Last Poem of Rizal

Farewell, my adored Land, region of the sun caressed,

Pearl of the Orient Sea, our Eden lost,
With gladness I give you my Life, sad and repressed;
And were it more brilliant, more fresh and at its best,
I would still give it to you for your welfare at most.

On the fields of battle, in the fury of fight,

Others give you their lives without pain or hesitancy,
The place does not matter: cypress laurel, lily white,
Scaffold, open field, conflict or martyrdom's site,
It is the same if asked by home and Country.

I die as I see tints on the sky b'gin to show

And at last announce the day, after a gloomy night;
If you need a hue to dye your matutinal glow,
Pour my blood and at the right moment spread it so,
And gild it with a reflection of your nascent light!

My dreams, when scarcely a lad adolescent,

My dreams when already a youth, full of vigor to attain,
Were to see you, gem of the sea of the Orient,
Your dark eyes dry, smooth brow held to a high plane
Without frown, without wrinkles and of shame without stain.

My life's fancy, my ardent, passionate desire,

Hail! Cries out the soul to you, that will soon part from thee;
Hail! How sweet 'tis to fall that fullness you may acquire;
To die to give you life, 'neath your skies to expire,
And in your mystic land to sleep through eternity !

If over my tomb some day, you would see blow,

A simple humble flow'r amidst thick grasses,
Bring it up to your lips and kiss my soul so,
 And under the cold tomb, I may feel on my brow,
Warmth of your breath, a whiff of your tenderness.

Let the moon with soft, gentle light me descry,

Let the dawn send forth its fleeting, brilliant light,
In murmurs grave allow the wind to sigh,
And should a bird descend on my cross and alight,
Let the bird intone a song of peace o'er my site.

Let the burning sun the raindrops vaporize

And with my clamor behind return pure to the sky;
Let a friend shed tears over my early demise;
And on quiet afternoons when one prays for me on high,
Pray too, oh, my Motherland, that in God may rest I.

Pray thee for all the hapless who have died,

For all those who unequalled torments have undergone;
For our poor mothers who in bitterness have cried;
For orphans, widows and captives to tortures were shied,
And pray too that you may see you own redemption.

And when the dark night wraps the cemet'ry

And only the dead to vigil there are left alone,
Don't disturb their repose, don't disturb the mystery:
If you hear the sounds of cithern or psaltery,
It is I, dear Country, who, a song t'you intone.

And when my grave by all is no more remembered,

With neither cross nor stone to mark its place,
Let it be plowed by man, with spade let it be scattered
And my ashes ere to nothingness are restored,
Let them turn to dust to cover your earthly space.

Then it doesn't matter that you should forget me:

Your atmosphere, your skies, your vales I'll sweep;
 Vibrant and clear note to your ears I shall be:
Aroma, light, hues, murmur, song, moanings deep,
Constantly repeating the essence of the faith I keep.

My idolized Country, for whom I most gravely pine,

Dear Philippines, to my last goodbye, oh, harken
There I leave all: my parents, loves of mine,
I'll go where there are no slaves, tyrants or hangmen
Where faith does not kill and where God alone does reign.

Farewell, parents, brothers, beloved by me,

Friends of my childhood, in the home distressed;
Give thanks that now I rest from the wearisome day;
Farewell, sweet stranger, my friend, who brightened my way;
Farewell, to all I love. To die is to rest.
 To The Philippines
A glowing and fair like a houri on high,
Full of grace and pure like the Morn that peeps
When in the sky the clouds are tinted blue,
Of th' Indian land, a goddess sleeps.

The light foam of the son'rous sea

Doth kiss her feet with loving desire;
The cultured West adores her smile
And the frosty Pole her flow'red attire.

With tenderness, stammering, my Muse

To her 'midst undines and naiads does sing;
I offer her my fortune and bliss:
Oh, artists! her brow chaste ring
With myrtle green and roses red
And lilies, and extol the Philippines!

Our Mother Tongue

IF truly a people dearly love
The tongue to them by Heaven sent,
They'll surely yearn for liberty
Like a bird above in the firmament.
BECAUSE by its language one can judge
A town, a barrio, and kingdom;
And like any other created thing
Every human being loves his freedom.
ONE who doesn't love his native tongue,
Is worse than putrid fish and beast;
 AND like a truly precious thing
It therefore deserves to be cherished.
THE Tagalog language's akin to Latin,
To English, Spanish, angelical tongue;
For God who knows how to look after us
This language He bestowed us upon.
AS others, our language is the same
With alphabet and letters of its own,
It was lost because a storm did destroy
On the lake the bangka 1 in years bygone.

