KNOWN WORKS OF

DR. JOSE RIZAL

A La Juventud Filipina
“To The Philippine Youth” is first presented in
1879 in Manila, while he was studying at the
University of Santo Tomas. Rizal was only
eighteen years old when he wrote the poem and
was dedicated to the Filipino youth which he
describes as "the fair hope of my motherland”.

In the poem he praises the benefits that Spain had

bestowed upon the Philippines. He had pictured
education brought to the Philippines by Spain as
"the breath of life instilling charming virtue".
 To the Philippine Youth
Hold high the brow serene,
O youth, where now you stand;
Let the bright sheen
Of your grace be seen,
Fair hope of my fatherland!
Come now, thou genius grand,
And bring down inspiration;
With thy mighty hand,
Swifter than the wind’s violation,
Raise the eager mind to higher station.
Come down with pleasing light
Of art and science to the fight,
O youth, and there untie
The chains that heavy lie,
Your spirit free to blight.
See how in flaming zone
Amid the shadows thrown,
The Spaniard’a holy hand
A crown’s resplendent band
Proffers to this Indian land.
Thou, who now wouldst rise Go forth, and then the sacred fire
On wings of rich emprise, Of thy genius to the laurel may aspire ;
Seeking from Olympian skies To spread around the fame,
Songs of sweetest strain, And in victory acclaim,
Softer than ambrosial rain; Through wider spheres the human name.
Thou, whose voice divine
Rivals Philomel’s refrain Day, O happy day,
And with varied line Fair Filipinas, for thy land!
Through the night benign So bless the Power to-day
Frees mortality from pain; That places in thy way
This favor and this fortune grand!
Thou, who by sharp strife
Wakest thy mind to life ;
And the memory bright
Of thy genius’ light
Makest immortal in its strength ;
And thou, in accents clear
Of Phoebus, to Apelles dear ;
Or by the brush’s magic art
Takest from nature’s store a part,
To fig it on the simple canvas’ length ;
El Canto Del Viajero
“Song of the Wanderer” is a poem that talks
about Jose Rizal himself as a wanderer or
traveler.

In this poem, Rizal describes the loneliness of

being a wanderer, reflecting on his return to
the Philippines from Europe and, after being
away from his homeland for a long time, the
heartbreak of being a stranger in the land of
his birth.
 Song of the Wanderer

Dry leaf that flies at random And they envy the hapless wanderer
till it’s seized by a wind from above: as across the earth he persists!
so lives on earth the wanderer, Ah, they know not of the emptiness
without north, without soul, without country or love! in his soul, where no love exists.

Anxious, he seeks joy everywhere The pilgrim shall return to his country,
and joy eludes him and flees, shall return perhaps to his shore;
a vain shadow that mocks his yearning and shall find only ice and ruin,
and for which he sails the seas. perished loves, and graves nothing more.

Impelled by a hand invisible, Begone, wanderer! In your own country,

he shall wander from place to place; a stranger now and alone!
memories shall keep him company Let the others sing of loving,
of loved ones, of happy days. who are happy but you, begone!

A tomb perhaps in the desert, Begone, wanderer! Look not behind you
a sweet refuge, he shall discover, nor grieve as you leave again.
by his country and the world forgotten Begone, wanderer: stifle your sorrows!
Rest quiet: the torment is over. the world laughs at another’s pain.
Canto de María Clara
“Song of Maria Clara” signifies that Maria
Clara’s love for her country is so great that
it colors everything else that she sees.

It is this love that makes everything else,

no matter how mundane and ordinary,
more beautiful than even the most
beautiful wonders elsewhere.
 Song of Maria Clara

Sweet the hours in the native country,

where friendly shines the sun above!
Life is the breeze that sweeps the meadows;
tranquil is death; most tender, love.

Warm kisses on the lips are playing

as we awake to mother’s face:
the arms are seeking to embrace her,
the eyes are smiling as they gaze.

How sweet to die for the native country,

where friendly shines the sun above!
Death is the breeze for him who has
no country, no mother, and no love!
Himno Al Trabajo
"Hymn to Labor” was requested by Rizal’s friends
from Lipa, Batangas, in January 1888 in reaction
to the Becerra Law, and to address the hardships
of Lipenos.

The hymn was a poem praising Lipenos, who were

working hard for the country. The poem is
composed of conversations by men, women and
children in praise of men who making a living in
agriculture. The song also states that agriculture is
the solution to poverty and the road to progress.
 Hymn to Labor
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.
FelicitaciOn
This poem is the English translation of
Rizal’s Spanish poem entitled ‘Felicitación.’

