MGA TULA

NI RIZAL
EDUCATION GIVES LUSTER TO MOTHER LAND

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 FLOWERS OF HEIDELBERG

Go to my country, go, O foreign flowers,

sown by the traveler along the road, and
under that blue heaven
that watches over my loved ones,
recount the devotion
the pilgrim nurses for his native sod!
Go and say say that when dawn
opened your chalices for the first time
beside the icy Neckar,
you saw him silent beside you,
thinking of her constant vernal clime.
Say that when dawn which
steals your aroma
was whispering playful love songs to your young sweet
petals, he, too, murmured
canticles of love in his native tongue;
that in the morning when the sun first traces
the topmost peak of Koenigssthul in gold
and with a mild warmth raises
to life again the valley, the glade, the forest,
he hails that sun, still in its dawning,
that in his country in full zenith blazes.
And tell of that day when
he collected you along the way
among the ruins of a feudal castle,
on the banks of the Neckar, or in a forest nook.
Recount the words he said as,
with great care,
between the pages of a worn-out book
he pressed the flexible petals that he took.

Carry, carry, O flowers, my

love to my loved ones,
peace to my country and its fecund loam,
faith to its men and virtue to its women,
health to the gracious beings
that dwell within the sacred paternal home.
When you reach that shore, deposit
the kiss I gave you
on the wings of the wind above that
with the wind it may rove and I may kiss all that
I worship, honor and love!

But O you will arrive there, flowers, and

you will keep perhaps your vivid hues; but
far from your native heroic earth
to which you owe your life and worth,
your fragrances you will lose!
For fragrance is a spirit that never can
forsake and never forgets the sky that saw
its birth.

ANG LIGPIT KONG TAHANAN

Sa tabi ng dagat na humahalik pa sa tiping buhangin,

Malapit sa paa ng bundok na pelus kung pagmamalasin,
Ang munti kong kubo'y doon itinirik, sa saganang lilim Ng
mga halamang nakikipaglaro sa ihip ng hangin.
Aking dinudulang sa katabing gubat na masalimisim Ang
katiwasayang panlunas sa hapong isip ko't damdamin.

Ang atip ng bubong ay hamak na pawid, sahig ay kawayan,

Magaspang na kahoy ang mga haligi, pingga at tahilan,
Sa kubo kong ito ay walang bahangin may kahalagahan,
Lalong mabuti pa ang doon humilig sa lunting damuhan Na
abot ng bulong at awit ng dagat sa dalampasigan.

Doon ay may batis na umaawit pa habang naglalagos

Sa mga batuhan, magmula sa gubat sa may dakong likod;
Batis ay nagsanga sa tulong ng isang magaspang na tungkod,
kung gabing tahimik ay may bulong siyang nakapag-aantok, At
kung araw naman, ang langit ay parang ibig na maabot.

Kung ang kalangita'y payapang-payapa, agos ay banayad,

Panay ang taginting ng kanyang gitarang hindi namamalas, Pagbagsak
ng ulan, ang tulin ng agos ay walang katulad,
Humahagunot pa sa nangaghambalang na batong malapad, Sa
di mapipigil na kanyang pagtakbong patungo sa dagat.
Palahaw ng aso at awit ng ibon, at sigaw ng kalaw,
Ang ingay na tanging siyang bumabasag sa katahimikan;
Doo'y di kilala ang tinig ng taong palalo't mayabang Na
susunu-sunod sa nasang guluhin ang aking isipan;
Ako'y naliligid ng katabing dagat at ng gubat lamang.

Ang dagat, ah, ito ay siya ngang lahat kung para sa akin,
Kung dumadaluhong mula sa di tanaw na mga pampangin,
Sa akin, ang kanyang ngiti kung pananalig ko'y parang nagmamaliw,
At kung dapit-hapong ang pananalig ko'y parang nagmamaliw, Siya
ay may bulong na inihahatid sa akin ng hangin.

Pagdating ng gabi, dakilang palabas ng kahiwagaan,

Malaking liwanag ng mumunting kislap na hindi mabilang
Ang doon sa langit ay nakalaganap sa kaitaasan;
Habang dinadalit niyong mga alon ang saklap ng buhay,
Dalit na malabo pagka't nilulunod ang sariling ingay.

Isinasalaysay ang ayos ng mundo nang unang sumikat

Ang araw sa langit, at sila'y laruin ng kanyang liwanag;
Nang mula sa wala'y dami ng kinapal ang biglang kumalat
Sa kailaliman, at sa kapatagan, magpahanggang gubat, Sa
lahat ng dako na abot ng halik ng mayamang sinag.

Nguni't kung sa gabi'y magising ang hanging malikot, mailap,

At ang mga alon, sa galit na dala'y susugod, lulundag,
Mayrong mga siagaw na sa aking puso'y nagbibigay-sindak
, Mga tinig waring nagsisipagdasal, o nag sisiiyak,
Nagsisipanaghoy sa kailalimang kadilima'y ganap.

At saka uugong ang marahang taghoy na mula sa bundok,

Mga punungkahoy at ang mga damo'y nagsisipangatog,
Pati mga pastol ay nababalisa't pawang mga takot,
Sapagka't, anila, ang mga kalulwa'y noon sumisipot
At nag-aanyayang sa kanilang handa sila ay dumulog.

Gabi'y bumubulong sa gitna ng sindak at pagkaligalig,

At sa dagat nama'y bughaw't lunting apoy ang pasilip-silip;
Pag ngiti ng araw'y payapa na naman ang buong paligid,
At mula sa laot, yaong mangingisda ay napagigilid,
Sugod na ang lunday at ang mga alon ay nananahimik.

Ganyan ang buhay ko sa aking payapa't ligpit na tahanan;

Sa mundong nang dati ay kilala ako, ako'y pinapanaw,
Nasapit kong palad, sa ngayon ay aking binubulay-bulay;
Isang bato akong binalot ng lumot upanding matakpan
Sa mata ng mundo ang mga damdaming sa puso ay taglay.

Dahil sa naiwang mga minamahal, ako'y nangangamba,

Mga ngalan nila'y di ko nalilimot sa laot ng sigwa; May
nangagsilayo at mayroon namang nangagsipanaw na;
Nguni't sa lumipas kong hindi mapapaknit kahit agawin pa.

Kaibigan iyang sa lahat ng oras ay aking kapiling

Sa gitna ng lumbay ay nagpapasigla sa diwa't damdamin;
Sa gabing tahimik, siya'y nagtatanod at nananalangin,
Kasama-sama ko sa pagkakatapong malungkot isipan,
Upang kung manlaming ang pananalig ko ay papag-alabin.