Memories Of My Town
When I recall the days
That saw my childhood of yore
Beside the verdant shore
Of a murmuring lagoon;
When I remember the sighs
Of the breeze that on my brow
Sweet and caressing did blow
With coolness full of delight;

When I look at the lily white

Fills up with air violent
And the stormy element
On the sand doth meekly sleep;
When sweet 'toxicating scent
From the flowers I inhale
Which at the dawn they exhale
When at us it begins to peep;

I sadly recall your face,

Oh precious infancy,
That a mother lovingly
 Did succeed to embellish.
I remember a simple town;
My cradle, joy and boon,
Beside the cool lagoon
The seat of all my wish.

Oh, yes! With uncertain pace

I trod your forest lands,
And on your river banks
A pleasant fun I found;
At your rustic temple I prayed
With a little boy's simple faith
And your aura's flawless breath
Filled my heart with joy profound.

Saw I God in the grandeur

Of your woods which for centuries stand;
Never did I understand
In your bosom what sorrows were;
While I gazed on your azure sky
Neither love nor tenderness
Failed me, 'cause my happiness
In the heart of nature rests there.

Tender childhood, beautiful town,

Rich fountain of happiness,
Of harmonious melodies,
That drive away my sorrow!
Return thee to my heart,
Bring back my gentle hours
As do the birds when the flow'rs
Would again begin to blow !

But, alas, adieu! E'er watch

For your peace, joy and repose,
 Genius of good who kindly dispose
Of his blessings with amour;
It's for thee my fervent pray'rs,
It's for thee my constant desire
Knowledge ever to acquire
And may God keep your candour!

Hymn To Labor
For the Motherland in war,
For the Motherland in peace,
Will the Filipino keep watch,
He will live until life will cease!

MEN :

Now the East is glowing with light,

Go! To the field to till the land,
For the labour of man sustains
Fam'ly, home and Motherland.
Hard the land may turn to be,
Scorching the rays of the sun above...
For the country, wife and children
All will be easy to our love.

(Chorus)

WIVES :

Go to work with spirits high,

For the wife keeps home faithfully,
Inculcates love in her children
For virtue, knowledge and country.
 When the evening brings repose,
On returning joy awaits you,
And if fate is adverse, the wife,
Shall know the task to continue.

(Chorus)

MAIDENS :

Hail! Hail! Praise to labour,

Of the country wealth and vigor!
For it brow serene's exalted,
It's her blood, life, and ardor.
If some youth would show his love
Labor his faith will sustain :
Only a man who struggles and works
Will his offspring know to maintain.

(Chorus)

CHILDREN :

Teach, us ye the laborious work

To pursue your footsteps we wish,
For tomorrow when country calls us
We may be able your task to finish.
And on seeing us the elders will say :
"Look, they're worthy 'f their sires of yore!"
Incense does not honor the dead
As does a son with glory and valor.
 Kundiman
Truly hushed today
Are my tongue and heart
Harm is discerned by love
And joy flies away,
'Cause the Country was
Vanquished and did yield
Through the negligence
Of the one who led.

But the sun will return to dawn;

In spite of everything
Subdued people
Will be liberated;
The Filipino name
Will return perhaps
And again become
In vogue in the world.

We shall shed
Blood and it shall flood
Only to emancipate
The native land;
While the designated time
Does not come,
Love will rest
And anxiety will sleep.
 A Poem that has no title
To my Creator I sing
Who did soothe me in my great loss;
To the Merciful and Kind
Who in my troubles gave me repose.

Thou with that pow'r of thine

Said: Live! And with life myself I found;
And shelter gave me thou
And a soul impelled to the good
Like a compass whose point to the North is bound.

Thou did make me descend

From honorable home and respectable stock,
And a homeland thou gavest me
Without limit, fair and rich
Though fortune and prudence it does lack.
 Song Of Maria Clara
Sweet are the hours in one's own Native Land,
All there is friendly o'er which the sun shines above;
Vivifying is the breeze that wafts over her fields;
Even death is gratifying and more tender is love.

