Dante's Prayer

When the dark wood fell before me
And all the paths were overgrown
When the priests of pride say there is no other way
I tilled the sorrows of stone

I did not believe because I could not see
Though you came to me in the night
When the dawn seemed forever lost
You showed me your love in the light of the stars

Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me

Then the mountain rose before me
By the deep well of desire
From the fountain of forgiveness
Beyond the ice and the fire

Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me

Though we share this humble path, alone
How fragile is the heart
Oh give these clay feet wings to fly
To touch the face of the stars

Breathe life into this feeble heart
Lift this mortal veil of fear
Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears
We'll rise above these earthly cares

Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me...

By: Loreena McKennett 

  If you've ever read the Divine Comedy by Dante, you can see how this song echoes his vision. Although that's not what I love about it. I love the beauty of the lyrics -- the mournful longing that beseeches listeners to shed tears for the speaker. It's the longing for memory - for people to remember and not forget. 

I don't think that this is really about Dante or the Divine Comedy at all. I think, like I said before, that this is simply longing for a memory in the minds of loved ones. If, however, you want to relate it to the religious epic, you could say that Dante is the speaker of these words, pleading for Beatrice, his beloved, to stay; to remember him. 

However, in my mind at least, instead of the forests of medieval Florance, I see a lone figure standing on an Irish crag overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. The sky  is a violet velvet painted with specks of diamonds. The figure is a woman, namely because that's who the singer is, and I fancy that she's waiting for her lover to return. Perhaps he's a fisherman or merchant at sea. And perhaps, though she hasn't gotten word of it yet, the ship that he was on sunk. In that vision, this song takes on a whole new connotation. Instead of simply a need to be in the memory of those left behind, it speaks of a form of eternal love. 

 The picture that comes to mind most, however, is that of a candle. It's a simple ecru candle - made of beeswax -- probably burnt about three-quarters of the way down with a pile of wax on the wooden windowsill, tears dripping down the sides to add to the pooling on the scarred wood. The window shudders are thrown open, and there's a gale wind blowing, flicking the flame forth and fro. Outside, there's a tempest forming, making it even more difficult for the flame to hold onto the wick. But the flame is still there, throwing its gentle yellow light and meager warmth to those who are around. 

The candle is persistent, holding on even though it seems to be a losing battle, for the storm is increasing in intensity. Yet that flickering flame won't give up, even as the rain and wind bombard the sole taper, causing the weeping wax to solidify, deforming the smooth surface of the paltry torch. It's waiting, the gentle glow says. It's beckoning, calling for weary travelers to come and warm themselves, for perhaps there's a fire inside the building somewhere, or perhaps it's pleading for them to just come under the roof, away from the sleeting, stinging rain and frigid wind. 

The glow is weakening. The flame is close to extinguishing, and the wax is freezing faster and the wick is dampening, making it more difficult for the flame to flicker. 

 Finally, as the last chorus comes to a close, the final echoes of the singing voice dying with the gentle music - tears nearly personified by the mournful sound - the candle loses its battle with the raging squall and dies, extinguishing with the last cords of the music. It becomes a mere memory, the wax still warm just as the mild hurt after losing a loved one. It's a humane kind of death - like slipping away in sleep at night. And, it seems, that's exactly what the flame of the candle did, its soul slipping away just as easily as the wind blows out the small fire. But the memory of the warmth and friendly glow remain, the testament the cooling wax. 

It's dark in the window now, just as it would be making new memories without the lost loved one in them. But the ghost of the beeswax candle remains in the darkness, illuminated by the moon. The henna-like stalk serves as the ghost of the memory of the lost people in our lives. It reminds us that all we need do to rekindle that love we once felt is relight the candle - restart the flame. We need only remember.