Yaong pananalig na ibig ko sanang makitang kumislap

Sa dakilang araw ng pangingibabaw ng Isip sa lakas;
Kung makalipas na itong kamataya't labanang marahas,
Ay may ibang tinig, na lalong masigla at puspos ng galak,
Na siyang aawit ng pananangumpay ng matwid, sa lahat.

Aking natatanaw na namumula na ang magandang langit, Gaya

noong aking bukuin sa hagap ang una kong nais;
Aking nadarama ang dati ring hangin sa noong may pawis,
Nararamdam ko ang dati ring apoy na nagpapainit
Sa tinataglay kong dugong kabataang magulo ang isip.

Ang nilalanghap kong mga simoy dito'y nagdaan marahil

Sa mga ilugan at sa mga bukid niyong bayan namin;
Sa pagbalik nila ay kanila sanang ihatid sa akin
Ang buntong-hininga ng minamahal kong malayo sa piling, Pahatid
na mula sa pinagsanglaan ng unang paggiliw.
Kung aking mamasdan sa abuhing langit ang buwang marilag.
Nararamdaman kong ang sugat ng puso'y muling nagnanaknak;
Naaalaala ang sumpaan naming kami'y magtatapat, Ang
dalampasigan, ang bukid at saka arkong may bulaklak,
Ang buntong-hininga, ang pananahimik at ang piping galak.

Isang paruparong hanap ay bulaklak at saka liwanag,

Malalayong bayan ang lagi nang laman ng kanyang pangarap; Musmos
na musmos pa, tahana'y nilisa't ako ay lumayang,
Upang maglimayon, na ang diwa'y laya at walang bagabag - - Ganyan
ko ginugol ang mga pili kong panahon at oras.

At nang mapilitang ako ay bumalik sa dating tahanan,

Kagaya ng isang ibong nanghina na sa kapanahunan, May
nag bagong sigwang malakas, mabangis na parang
halimaw;
Ang mga pakpak ko'y nagkabali-bali't tahana'y pumanaw, Ang
aking tiwala'y ipinagkanulo't lahat na'y nagunaw.

Sa pagkakatapong malayo sa bayang pinakaiibig, Ang

hinaharap ko'y madilim na lubha't walang tatangkilik:
Pamuli na namang susungaw ang aking mga panaginip,
Tanging kayamanan ng kabuhayan kong sagana sa hapis; Mga
pananalig niyong kabataang matapat, malinis.

Dapwa't kung ikaw ma'y umaasa ngayong iyong makakamtan

Yaong gantimpalang hindi magmamaliw magpakailan man,
Hindi ka na paris ng dating magilas at buhay na buhay;
Sa hapis mong mukha'y may bakas na hindi mapagkakamalan Yaong
pananalig na dapat mahalin at ipagsanggalang.

At upang aliwin, handog mo sa aki'y mga panaginip,

Nagsaang panahon ng kabataan ko'y ipinasisilip;
Kaya nga salamat, O sigwang biyaya sa akin ng langit,
Alam mo ang oras na takdang pagpigil sa gala kong isip, Upang
ibalik mo sa pinanggalingang lupang iniibig.

Sa tabi ng dagat na humahalik pa sa tiping buhangin,

Malapit sa paa ng bundok na pelus kung pagmamalasin,
Aking nasumpungan ang isang tahanang sagana sa lilim,
Aking natuklasan sa katabing gubat na masalimsim
Ang katiwasayang panlunas sa hapong isip ko't damdamin.

ANG AWIT NI MARIA CLARA

Kay tamis ng oras sa sariling bayan,

Kaibigan lahat ang abot ng araw,
At sampu ng simoy sa parang ay buhay,
Aliw ng panimdim pati kamatayan.

Maalab na halik ang nagsaliw-saliw

Sa labi ng inang mahal, pagkagising;
Ang pita ng bisig as siya’y yapusin,
Pati mga mata’y ngumgiti mandin.

Kung dahil sa bayan, kay tamis mamatay,

Doon sa kasuyo ang abot ng araw;
Kamatayan pati ng simoy sa parang
Sa walang pag-ibig, ni ina, ng Bayan.

KUNDIMAN
Tunay ngayong umid yaring dila't puso
Sinta'y umiilag, tuwa'y lumalayo,
Bayan palibhasa'y lupig at sumuko
Sa kapabayaan ng nagturong puno.

Datapuwa't muling sisikat ang araw,

Pilit maliligtas ang inaping bayan, Magbabalik
mandin at muling iiral
Ang ngalang Tagalog sa sandaigdigan.

Ibubuhos namin ang dugo't babaha

Matubos nga lamang ang sa amang lupa
Habang di ninilang panahong tadhana,
Sinta'y tatahimik, iidlip ang nasa.
AWIT NG MANLALAKBAY

(Tagalog version of “El Canto del Viajero”)

Tuyong dahong lumilipad sa kung saang hindi alam, Sinisiklot

dito’t doon ng bugso ng biglang ulan;
Ganyan dito sa daigdig ang buhay ng maglalakbay,
Ni patnubay, sigla… wala; at wala ring sinta’t bayan.

Kahit saan, kapalara’y mapilit na hinahanap,

Yaon nama’y lumalayong buong bilis, tumatakas…
Ang aninong mapagkunwa, sa nasa’y may panghahamak; Dahil
dito, maglalakbay – natataboy nga sa dagat.

Sa udyok ng tanging kamay na di naman nakikita,

Ginagawa’y maglagalag sa lupaing iba’t iba; Siya’y
walang kaulayaw kundi mga alaala
Ng katotong mga mahal at araw na maligaya.

Sa may ilang, isang libing ang kaypala’y matagpuan,

Na ampunang sakdal-tamis, lipos ng kapayapaan;
Limot na ng sintang lupa’t gayon din ng daigdigan.
Mamahinga nawa siya matapos na mahirapan!

Sa lungkuting maglalakbay, sila’y pawang naiinggit

Kapag siya ay matuling bumabagtas sa daigdig; Hindi
nila nalalamang sa kalul’wang walang imik,
Mayro’n doong isang guwang; kulang dito ay pag-ibig.

Magbabalik ang lagalag sa kaniyang sintang lupa,

At marahil sa kaniyang tahanan ma’y muwing kusa;
Magtatagpo niya roon, kahit saan: bubog, giba,
Nangasayang na pag-ibig, mga libing… Wala na nga!

Lumakad ka, maglalakbay; ituloy ang iyong landas.

Tagaibang-lupa ikaw sa bayan mong kapuspalad.
Bayaan mong tanang iba ay umawit ng pagliyag, At
iba pa’y mangalugod; bumalik ka sa pagtulak.

