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Whenever people of a country truly loveThe language which by heav’n they were taught to useThat country also surely liberty pursueAs does the bird which soars freer space above.

For language is the final judge and refereeUpon the people in the land where it holds sway;In truth our human race resembles in this wayThe other livings being born in liberty.

Whoever knows not how to love his native tongueIs worse than any beast or evil smelling fish.To make our language richer ought to be our wishThe same as any mother loves to feed her young.

Tagalog and Latin language are the sameAnd English and Castillian and the angels’ tongue;And God, whose watchful care o’er all is flung,Has given us His blessing in the speech we claim,

Our mother tongue, like all the highest we knowHad alphabet and letters of its very own;But these were lost — by furious waves were over-thrownLike bancas in the stormy sea, long years ago.

To My Fellow Children

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Why do the scented bowersIn fragrant fray

Rival each other’s flowersThis festive day?

Why is sweet melody bruitedIn the sylvan dale,

Harmony sweet and flutedLike the nightingale?

Why do the birds sing soIn the tender grass,

Flitting from the bough to boughWith the winds that pass?

And why does the crystal springRun among the flowers

While lullaby zephyrs singLike its crystal showers?

Sweet mother, they celebrateYour natal day

The rose with her scent innateThe bird with his lay.

The murmurous spring this dayWithout alloy,

Murmuring birds you alwaysTo live in joy.

While the crystalline murmurs glisten,Hear you the accents strongStruck from my lyre, listen!

To my love’s first song.

My First Inspiration

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Felicitacion

The sisters of your wife Greet you on your feast day.

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.

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The Departure: Hymn to Magellan’s Fleet

One beautiful day when in the 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 swordsTo 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 salvosMakes 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 breathOf the cool wind with emotion,

They all bless with a pious voiceSo glorious, heroic action.

And finally, the people saluteThe standard of Magellan

That he carries on the way to the seas Where madly roars the hurricane.

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And He is Spanish: Elcano, The First to Circumnavigate The World

Where does that frail ship goThat proudly cruises on

And ploughs the distant seasTo seek the lands unknown?

Who’s the brave and invincible,That from far down the WestSails on the expansive world

To yonder roseate East?

Of Spain he’s a heroic son,A Titan new of pirence,

Who with fury fights against,If it holds him, the hurricane.

He’s Elcano who undertakesA task that enchants the world;

To accomplish it he vowsAnd its vastness him doesn’t hold.

And to Red-tailed eagle akinThat soars high in the windWith 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 lighting’s shattering noise.

And like a craggy rockNo impetuous ocean in range

Or the Fury of hurricanesHim can Change or disengage;

Such is the invincibleElcano, When cruising through

The waves, with his Spanish ships,

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Their rage they might’ly subdue.Triumphant crosses he

The vast roundness of the globeWith exceptional bravery

He measured the extensive orb.

A thousand laurels crownDefender of Spain, your brow;

And a brilliant diademNow proudly decorates you.

The Battle: Urbiztondo, Terror of Jolo

A hundred war-tried ships At the mercy of the gentle wind,

Leave behind Manila bay-The ruffled sea they plough.

A short while they descryThe Moros of Jolo

Who with pride they raiseA thousand waving flags.

And when the soldiers strongHad alighted on the shores And pointed all their guns Against the enemy’s wall, With manly accent spoke

The general : “Soldiers of mine,Upon your valor dependsThe rich glory of victory.

“I would prefer to dieRather than desist from attack ;

To thee the country entrustsHer noble, sacred seals.”

Said he ; and like Notus fierce By horrid lightning hedged in

In furious tempests it sows

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Sad weeping and mourning around ; So Urbiztondo unsubdued

His soldiers following him,He spreads death everywhereWith cold steel in his hand. And like a lion in the woodsHe roars, engendering fear, As he looks upon the prey

That with havoc he devours; So the noted fighting men

With fury and frenzied fright, Approach the barricades

As they give a headlong assault.

And the Castiles’ lion shakes His forelock wrathfully

And readies his pointed claws To spread tears everywhere.

Eight bastions, do surrender Of the Moros of Jolo

To the furious rattle of Mars And Urbiztondo’s assault.

Ah ! They’re the ones, noble Spain, Like Lepanto’s heroes they are,

At Pavia they’re the onesWho’re the thunderbolt of war.

