holy words, 
Where in death he returned, where God is close, 
Where saints and martyrs mark the road.

Santiago, primus ex apostolis, 
Defender of pilgrims, warrior for truth, 
Take from our backs the burdens of this life,

What we have done, who we have been; 
Take them as fire takes the cloth 
They cast into the sea at Finisterre. 
Holy St James, great St. James, 
God help us now and evermore

- Robert Dickinson