Maglalakbay, lumakad ka; h’wag lilingon kaunti man.

Walang luhang sumusunod sa pagbanggit ng paalam.
Maglalakbay, lumakad ka; lunurin mong kahirapan.
Nanlilibak ang daigdig sa ibang may kahapisan!

SA SANGGOL NA SI JESUS

Sa Sanggol Na Si Jesus O
Diyos na Sanggol, paano ba kaya't
Ang sinilangan Mo ay sabsabang aba?
Diyata't di pa man ay pag-alipusta
Ang dulot ng Palad sa Iyong pagbaba?
Kaylungkot! O hari ng Sangkalangitan,
Nagkatawang-tao't sa lupa'y tumahan,
Hindi Mo ba ibig na Haring matanghal
Kundi Pastol namin na kawan Mong mahal?

ISANG ALA- ALA NG AKING BAYAN

Nagugunita ko ang nagdaang araw ng

kamusmusang kong kay sayang pumanaw sa
gilid ng isang baybaying luntian
ng rumaragasang agos ng dagatan;
Kung alalahanin ang damping marahan
halik sa noo ko ng hanging magaslaw
ito'y naglalagos sa 'king katauhan
lalong sumisigla't nagbabagong buhay

Kung aking masdan ang liryong busilak

animo'y nagduruyan sa hanging marahas
habang sa buhangin dito'y nakalatag
ang lubhang maalon, mapusok na dagat
Kung aking samyuin sa mga bulaklak
kabanguhan nito ay ikinakalat
ang bukang liwayway na nanganganinag
masayang bumabati, may ngiti sa lahat.
Naalaala kong may kasamang lumbay
ang kamusmusan ko nang nagdaang araw
Kasama-sama ko'y inang mapagmahal
siyang nagpapaganda sa aba kong buhay.
Naalaala kong lubhang mapanglaw
bayan kong Kalambang aking sinilangan
sa dalampasigan ng dagat-dagatan
sadlakan ng aking saya't kaaliwan

Di miminsang tumikim ng galak sa

tabing-ilog mong lubhang mapanatag
Mababakas pa rin yaong mga yapak na
nag-uunahan sa 'yong mga gubat sa
iyong kapilya'y sa ganda ay salat
ang mga dasal ko'y laging nag-aalab
habang ako nama'y maligayang ganap
bisa ng hanging mo ay walang katulad.
Ang kagubatan mong kahanga-hanga
Nababanaag ko'y Kamay ng Lumikha sa
iyong himlayan ay wala nang luha wala
nang daranas ni munting balisa
ang bughaw mong langit na tinitingala
dala ang pag-ibig sa puso at diwa
buong kalikasa'y titik na mistula
aking nasisinag pangarap kong tuwa.

Ang kamusmusan ko sa bayan kong giliw

dito'y masagana ang saya ko't aliw
ng naggagandahang tugtog at awitin
siyang nagtataboy ng luha't hilahil
Hayo na, bumalik ka't muli mong dalawin
ang katauhan ko'y dagling pagsamahin
tulad ng pagbalik ng ibon sa hardin
sa pananagana ng bukong nagbitin.

Paalam sa iyo, ako'y magpupuyat

ako'y magbabantay, walang paghuhumpay
ang kabutihan mo na sa aking pangarap
Nawa'y daluyan ka ng biyaya't lingap ng
dakilang Diwa ng maamong palad;
tanging ikaw lamang panatang maalab
pagdarasal kita sa lahat ng oras
na ikaw ay laging manatiling tapat.

ANG PAGHAHAMOK: SI URBIZTOND, ANG KILABOT NG JOLO

(The Battle: Urbiztondo, Terror of Jolo, 1875)

Sandamakmak na daong sa digmaan

Sa ihip ng malamig na hangin,
Iniiwan ang masayang Maynila
Ang malakas na alon nila'y susugan.
Sa sandaling makakita sila
Ng mga Moro ng Jolo Na may kasayahan nilang itinaas
Ang libu-libong watawat na malalaho.

At nang ang mga matatapang na sundalo

Ay sumadsad sa baybayin
At itinutok ang kanilang mga baril
Sa pader ng kalaban,
Sa lalim ng kanyang tinig ay nagsalita
Ang heneral: "Mga kawal ko,
Sa inyong tapang nakasalalay
Ang kayamanang karangalan ng tagumpay.

"Mas gusto ko pang mamatay Kaysa huminto sa atakeng ito;

Sa inyo ibinibigay ng bayan
Ang kanyang dakilang, banal na tatak."
Sinabi niya; at tulad ng mapanghusgang Notus
Na napaliligiran ng nakakatakot na kidlat,
Sa malalakas na bagyo ay nagsisibasag
Ng malungkot na pananangis at pagluluksa;
Ganun din ang hindi mapalambot na Urbiztondo
Na sinusundan siya ng kanyang mga sundalo
Siya'y nagdudulot ng kamatayan sa lahat
Na may malamig na bakal sa kanyang kamay.

At tulad ng leon sa gubat

Siya'y umuungal, nagdudulot ng takot,
Nang siya'y tumingin sa inaasam
Na kanyang nilalamas na pinakakain;
Ganun din ang kilalang mga mandirigma
Na may galit at mababaliw na takot,
Lumalapit sa mga barikada
Na naglalagay ng matinding pagsalakay.

At ang leon ng mga Kastila'y kumakalog

Ang kanyang balbas-katimugan na galit,
At naghahanda ang kanyang mga kuko
Upang maghasik ng luha sa lahat.

Walong balwarte, isinantrega

Ng mga Moro ng Jolo
Sa malakas na putok ng Marte
At sa pagsalakay ni Urbiztondo.

Ah! Sila ang mga yaon, mahal na Espanya,

Kagaya ng mga bayani sa Lepanto sila,
Sa Pavia sila ang mga yaon
Na siyang kidlat ng digmaan.

Ang apoy ay umaabot at sumisira

Sa mga kastilyo at palasyo,
At lahat ng ari-arian ng mga Joloano
Sa mga mababangis na sundalo natin ay nasalakay.

Ang mapanlinlang na Mahumat ay tumatakas,

Ang mapang-api at walang-Diyos na Sultán,
At ang mga mandirigmang tapat
Ay pumapasok sa Jolo habang kumakanta.

Kay Birhen Maria ni Dr. José Rizal

(Tagalog version of “A La Virgen Maria”)

Oh Maria! Matamis na kapayapaan at

mahal na aliw ng tao sa lumbay.
Bukal kang… nanagos ay saklolong lantay,
at sa aming lupa ay nagpapayaman.