Rizal wrote this poem in 1875 when he

was 14 years old through the
encouragement of Fr. Sanchez.
 Felicitation
I V
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
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.

From amorous wife and amiable Emilio

Sweetly receive an unsurpassed affection;
And may its sweetness in disaster soften
The ruder torments.
KUNDIMAN
Jose Rizal wrote “Kundiman” in Tagalog on
September 12th 1891. A kundiman is a
traditional Filipino love song sang by a young
man to serenade the woman of his love.
The theme of Rizal’s “Kundiman” is his intense
love for his Motherland. His words reflected his
optimism that the Philippines would be freed
from injustice and bondage.
 Kundiman
Now mute indeed are tongue and heart:
love shies away, joy stands apart.
Neglected by its leaders and defeated,
the country was subdued and it submitted.

But O the sun will shine again!

Itself the land shall dis-enchain;
and once more round the world with growing praise
shall sound the name of the Tagalog race.

We shall pour out our blood in a great flood

to liberate the parent sod;
but till that day arrives for which we weep,
love shall be mute, desire shall sleep.
Me Piden Versos
“They Asked Me for Verses” was written while
he was a member of Circulo Hispano Filipino.

It reflects how sad it was for Rizal to have the

ability to steer emotions through his poems,
and have these emotions stifled and muted by
the powerful and oppressive Spaniards.
 They Asked Me for Verses
I III
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.
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!’
V
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.
Mi Primera Inspiracion
“My First Inspiration” is a Spanish poem
that is believed to have been written by
Jose Rizal when he was nine years old.

Many believe that the poem was written for

Leonor Rivera, Rizal’s childhood
sweetheart for eleven years.
 My First Inspiration
Why falls so rich a spray Why seems to me more endearing,
of fragrance from the bowers more fair than on other days,
of the balmy flowers the dawn’s enchanting face
upon this festive day? among red clouds appearing?

Why from woods and vales The reason, dear mother, is

do we hear sweet measures ringing they feast your day of bloom:
that seem to be the singing the rose with its perfume,
of a choir of nightingales? the bird with its harmonies.

Why in the grass below And the spring that rings with laughter
do birds start at the wind’s noises, upon this joyful day
unleashing their honeyed voices with its murmur seems to say:
as they hop from bough to bough? ‘Live happily ever after!’

Why should the spring that glows And from that spring in the grove
its crystalline murmur be tuning now turn to hear the first note
to the zephyr’s mellow crooning that from my lute I emote
as among the flowers it flows? to the impulse of my love.
Mi Retiro
“My Retreat” describes Rizal’s exile in Dapitan
where, from 1892 to 1896, he lived an
unexciting but fruitful life.

Even in his exile, Rizal proved that life can still

be abundant and full of achievements. He lived
as a merchant and a farmer and built three
houses made from bamboo, wood and nipa.
Interestingly, his houses were of varied
geometrical shapes.
 My Retreat
Beside a spacious beach of fine and delicate sand The barking of the dog, the twittering of the birds, across the air move cries that terrify the spirit,
and at the foot of a mountain greener than a leaf, the hoarse voice of the kalaw are all that I hear; a chorus of voices praying, a lamentation that seems
I planted my humble hut beneath a pleasant orchard, there is no boastful man, no nuisance of a neighbor to come from those who, long ago, drowned in the sea.
seeking in the still serenity of the woods to impose himself on my mind or to disturb my passage;
repose to my intellect and silence to my grief. only the forests and the sea do I have near. Then do the mountain ranges on high reverberate;
the trees stir far and wide, by a fit of trembling seized;
Its roof is fragile nipa; its floor is brittle bamboo; The sea, the sea is everything! Its sovereign mass the cattle moan; the dark depths of the forest resound;
its beams and posts are rough as rough-hewn wood brings to me atoms of a myriad faraway lands; their spirits say that they are on their way to the plain,
can be; its bright smile animates me in the limpid mornings; summoned by the dead to a mortuary feast.
of no worth, it is certain, is my rustic cabin; and when at the end of day my faith has proven futile,
but on the lap of the eternal mount it slumbers my heart echoes the sound of its sorrow on the sands. The wild night hisses, hisses, confused and terrifying;
and night and day is lulled by the crooning of the sea. one sees the sea afire with flames of green and blue;
At night it is a mystery! … Its diaphanous element but calm is re-established with the approach of dawning
The overflowing brook, that from the shadowy jungle is carpeted with thousands and thousands of lights that and forthwith an intrepid little fishing vessel
descends between huge bolders, washes it with its climb; begins to navigate the weary waves anew.
spray, the wandering breeze is cool, the firmament is brilliant,
donating a current of water through makeshift bamboo the waves narrate with many a sigh to the mild wind
pipes histories that were lost in the dark night of time.
that in the silent night is melody and music
and crystalline nectar in the noon heat of the day. ‘Tis said they tell of the first morning on the earth,
of the first kiss with which the sun inflamed her breast,
If the sky is serene, meekly flows the spring, when multitudes of beings materialized from nothing
strumming on its invisible zither unceasingly; to populate the abyss and the overhanging summits
but come the time of the rains, and an impetuous torrentand all the places where that quickening kiss was
spills over rocks and chasms—hoarse, foaming and pressed.
aboil—
to hurl itself with a frenzied roaring toward the sea. But when the winds rage in the darkness of the night
and the unquiet waves commence their agony,