Ardent kissed on a mother's lips are at play,

On her lap, upon the infant child's awakening,
The extended arms do seek her neck to entwine,
And the eyes at each other's glimpse are smiling.

It is sweet to die in one's own Native Land,

All there is friendly o'er which the sun shines above;
And deathly is the breeze for one without
A country, without a mother and without love.

To The Philippine Youth

Unfold, oh timid flower !

Lift up your radiant brow,
This day, Youth of my native strand !
Your abounding talents show
 Resplendently and grand,
Fair hope of my Motherland !

Soar high, oh genius great,

And with noble thoughts fill their mind;
The honor's glorious seat,
May their virgin mind fly and find
More rapidly than the wind.

Descend with the pleasing light

Of the arts and sciences to the plain,
Oh Youth, and break forthright
The links of the heavy chain
That your poetic genius enchain.
See that in the ardent zone,
The Spaniard, where shadows stand,
Doth offer a shining crown,
With wise and merciful hand
To the son of this Indian land.

You, who heavenward rise

On wings of your rich fantasy,
Seek in the Olympian skies
The tenderest poesy,
More sweet than divine honey;

You of heavenly harmony,

On a calm unperturbed night,
Philomel's match in melody,
That in varied symphony
Dissipate man's sorrow's blight;

You at th' impulse of your mind

The hard rock animate
And your mind with great pow'r consigned
Transformed into immortal state
The pure mem'ry of genius great;
And you, who with magic brush
On canvas plain capture
The varied charm of Phoebus,
Loved by the divine Apelles,
And the mantle of Nature;

Run ! For genius' sacred flame

Awaits the artist's crowning
Spreading far and wide the fame
Throughout the sphere proclaiming
With trumpet the mortal's name

Oh, joyful, joyful day,

The Almighty blessed be
Who, with loving eagerness
Sends you luck and happiness

To Josephine
Josephine, Josephine
Who to these shores have come
Looking for a nest, a home,
Like a wandering swallow;
If your fate is taking you
To Japan, China or Shanghai,
Don't forget that on these shores
A heart for you beats high.
Education Gives Luster To The Motherland
Wise education, vital breath
Inspires an enchanting virtue;
She puts the Country in the lofty seat
Of endless glory, of dazzling glow,
And just as the gentle aura's puff
Do brighten the perfumed flower's hue:
So education with a wise, guiding hand,
A benefactress, exalts the human band.

Man's placid repose and earthly life

To education he dedicates
Because of her, art and science are born
Man; and as from the high mount above
The pure rivulet flows, undulates,
So education beyond measure
Gives the Country tranquility secure.

Where wise education raises a throne

Sprightly youth are invigorated,
Who with firm stand error they subdue
And with noble ideas are exalted;
It breaks immortality's neck,
Contemptible crime before it is halted:
It humbles barbarous nations
And it makes of savages champions.

And like the spring that nourishes

The plants, the bushes of the meads,
She goes on spilling her placid wealth,
And with kind eagerness she constantly feeds,
The river banks through which she slips,
And to beautiful nature all she concedes,
So whoever procures education wise
 Until the height of honor may rise.

From her lips the waters crystalline

Gush forth without end, of divine virtue,
And prudent doctrines of her faith
The forces weak of evil subdue,
That break apart like the whitish waves
That lash upon the motionless shoreline:
And to climb the heavenly ways the people
Do learn with her noble example.

In the wretched human beings' breast

The living flame of good she lights
The hands of criminal fierce she ties,
And fill the faithful hearts with delights,
Which seeks her secrets beneficent
And in the love for the good her breast she incites,
And it's th' education noble and pure
Of human life the balsam sure.

And like a rock that rises with pride

In the middle of the turbulent waves
When hurricane and fierce Notus roar
She disregards their fury and raves,
That weary of the horror great
So frightened calmly off they stave;
Such is one by wise education steered
He holds the Country's reins unconquered.

His achievements on sapphires are engraved;

The Country pays him a thousand honors;
For in the noble breasts of her sons
Virtue transplanted luxuriant flow'rs;
And in the love of good e'er disposed
Will see the lords and governors
 The noble people with loyal venture
Christian education always procure.