Buhat sa taluktok, langit na mataas,

malungkot kong taghoy, dinggin mong may habag;
ampunin sa lambong na nagliliwanag nanakyat kong
tinig sa bilis ng lipad!
Aking Ina ikaw, tahimik na Maria; ikaw
ang buhay ko, lakas ng panata;
sa maalong dagat, tanging patnubay ka.

Kung ako’y usigin ng masamang hilig, sa

paghihingalo, wakas at lumapit,
tulungan mo ako, pawiinh ang hapis.

Hymn to Work
by Dr. José Rizal
(English version of “Himno Al Trabajo”)

For our country in war

For our country in peace
The Filipino will be ready,
While he lives and when he dies.
MEN:

As soon as the East is tinted with light Forth

to the fields to plow the loam!
Since it is work that sustains the man,
The motherland, family and the home.
Hard though the soil may prove to be,
Implacable the sun above, For
motherland, our wives and babes,
'Twill be easy with our love.
WIVES:

Courageously set out to work;

Your home is safe with a faithful wife
Implanting in her children, love
For wisdom, land, and virtuous life.
When nightfall brings us to our rest,
May smiling fortune guard our door;
But if cruel fate should harm her man, The
wife would toil on as before.
GIRLS:

Hail! Hail! Give praise to work!

The country's vigor and her wealth;
For work lift up your brow serene
It is your blood, your life, your health.
If any youth protests his love
His work shall prove if he be good.
That man alone who strives and toils
Can find the way to feed his brood.
BOYS:

Teach us then the hardest tasks

For down Thy trails we turn our feet
That when our country calls tomorrow
Thy purposes we may complete,
And may our elders say, who see us,
See! How worthy of their sires! No
incense can exalt our dead ones Like
a brave son who aspires!

PINATUTULA AKO

Iyong hinihiling, lira ay tugtugin

bagaman sira na't laon nang naumid
ayaw nang tumipa ang nagtampong bagting pati
aking Musa ay nagtago narin.
malungkot na nota
ang nasnaw na himig waring hinuhugot
dusa at hinagpis at ang alingawngaw ay
umaaliwiw sa sarili na ring puso at
damdamin.
kaya nga't sa gitna niring aking hapis
yaring kalul'wa ko'y parang namamanhid.

Nagkapanahon nga ... kaipala'y, tunay

ang mga araw na matuling nagdaan
nang ako sa akong Musa'y napamahal
lagi na sa akin, ngiti'y nakalaan.
ngunit marami nang lumipas na araw sa
aking damdamin alaala'y naiwan
katulad ng saya at kaligayahan
kapag dumaan na'y may hiwagang taglay
na mga awiting animo'y lumulutang
sa aking gunitang malabo, malamlam.

Katulad ko'y binhing binunot na tanim sa

nilagakan kong Silangang lupain
pawang lahat-lahat ay kagiliw-giliw
manirahan doo'y sayang walang maliw.
ang bayan kong
ito, na lubhang marikit sa diwa't puso
ko'y hindi mawawaglit ibong
malalaya, nangagsisiawit
mulang kabundukan, lagaslas ng tubig
ang halik ng dagat sa buhangin mandin
lahat ng ito'y, hindi magmamaliw.

Nang ako'y musmos pa'y aking

natutuhang masayang batiin ang sikat
ng araw
habang sa diwa ko'y waring naglalatang
silakbo ng isang kumukulong bulkan.

laon nang makata, kaya't ako nama'y

laging nagnanais na aking tawagan
sa diwa at tula, hanging nagduruyan:
"Ikalat mo lamang ang kanyang pangalan,
angking kabantugan ay ipaghiyawan
mataas, mababa'y, hayaang magpisan".

GOODBYE TO LEONEOR

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.

TO JOSEPHINE

(Rizal dedicated this poem to Josephine Bracken, an Irish woman who went to Dapitan
accompanying a man seeking Rizal's services as an O Melancholy absence! Ah, what
pain!ophthamologist.)

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.

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.

FELICITATION (Felicitacion, 1875)

If Philomela with harmonious tongue
To blond Apollo, who manifests his face
Behind high hill or overhanging mountain,
Canticles sends.

So we as well, full of a sweet contentment,

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

THE EMBARKATION, a hymn to Ferdinand Magellan’s fleet

(El Embarque: Himno a la Flota de Magallanes, 1875)

One beautiful day when in East

The sun had gaily brightened,
At Barrameda with rejoicing great Activities
everywhere reigned.

‘Tis cause on the shores the caravels

Would part with their sails a-swelling;
And noble warriors with their swords
To conquer unknown world are going.

And all is glee and all is joy, All

is valor in the city.
Everywhere the husky sounds of drums
Are resounding with majesty.

With big echoes thousands of salvos

Makes at the ships a roaring cannon
And the Spanish people proudly greet The
soldiers with affection.

Farewell! They say to them, loved ones,

Brave soldiers of the homeland; With
glories gird our mother Spain,
In the campaign in the unknown land!

As they move away to the gentle breath

Of the cool wind with emotion,
They all bless with a pious voice So
glorious, heroic action.
And finally, the people salute
The standard of Magellan
That he carries on the way to the seas Where
madly roars the hurricane.

AND HE IS SPANISH: ELCANO, THE FIRST TO CIRCUMNAVIGATE THE WORLD (Y

Es Espanol: Elcano, el Primero en dar la Vuelta al Mundo, December 1875)

Where does that frail ship

go That proudly cruises on
And ploughs the distant seas
To seek the lands unknown?
Who's the brave and invincible,
That from far down the West
Sails on the expansive world To
yonder roseate East?

Of Spain he's a heroic son,

A Titan new of Pirene, Who
with fury fights against, If it
holds him, the hurricane.

He's Elcano who undertakes

A task that enchants the world ;
To accomplish it he vows
And its vastness him doesn't hold.

And to red-tailed eagle akin

That soars high in the wind With
an unequalled flight
And with a movement swift,

Of the blowing storm that roars,

He scorns the horrible hiss ;
And mocks with kingly air
The lightning's shattering noise.

And like a craggy rock

No impetuous ocean in rage
Or the fury of hurricanes
Him can change or disengage ;

Such is the invincible

Elcano, when cruising through
The waves, with his Spanish ships, Their
rage they might'ly subdue.

Triumphant crosses he
The vast roundness of the globe With
exceptional bravery
He measured the extensive orb.
A thousand laurels crown
Defender of Spain, your brow ;
And a brilliant diadem
Now proudly decorates you.