So pass the days of my life in my obscure retreat;
cast out of the world where once I dwelt: such is my
rare
good fortune; and Providence be praised for my
condition:
a disregarded pebble that craves nothing but moss
to hide from all the treasure that in myself I bear.
I live with the remembrance of those that I have loved
and hear their names still spoken, who haunt my
memory;
some already are dead, others have long forgotten—
but what does it matter? I live remembering the past
and no one can ever take the past away from me.
It is my faithful friend that never turns against me,
that cheers my spirit when my spirit’s a lonesome
wraith,
that in my sleepless nights keeps watch with me and
prays
with me, and shares with me my exile and my cabin,
and, when all doubt, alone infuses me with faith.
Faith do I have, and I believe the day will shine
when the Idea shall defeat brute force as well;
and after the struggle and the lingering agony
a voice more eloquent and happier than my own
will then know how to utter victory’s canticle.
My Retreat (continuation)
I see the heavens shining, as flawless and refulgent
as in the days that saw my first illusions start;
I feel the same breeze kissing my autumnal brow,
the same that once enkindled my fervent enthusiasm
and turned the blood ebullient within my youthful heart.
Across the fields and rivers of my native town
perhaps has traveled the breeze that now I breathe by of my entire existence the solitary treasure,
chance;
perhaps it will give back to me what once I gave it:
the sighs and kisses of a person idolized
and the sweet secrets of a virginal romance.
On seeing the same moon, as silvery as before,
I feel within me the ancient melancholy revive;
a thousand memories of love and vows awaken:
a patio, an azotea, a beach, a leafy bower;
silences and sighs, and blushes of delight …
A butterfly athirst for radiances and colors,
dreaming of other skies and of a larger strife,
I left, scarcely a youth, my land and my affections,
and vagrant everywhere, with no qualms, with no
terrors,
squandered in foreign lands the April of my life.
And afterwards, when I desired, a weary swallow,
to go back to the nest of those for whom I care,
suddenly fiercely roared a violent hurricane
and I found my wings broken, my dwelling place
demolished,
faith now sold to others, and ruins everywhere.
Hurled upon a rock of the country I adore;
the future ruined; no home, no health to bring me cheer;
you come to me anew, dreams of rose and gold,
convictions of a youth that was healthy and sincere.
No more are you, like once, full of fire and life,
offering a thousand crowns to immortality;
somewhat serious I find you; and yet your face beloved,
if now no longer as merry, if now no longer as vivid,
now bear the superscription of fidelity.
You offer me, O illusions, the cup of consolation;
you come to reawaken the years of youthful mirth;
hurricane, I thank you; winds of heaven, I thank you
that in good hour suspended by uncertain flight
to bring me down to the bosom of my native earth.
Beside a spacious beach of fine and delicate sand
and at the foot of a mountain greener than a leaf,
I found in my land a refuge under a pleasant orchard,
and in its shadowy forests, serene tranquility,
repose to my intellect and silence to my grief.
Mi Ultimo Adiós
“My Last Farewell” was the last poem that
Jose Rizal wrote before his execution by
firing squad on December 30, 1896.

The piece was one of the last notes he

wrote before his death. Another that he had
written was found in his shoe, but because
the text was illegible, its contents remain a
mystery.

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!
My Last Farewell
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;Give thanks that now I rest from the wearisome day;
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 your 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 cittern 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;
Farewell, sweet stranger, my friend, who brightened my
way;
Farewell, to all I love. To die is to rest.
Por La Educación
“Education Gives Luster to Motherland”,
in this poem, he praises the citizenry to
strive towards education in order to give
glory to the country.