And like the golden sun of the morn

Whose rays resplendent shedding gold,
And like fair aurora of gold and red
She overspreads her colors bold;
Such true education proudly gives
The pleasure of virtue to young and old
And she enlightens out Motherland dear
As she offers endless glow and luster.

To The Virgin Mary

Mary, sweet peace, solace dear
Of pained mortal ! You're the fount
Whence emanates the stream of succor,
That without cease our soil fructifies.

From thy throne, from heaven high,

Kindly hear my sorrowful cry !
And may thy shining veil protect
My voice that rises with rapid flight.

Thou art my Mother, Mary, pure;

Thou'll be the fortress of my life;
Thou'll be my guide on this angry sea.
If ferociously vice pursues me,
If in my pains death harasses me,
Help me, and drive away my woes !
Flower among Flowers
Flower among flowers,
soft bud swooning,
that the wind moves
to a gentle crooning.
Wind of heaven,
wind of love,
you who gladden
all you espy;
you who smile
and will not sigh,
candour and fragrance
from above;
you who perhaps
came down to earth
to bring the lonely
solace and mirth,
and to be a joy
for the heart to capture.
They say that into
your dawn you bear
the immaculate soul
a prisoner
-- bound with the ties of
passion and rapture?

They say you spread

good everywhere
like the Spring
which fills the air
with joy and flowers
 in Apriltime.
They say you brighten
the soul that mourns
when dark clouds gather,
and that without thorns
blossom the roses
in your clime.
If then, like a fairy,
you enhance
the joy of those
on whom you glance
with the magic charm
God gave to you;
oh, spare me an hour
of your cheer,
a single day
of your career,
that the breast may savor
the bliss it knew.

They Ask Me for Verses!

I
They bid me strike the lyre
so long now mute and broken,
but not a note can I waken
nor will my muse inspire!
She stammers coldly and babbles
when tortured by my mind;
she lies when she laughs and thrills
as she lies in her lamentation,
for in my sad isolation
my soul nor frolics nor feels.
 II

There was a time, 'tis true,

but now that time has vanished
when indulgent love or friendship
called me a poet too.
Now of that time there lingers
hardly a memory,
as from a celebration
some mysterious refrain
that haunts the ears will remain
of the orchestra's actuation.

III

A scarce-grown plant I seem,

uprooted from the Orient,
where perfume is the atmosphere
and where life is a dream.
O land that is never forgotten!
And these have taught me to sing:
the birds with their melody,
the cataracts with their force
and, on the swollen shores,
the murmuring of the sea.

IV

While in my childhood days

I could smile upon her sunshine,
I felt in my bosom, seething,
a fierce volcano ablaze.
 A poet was I, for I wanted
with my verses, with my breath,
to say to the swift wind: "Fly
and propagate her renown!
Praise her from zone to zone,
from the earth up to the sky!"

I left her! My native hearth,

a tree despoiled and shriveled,
no longer repeats the echo
of my old songs of mirth.
I sailed across the vast ocean,
craving to change my fate,
not noting, in my madness,
that, instead of the weal I sought,
the sea around me wrought
the spectre of death and sadness.

The dreams of younger hours,

love, enthusiasm, desire,
have been left there under the skies
of that fair land of flowers.
Oh, do not ask of my heart
that languishes, songs of love!
For, as without peace I tread
this desert of no surprises,
I feel that my soul agonizes
and that my spirit is dead.
 Felicitation
I
If Philomela with harmonious tongue
To blond Apollo, who manifests his face
Behind high hill or overhanging mountain,
Canticles sends.

II

So we as well, full of a sweet contentment,

Salute you and your very noble saint
With tender music and fraternal measures,
Dear Antonino.

III

From all your sisters and your other kin

Receive most lovingly the loving accent
That the suave warmth of love dictates to them
Placid and tender.

IV

From amorous wife and amiable Emilio

Sweetly receive an unsurpassed affection;
And may its sweetness in disaster soften
The ruder torments.

As the sea pilot, who so bravely fought

 Tempestuous waters in the dark of night,
Gazes upon his darling vessel safe
And come to port.

VI

So, setting aside all [worldly] predilections,

Now let your eyes be lifted heavenward
To him who is the solace of all men
And loving Father.

VII

And from ourselves that in such loving accents

Salute you everywhere you celebrate,
These clamorous vivas that from the heart resound
Be pleased to accept.
WRITTEN
POEMS
OF