THE TRAGEDY OF ST. EUSTACE (La Tragedia de San Eustaquio, June 1876)

This poem recounts the tragic story of St. Eustace. However, it appears that the original
manuscript of this no longer exists and may have been destroyed in the bombardment of the
Second World War. But it was said that it had been published in installments in a magazine,
Cultura Social of Ateneo University.

INTIMATE ALLIANCE BETWEEN RELIGION AND GOOD EDUCATION (Alianza

Intima Entre la Religion y la Buena Educacion, 1876)

As the climbing ivy over lefty elm

Creeps tortuously, together the adornment
Of the verdant plain, embellishing
Each other and together growing,
But should the kindly elm refuse its aid
The ivy would impotent and friendless wither
So is Education to Religion
By spiritual alliance bound.
Through Religion, Education gains renown, and
Woe to the impious mind that blindly spurning
The sapient teachings of Religion, this Unpolluted
fountain-head forsakes.

As the sprout, growing from the pompous vine,

Proudly offers us its honeyed clusters
While the generous and loving garment
Feeds its roots; so the fresh’ning waters
Of celestial virtue give new life
To Education true, shedding
On it warmth and light; because of them
The vine smells sweet and gives delicious fruit.

Without Religion, Human Education

Is like unto a vessel struck by winds
Which, sore beset, is of its helm deprived
By the roaring blows and buffets of the dread
Tempestuous Boreas, who fiercely wields
His power until he proudly sends her down Into
the deep abysses of the angered sea.
As the heaven’s dew the meadow feeds and strengthens
So that blooming flowers all the earth
Embroider in the days of spring; so also
If Religion holy nourishes
Education with its doctrines, she
Shall walk in joy and generosity Toward
the Good, and everywhere bestrew The
fragrant and luxuriant fruits of Virtue.

The Captivity and the Triumph: Battle of Lucena and the Imprisonment of Boabdil
(El Cautiverio y el Triunfo: Batalla de Lucena y Prision de Boabdil, December 1876)

The proud Abencérage provokes

The soldiers brave of Castilla
Ferociously to humble him
After he had destroyed Montilla.

The Count of Cabra soon arrives

In his strong arm he displays his saber,
Like Death that lugubriously unfolds
Her black wings of death and slaughter.

Toward the troops of an impious race

Like a lion he dashes eagerly ;
As the radiant sun to the new-born day With
him goes Don Diego anxiously.

Thus like the fleeing fugitive stag

Evading the fleeting arrow
The haughty heart so filled with fright, The
Prophet's armies away go.

But not so the ferocious cavalry, As

shield its breast it exposes,
With gallantry it awaits the fight To
attack with utter harshness.
Boabdil encourages his hordes With
wrath and savage fury :
His anguish on his face he shows With
grit to the fleeing men speaks he :
"To where art thou led, Oh, Trickless Moors, By
the fear thee blinds and chases?
From whom do thee flee? With whom, hapless men,
The stout heart to fight refuses?"

Said he ; and with menace the trumpet sounds ;

Ours arrive and start the fighting,
And everywhere is heard alone Of
flashing steel the rattling.

Don Alonso Aguilar attacks Them

on one flank furious battle.
He wounds, beheads, devastates, and assaults As
a wolf does, the timid cattle.

Alas! The Muslim, stubborn and cruel

Implores his Prophet vainly
While against the Christians noble and strong, The
spear and the rein tightens he.

Amidst the fiery tumult of war There

did the commander brave die : Into
pieces broken: helmets, spears, And
horses on the ground lie.

His soldiers now terrified and tired

Flee before the Christian victors ;
Just as away the timorous dear
Run as the lion brave roars.

When the King, abandoned, finds himself

And seeing escape isn't too soon, He
gets down his horses terrified,
And hides in the woods like a poltroon.

Two unconquered Christians found him ;

And by royal symbols detected,
Instantly to Don Diego him they took Like
a royal captive defeated.

There at Lucena the Christians' God

Humbled down the arrogant's power
Who wanted to tie with a heavy chain The
Spaniard as downcast pris'ner.

TRIUMPHANT ENTRY OF THE CATHOLIC MONARCHS INTO GRANADA

(Entrada triunfal de los Reyes Católicos en Granada, December 1876)

'Twas a quiet and gloomy night

Whose mem'ry hurts the heart, A
night ago in which the Muslim King
Treads the Alhambra's beautiful floor.
The face pale, loose his hair,
Tired eyes of frigid gaze, Head
low, recumbent his face, The sad
Muslim looks at his palaces.
The Muslim looks at them and abundant tears
Bathe his eyes, a-flowing down his cheeks,
And to the ceiling gilt and arabesque He
turns again his weary gaze.
Sand and tearful he remembers then
The Muslim exploits and the glorious jousts ;
And comparing the present ills
With the combats of past days,
"Goodbye, Alhambra," he says; "Alhambra, goodbye,
Abode of joy and abundant happiness ;
Goodbye, palace full of pleasures,
Inexhaustible fountain of delight.
Sad I leave you and now I'm going
To cruel exile, of hardships full,
In order not to see your towers high,
Your fountains clear and rich abodes."
He said ; and moaning the costly habiliments
Of the gilded apartments he removes ;
And of its beautiful decorations stripped
The huge halls, sad he withdraws,
And in the silence of the night
When the luckless Arabs were asleep,
When only the hissing of the winds
Through the peaceful city could be heard
And crossing the streets
Of that now forsaken realm,
Pale and petrified
Bathed in mortal sweat;
Only lamentations deep
Were heard everywhere,
And some doleful voice
Thrown in its wild complaint.

The king stopped; the towers he saw

He contemplated those walls;
The bottles remembered he
That he waged in happy times;
But he could not control himself
And he lowered his gazed to the ground
And mournfully said
As he bends his head:
"Alas! Granada what happened to you?
What became of your nights? Alas!
Where do your warriors sleep That
your anguish they don't see?
Indeed! I your unhappy King,
To the Libyan desert lands
Hurled and with chains By
fate I also go.
"Today I lose everything, everything,
Kingdom, palace, treasure
And so alone I sadly weep
What cruel grief prepares for me;
There was a time when your tow'rs
Preponderantly ruled
And they were the havoc and dread Of
squadrons in front."
He said and the squadrons he sees
Commanded by Talavera,
As he waves the flag
Of Christian religion;
That by royal order the forts
They were going to occupy
And to take possession of The
Alhambra and its rooms.

And to Fernando Talavera

Who rules the knights
With respect addresses himself
The unfortunate Boabdil ;
And in manner like this speaks to him
With mournful stress, Into
cruel anguish plunged
In a thousand anxieties submerged:
"Go my lord, go immediately To
take hold of those abodes
By the great Almighty reserved
For your powerful King;
Allah chastises the Moors;
Strip them of their property;
From their country he throws them out
For they did not keep his law."