Jose Rizal loved his Motherland. Even at a

very young age, he cultivated an intense
affection towards his country and his
people.
 Education Gives Luster to 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.
Sa Sanggol na si Jesus
“Child Jesus” was written in Spanish by
Jose Rizal in 1875 at age of 14.

The poem is an octave real or a short

poem with eight verses only which was
actually according to the Spanish standard
of writing poems.
 Child Jesus

Why have you come to earth,

Child-God, in a poor manger?
Does Fortune find you a stranger
from the moment of your birth?

Alas, of heavenly stock

now turned an earthly resident!
Do you not wish to be president
but the shepherd of your flock?
A Mi Musa
“To My Muse”, is a poem written by Jose Rizal
in December 15, 1890. The poem was
published by La Solidaridad using Rizal’s pen
name – LaongLaan.

It speaks about the loss of inspiration, in the

form of talent. It was against a background of
an emotional agony in Brussels. Those days
that he was sad due to family disasters.
 To My Muse

It's a disappointment
People are half-hearted
Go and leave me but not;
Come back, let triumph win.

All your efforts for this land,

Came true few decades apart
But nevertheless your bitterness
Did not put waste when east arises

Your troubles may have been there

But the struggle they did bare
Then again, we were free
From opression; Now love.

Love as astounding as a woman

Attractive as a blooming flower,
Blooming freedom, and the growing love
For the motherland we try to keep.
Un Recuerdo A Mi Pueblo
“In Memory of My Town”, is a nostalgic poem,
Jose Rizal remembers his childhood days in
Calamba, Laguna.

Rizal had the happiest and most beautiful

memories of the place, the hospitality and
friendliness as well as the industry of the
people of Calamba. Those memories were
influential in molding his character and his
values.
 In Memory of My Town

When I remember the days
that saw my early childhood
spent on the green shores
of a murmurous lagoon;
when I remember the coolness,
delicious and refreshing,
that on my face I felt
as I heard Favonius croon;
Ah, yes, my awkward foot
explored your sombre woodlands,
and on the banks of your rivers
in frolic I took part.
I prayed in your rustic temple,
a child, with a child’s devotion;
and your unsullied breeze
exhilarated my heart.
But O goodbye! May the Spirit
of Good, a loving gift-giver,
keep watch eternally over
your peace, your joy, your sleep!
For you, my fervent pryers;
for you, my constant desire
to learn; and I pray heaven
your innocence to keep!

when I behold the white lily
swell to the wind’s impulsion,
and that tempestuous element
meekly asleep on the sand;
when I inhale the dear
intoxicating essence
the flowers exude when dawn
is smiling on the land;
The Creator I saw in the grandeur
of your age-old forests;
upon your bosom, sorrows
were ever unknown to me;
while at your azure skies
I gazed, neither love nor tenderness
failed me, for in nature
lay my felicity.

sadly, sadly I recall Tender childhood, beautiful town,

your visage, precious childhood,
which an affectionate mother
made beautiful and bright;
I recall a simple town,
my comfort, joy and cradle,
beside a balmy lake,
the seat of my delight.
rich fountain of rejoicing
and of harmonious music
that drove away all pain:
return to this heart of mine,
return my gracious hours,
return as the birds return
when flowers spring again!
Goodbye to Leonor
This was written by Rizal for his childhood
sweetheart, Leonor Rivera — who was only 13
years old when they met in Dagupan.

Despite the distance between them, they tried

to stay in touch by sending letters and
photographs to one another. But their love
affair was strongly disapproved by Leonor’s
parents.
 Goodbye to Leonor

And so it has arrived — the fatal instant,

the dismal injunction of my cruel fate;
so it has come at last — the moment, the date,
when I must separate myself from you.

Goodbye, Leonor, goodbye! I take my leave,

leaving behind with you my lover’s heart!
Goodbye, Leonor: from here I now depart.
O Melancholy absence! Ah, what pain!
To The Philippines
Dr. Jose Rizal as our national hero showed
unselfish love for his country by laying his
own life in martyrdom and awakening
people’s patriotic fervor so that Philippines
would be freed from Spanish tyranny.
 To The Philippines

Warm and beautiful like a houri of yore,

as gracious and as pure as the break of dawn
when darling clouds take on a sapphire tone,
sleeps a goddess on the Indian shore.

The small waves of the sonorous sea assail

her feet with ardent, amorous kisses, while
the intellectual West adores her smile;
and the old hoary Pole, her flower veil.

My Muse, most enthusiastic and elate,

sings to her among naiads and undines;
I offer her my fortune and my fate.

With myrtle, purple roses, and flowering greens

and lilies, crown her brow immaculate,
O artists, and exalt the Philippines!