He said no more ; on his way

The Mohammedan proceeds
And behind goes his faithful band In
silence and with grief.
Aback they didn't turn their gaze
To contemplate their ground,
For affliction perhaps would strike
Them with greater vehemence.

And in the distance they see

The Christians' camp did show
Signs of contentment and joy
Upon seeing the celestial Cross
That on the Alhambra is displayed
When the city was overrun ;
And 'twas the primary sign
Of the race that was subdued.

And th' unhappy Monarch hears

The voice of "Long live Castille !"
And he sees on their knees

The Spanish Combatants;

And from the trumpets he hears
Triumphal harmonies. And the
brilliant helmets he sees The
bright sun shining on them.
His footsteps then he turns

Toward King Fernando

Who advances ordering
His troops with majesty;
And as he nears the King,
The Moor gives to him the keys,
The only treasure and sign
Of the Mohammedan pow'r.

"See there," Boabdil says to him,

What I can offer you,
And the only thing left to me, Of
the Arabic domain
My kingdom, trophies, men,
Fields, houses, victories,
Exalted honors, tow'rs
And gardens all, now are yours."

Boabdil thus did speak

And having paid his respect
From that place he withdraws
A thousand ills he saw
Continuing his slow pace
His warriors sending forth
A thousand doleful groans As
they leave the fair Genil.

Now, the warlike clarion

Of Fernando sounds th' entry
In Granada lovely and fair,
Now Christian with no infidel;
The captives of the defeated Moor,
Who sadly were dragging chains
And suff'ring torments and pains With
joy came to Isabel.

Like long-suff'ring warriors brave

The clement King greets them,
His gladness showing on his face
'Cause from evil he saw them freed; And
the Queen abundant alms
Distributes with benevolent hand
That Queen who's always of God
Ought to wear immortal crown.

And as the Muslims hear

The cries of festivity,
Sonorous beating of drums,
And the singing of delight,
They lamented their fate,
The glory they have lost,
Their race that was subdued, Their
country without peer.

Their mournful groans

They carefully hide,
Their tearful pray'rs,
To be heard they fear
Would augment the pride
Of that victory That
causes their woe.

Now the flag of Spain

Proudly waves o'er the walls Of
noble Granada now secure !
Now the Catholic Kings
From their seat opulent
Will decree wise laws For
the children of Genil.

Now delightful Granada, proud

Is Christians' dwelling place
And Granada belongs
To the faithful populace.
Now from Heaven God looks down
With joy the beautiful tow'rs
And merlons all full
Of Trophies and laurel.
Columbus and John II (Colon y Juan II)

"Christopher, to you, fame,

And immortal crown and great renown
Homage history pays ! Your
august name reaches Posterity
and is amazed.

"Blesses you the world

In canticles of love and contentment
All that Lusitania
Holds proclaim instantly Your
faith's noble valor.

"Who, like you, is gentle, Constant,

resigned, and gen'rous?
Conquered thou the dreadful
Fury of the wavy sea
And the cowardly, treach'rous mariner.

"Hail, illustrious Adm'ral,

Firm of heart, fiery in the fight ;
To your constant valor
Kindly today I offer Castles
and honors together.
"I, your voice I shall be
To proclaim before my standards
Viceroy of good graces
And above the towers
I shall put your name in royal flags."

Thus did speak the sov'reign, Portugal's

Juan the enlightened.
Glory great beforehand
And the highest post in his palace Offers
he the veteran.
But . . . hurriedly he flees
Columbusfrom the treach'rous deceiver
Of the palace ambitious; Runs
he, flies to where dwells
Isabel the Christian, his benefactress.

GREAT SOLACE IN GREAT MISFORTUNE (Gran Consuelo en la Mayor Desdicha, 1878)

This is a legend in verse of the tragic life of Columbus.

A FAREWELL DIALOGUE OF THE STUDENTS (Un Dialogo Alusive a la Despedida de los

Colegiales)

This was the last poem written by Rizal in Ateneo which again amazed his teachers. It is a
poignant poem of farewell to his classmates, written just before he graduated from the Ateneo
Muncipal de Manila.

ABD-EL-AZIS AND MOHAMMED (ABD-EL-AZIS Y MAHOMA, December 1879)

It was night: the moaning wind

Sighs as it kisses the towers tall
And on its wings carries mournfully Thousands of
confused noises agitating the space.

Aweful clouds bedim the peace

Of the dark night's beautiful star, And
a soft tint like a mantle of snow
Covers the fields that the Spaniard treads.

There, from the tall Moorish tow'r

Sings the owl on th' imposing peak,
Numberless evils and bloody fights
With fatidical accent foretells.

In the meanwhile on the soft bed

That the luxurious Moor makes of ivory,
Rest doth seek the weary, brave Abd-El-Azis,
Pleasant relief from the bygone" day.

Th' incense mild in silver tripods

That th' Arabian bark distills,
Burns and spreads intoxicating scent,
Of the sumptuous chamber soft delight.

Everything is silent : everyone sleeps ;

Only the sorrowful Moor keeps guard,
Contemplates the light that sadly
Penetrates through th' elegant arch.

But so sudden he beholds outlined

Dubious shadow that in the gentle light
Agitates him for a time, and his sullen face
Masculine contour acquires.

With a white turban covered in his head,

Animates his countenance a lengthy beard,
From his belt a curved cutlass hangs
Horribly dripping with ardent blood.

Like the mournful sound of hollow bronze

That deplores the agony of man, Thus
the sepulchral silence his voice
Ruffles, and the fatidical vision the Moor.

"Alas ! Alas ! It tells him, and resounded profound Th'

echo of his voice calm and cold,
Terrible echo that touches the soul,
Like the remembrance of a friendly voice.

"Alas, poor me ! Pity the nation brave

That the sandy Lybia saw on her breast !
Alas, poor Koran, sacred patrimony That
to the Muslim Allah once bequeathed !

Vainly did you conquer the flags

Of the Pow'rful Christian of Guadalete
On the green banks, for again
Raises he rebellious his captive head.
Pelayo, the great Pelayo, the noble Goth,
The illustrious son of fierce Favila, On
the hard rocks of Covadonga Fights
the forces of the Moor.

The Cross, the Cross, insignia idolized,

Follows its army that to conquer aspires:
Mary goes with them with her cloak
Shelters she with love the bodies weak.

But don't fear, for triumphant ever be

Will the Muslim in the combat crude,
And of no avail her protection would be For
only God helps the faithful with his arm.

But alas! If you sleep in the arms of delight

And my heavenly precepts you ignore
The throne that sustained Tarif will fall
To the rough blow of the sword profane

Like the overflowing river your blood

Will inundate the vales and fields
And the flourishing Iberia's ground
Th' Arab's cold tomb will become ;

And in numberless battles in eternal war,

Into your breasts will plunge
The proud Spaniard's knife, and the vile dust
Like the accursed .serpent you'll bite ;

And you'll yield the ground inch by inch

Fertilized by your blessed blood ;
The weak women and children slaves will be
In their sad affliction ;

Hurled again to the desert cruel,

Bitter tears for peace that was lost
You will shed, and in shameful torment
You will count the days of your return.
And rejoicing proudly at your distress
In their perfidy A thousand ships will arm,
And the beautiful ground where I rest in
peace They will threaten with fury never
seen.
Arm yourself ! Run ! Quickly fly !
Cast your veteran army with the fight
And to the wind let the son'rous trumpet release Warlike
accent, to glory a toast.

Trembles the ground beneath the saddle light

Of the fiery steed that Arabia breeds
And like showy murex in burning red
Infidel blood tints your scimitar.

Before the Moon that my insignia displays

Make the Cross its fortress yield,
And forever victorious may they shine
The beneficent doctrines of the Koran."

Said he ; and like a lightly rising smoke

That a strong wind rapidly dissipates,
Thus disappeared the terrible fright
That the vision divine caused the Moor.

Al M.R.P. PABLO RAMON, 1881

Sweet is the breeze that at the break of dawn

The calyx of fragrant flowers shakes,
Alluring odors soft they spread
O'er the countryside ;

The placid murmur is sweet and soft Of

the gentle rivulet that with joy
Throws silv'ry foam on sands of gold
And drops of water white ;

Sweet are the trills of musical birds

Soft is th' aroma of motley flow'rs
And the perfumes of th' aurora white
Mellow and sweet;

But your name, oh, Father idolized,

Instills the purest joy in our breast,
Whence it diffuses most mellow rays Of
eternal glow.

The Almighty's hand affectionate

You show us, Father, whose love sincere
Throughout the bitter road of life Does
guide us with love.

Alas! What will become of youthful toil

That restlessly burns in our breast,
Without the guidance or your kind hand,
Your love, your zeal?

We're, Father, your sons; you do guide us

To the homes of eternal happiness.
The mind will not be disturbed by fright
With a pilot like you.

The great Apostle whose name you bear,

Whose footsteps with enthusiasm you trail,
With heavenly favor shower you, A
sacred treasure.

They Ask Me for Verses (Me Piden Versos, October 1882)

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!"

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.

VI
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.

To Miss C.O. y R., 1883

Why ask for those unintellectual verses

that once, insane with grief, I sang aghast?
Or are you maybe throwing in my face my
rank ingratitude, my bitter past?

Why resurrect unhappy memories now

when the heart awaits from love a sign, or
call the night when day begins to smile,
not knowing if another day will shine?

You wish to learn the cause of this dejection

delirium of despair that anguish wove?
You wish to know the wherefore of such sorrows, and
why, a young soul, I sing not of love?

Oh, may you never know why! For the reason

brings melancholy but may set you laughing.
Down with my corpse into the grave shall go
another corpse that's buried in my stuffing!
Something impossible, ambition, madness,
dreams of the soul, a passion and its throes
Oh, drink the nectar that life has to offer
and let the bitter dregs in peace repose!

Again I feel the impenetrable shadows

shrouding the soul with the thick veils of
night: a mere bud only, not a lovely flower,
because it's destitute of air and light

Behold them: my poor verses, my damned brood and

sorrow suckled each and every brat!
Oh, they know well to what they owe their being, and maybe they
themselves will tell you what.

TO MY MUSE (A Mi, 1890, incl. in La Solidaridad)

No more is the muse invoked;

the lyre is out of fashion; no
poet cares to use it;
by other things are the dreamy
young inspired to passion.

Now if imagination
demands some poesies, no
Helicon is invoked;
one simply asks the garçon
for a cup of coffee please.

Instead of tender stanzas that

move the heart’s sympathy,
one now writes a poem with
a pen of steel,
a joke and an irony.

Muse that in the past

inspired me to sing of the throes of
love: go and repose.
What I need is a sword, rivers
of gold, and acrid prose.
I have a need to reason, to
meditate, to offer
combat, sometimes to weep; for
he who would love much
has also much to suffer.

Gone are the days of peace, the

days of love’s gay chorus,
when the flowers were enough to
alleviate the soul
of its sufferings and sorrows.

One by one from my side go

those I loved so much: this one
dead, that one married; for fate
seals with disaster
everything that I touch.

Flee also, muse! Go forth and

seek a region more fine,
for my country vows to give you fetters
for your laurels,
a dark jail for your shrine.

If to suppress the truth be

a shame, an impiety,
would it not then be madness to
keep you by my side
deprived of liberty?

Why sing when destiny calls to

serious meditation,
when a hurricane is roaring,
when to her sons complains
the Filipino nation?

And why sing if my song will merely

resound with a moaning that will
arouse no one,
the world being sick and tired
of someone else’s groaning?

For what, when among the people

who criticize and maltreat me,
arid the soul, the lips frigid,
there’s not a heart that beats
with mine, no heart to meet me?

Let sleep in the depths of oblivion all

that I feel, for there
it well should be, where the breath
cannot mix it with a rhyme
that evaporates in the air.

As sleep in the deep abyss

the monsters of the sea,
so let my tribulations, my
fancies and my lyrics
slumber, buried in me.

I know well that your favors you

lavish without measure only
during that time
of flowers and first loves
unclouded by displeasure.

Many years have passed since

with the ardent heat
of a kiss you burned my brow
That kiss has now turned cold, I
have even forgotten it!

But, before departing, say that

to your sublime address ever
responded in me
a song for those who grieve
and a challenge for those who oppress.

But, sacred imagination, once again to

warm my fantasy you will come nigh
when, faith being faded, broken the sword, I
cannot for my country die.

You’ll give me the mourning zither whose chords

vibrate with elegiac strains
to sweeten the sorrows of my nation
and muffle the clanking of her chains.

But if with laurel triumph crowns our

efforts, and my country, united, like
a queen of the East arises,
a white pearl rescued from the sty:
return then and intone with vigor
the sacred hymn of a new existence,
and we shall sing that strain in chorus “ though
in the sepulcher we lie.

WATER AND FIRE (EL AGUA Y EL FUEGO, 1891)

Water are we, you say, and yourselves fire,

so let us be what we are and co-
exist without ire,
and may no conflagration ever find us at war.

but, rather, fused together by cunning science

within the cauldrons of the ardent breast,
without rage, without defiance,
do we form steam, fifth element indeed:
progress, life, enlightenment, and speed!

SONG OF THE WANDERER/TRAVELER (EL CANTO DEL VIAJERO, 1895)

Dry leaf that flies at random till

it's seized by a wind from above:
so lives on earth the wanderer, without
north, without soul, without country or love!

Anxious, he seeks joy everywhere and

joy eludes him and flees,
a vain shadow that mocks his yearning
and for which he sails the seas.

Impelled by a hand invisible, he

shall wander from place to place;
memories shall keep him company
of loved ones, of happy days.

A tomb perhaps in the desert, a

sweet refuge, he shall discover,
by his country and the world forgotten
Rest quiet: the torment is over.

And they envy the hapless wanderer as

across the earth he persists!
Ah, they know not of the emptiness in
his soul, where no love exists.

The pilgrim shall return to his country,

shall return perhaps to his shore; and
shall find only ice and ruin,
perished loves, and gravesnothing more.

Begone, wanderer! In your own country, a

stranger now and alone!
Let the others sing of loving, who
are happybut you, begone!

Begone, wanderer! Look not behind you

nor grieve as you leave again.
Begone, wanderer: stifle your sorrows!
the world laughs at another's pain.

HULING PAALAM

Pinipintuho kong Bayan ay paalam,

Lupang iniirog ng sikat ng araw,
mutyang mahalaga sa dagat Silangan,
kaluwalhatiang sa ami’y pumanaw.
Masayang sa iyo’y aking idudulot ang
lanta kong buhay na lubhang malungkot;
maging maringal man at labis ang alindog
sa kagalingan mo ay akin ding handog.

Sa pakikidigma at pamimiyapis
ang alay ng iba’y ang buhay na kipkip,
walang agam-agam, maluwag sa dibdib,
matamis sa puso at di ikahahapis.

Saan man mautas ay di kailangan,

cipres o laurel, lirio ma’y patungan
pakikipaghamok, at ang bibitayan,
yaon ay gayon din kung hiling ng Bayan.

Ako’y mamamatay, ngayong namamalas

na sa Silanganan ay namamanaag
yaong maligayang araw na sisikat
sa likod ng luksang nagtabing na ulap.

Ang kulay na pula kung kinakailangan na

maitina sa iyong liwayway,
dugo ko’y isaboy at siyang ikikinang
ng kislap ng iyong maningning na ilaw.

Ang aking adhika sapul magkaisip

noong kasalukuyang bata pang maliit,
ay ang tanghaling ka at minsang masilip
sa dagat Silangan hiyas na marikit.

Natuyo ang luhang sa mata’y nunukal,

taas na ang noo’t walang kapootan,
walang bakas kunot ng kapighatian
gabahid man dungis niyong kahihiyan.

Sa kabuhayan ko ang laging gunita

maningas na aking ninanasa-nasa
ay guminhawa ka ang hiyas ng diwa
paghingang papanaw ngayong biglang-
bigla.
Ikaw’y guminhawa laking kagandahang
akoy malugmok, at ikaw ay matanghal,
hininga’y malagot, mabuhay ka lamang
bangkay ko’y maisilong sa iyong Kalangitan.

Kung sa libingan ko’y tumubong mamalas

sa malagong damo mahinhing bulaklak,
sa mga labi mo’y mangyayaring ilapat, sa
kaluluwa ko halik ay igawad.

At sa aking noo nawa’y iparamdam, sa

lamig ng lupa ng aking libingan, ang
init ng iyong paghingang dalisay at
simoy ng iyong paggiliw na tunay.

Bayaang ang buwan sa aki’y ititig ang

liwanag niyang lamlam at tahimik,
liwayway bayaang sa aki’y ihatid
magalaw na sinag at hanging hagibis.

Kung sakasakaling bumabang humantong

sa krus ko’y dumapo kahit isang ibon,
doon ay bayaan humuning hinahon at
dalitin niya payapang panahon.

Bayaan ang ningas ng sikat ng araw

ula’y pasingawin noong kainitan,
magbalik sa langit ng buong dalisay
kalakip ng aking pagdaing na hiyaw.

Bayaang sino man sa katotong giliw

tangisang maagang sa buhay pagkitil;
kung tungkol sa akin ay may manalangin
idalangin, Bayan, yaring pagkahimbing.

Idalanging lahat yaong nangamatay,

Nangag-tiis hirap na walang kapantay;
mga ina naming walang kapalaran na
inihihibik ay kapighatian.
Ang mga balo’t pinapangulila,
ang mga bilanggong nagsisipagdusa;
dalanginin namang kanilang makita
ang kalayaan mong ikagiginhawa.

At kung ang madilim na gabing mapanglaw

ay lumaganap na doon sa libinga’t
tanging mga patay ang nangaglalamay,
huwag bagabagin ang katahimikan.

Ang kanyang hiwaga’y huwag gambalain;

kaipala’y marinig doon ang taginting,
tunog ng gitara’t salterio’y magsaliw,
ako, Bayan yao’t kita’y aawitan.

Kung ang libingan ko’y limot na ng lahat

at wala ng kurus at batong mabakas,
bayaang linangin ng taong masipag,
lupa’y asarolin at kahuya’y ikalat.

Ang mga buto ko ay bago matunaw,

mauwi sa wala at kusang maparam,
alabok na iyong latag ay bayaang
siya ang babalang doo’y makipisan.

Kung magkagayon ma’y, alintanahin na

ako sa limot iyong ihabilin,
pagka’t himpapawid at ang panganorin,
mga lansangan mo’y aking lilibutin.

Matining na tunog ako sa dinig mo,

ilaw, mga kulay, masamyong pabango,
ang ugong at awit, paghibik ko sa iyo,
pag-asang dalisay ng pananalig ko.

Bayang iniirog, sakit niyaring hirap,

Katagalugan kong pinakaliliyag,
dinggin mo ang aking pagpapahimakas;
diya’y iiwan ko sa iyo ang lahat.
Ako’y patutungo sa walang busabos,
walang umiinis at berdugong hayop;
pananalig doo’y di nakasasalot,
si Bathala lamang doo’y haring lubos.

Paalam, magulang at mga kapatid

kapilas ng aking kaluluwa’t dibdib mga
kaibigan, bata pang maliit,
sa aking tahanan di na masisilip.

Pag-papasalamat at napahinga rin,

paalam estranherang kasuyo ko’t aliw,
paalam sa inyo, mga ginigiliw; mamatay
ay siyang pagkakagupiling!