The fire consumes and devours The castles and palacesAnd all the Joloans own

At our soldiers fierce attack.Perfidious Mahumat flees,

Tyrannical and godless Sultan, And the warriors valorous

March into Jolo as they sing.

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When early childhood’s happy daysIn memory I see once moreAlong the lovely verdant shoreThat meets a gently murmuring sea;When I recall the whisper softOf zephyrs dancing on my browWith cooling sweetness, even nowNew luscious life is born in me.

When I behold the lily whiteThat sways in do the wind’s commandWhile gently sleeping on the sandThe stormy water rests awhile;When from the flowers there softly breathesA bouqet ravishingly sweet,Out-poured the newborn dawn to meet,As on us she begins to smile.

With sadness I recall... I recallThy face, in precious infancy,Oh mother, friend most dear to me,Who gave to life a wondrous charm.I yet recall a village plain,My joy, my family, my boon,Besides the freshly cool lagoon —The spot for which my heart beats warm.

Ah, yes! my footsteps insecureIn your dark forests deeply sank;And there by every river’s bankI found refreshment and delight;Within that rustic temple prayedWith childhood’s simple faith unfeignedWhite cooling breezes, pure, unstained,Would send my heart on rapturuos flight.

I saw the Maker in the grandeurOf your ancient hoary wood,Ah, never in your refuge couldA mortal by regret be smitten;And while upon your sky of blueI gaze, no love nor tendernessCoul fail, for here on nature’s dressMy happiness itself was written.

Ah, tender childhood, lovely town,Rich amount of my felicities,Oh those harmonious melodiesWhich put to flight all dismal hours,Come back to my heart once more!Come back, gentle hours, I yearn!Come back at the birds return,At the budding of the flowers!

Alas,farewell! Eternal vigil I keepFor thy peace, thy bliss, and tranquilityO Genius of good, so kind!Give me these gifts, with charity.To thee are my fervent vows, —To these I cease not so sighThese to learn, and I call to the skyTo have thy sincerity.

In Memory of My Town

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As the climbing ivy over lefty elmCreeps tortuously, together the adornmentOf the verdant plain, embellishingEach other and together growing,But should the kindly elm refuse its aidThe ivy would impotent and friendless witherSo is Education to ReligionBy spiritual alliance bound.Through Reigion, Education gains renown, andWoe to the impious mind that blindly spurningThe sapient teachings of Religion, thisUnpolluted fountain-head forsakes.

As the sprout, growing from the pompous vine,Proudly offers us its honeyed clustersWhile the generous and loving garmentFeed its roots; so the fresh’ning watersOf celestial virtue give new lifeTo Education true, sheddingOn it warmth and light; because of themThe vine smells sweet and gives delicious fruit.

Without Religion, Human EducationIs like unto a vessel struck by windsWhich, sore beset, is of its hem deprivedBy the roaring blows and buffets of the dreadTempestous Boreas, who fiercely wieldsHis power until he proudly sends her downInto the deep abysses of the angered sea.

As the heaven’s dew the meadow fresh feeds and strengthensSo that blooming flowers all the earthEmbroider in the days of spring; so alsoIf Religion holy nourishesEducation with its doctrines, sheShall walk in joy and generosityToward the Good, and everything bestrewThe fragrant and luxuriant fruits of Virtue.

The Intimate Alliance Between Religion and Good Education

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As the climbing ivy over lefty elmCreeps tortuously, together the adornmentOf the verdant plain, embellishingEach other and together growing,But should the kindly elm refuse its aidThe ivy would impotent and friendless witherSo is Education to ReligionBy spiritual alliance bound.Through Reigion, Education gains renown, andWoe to the impious mind that blindly spurningThe sapient teachings of Religion, thisUnpolluted fountain-head forsakes.

As the sprout, growing from the pompous vine,Proudly offers us its honeyed clustersWhile the generous and loving garmentFeed its roots; so the fresh’ning watersOf celestial virtue give new lifeTo Education true, sheddingOn it warmth and light; because of themThe vine smells sweet and gives delicious fruit.

Without Religion, Human EducationIs like unto a vessel struck by windsWhich, sore beset, is of its hem deprivedBy the roaring blows and buffets of the dreadTempestous Boreas, who fiercely wieldsHis power until he proudly sends her downInto the deep abysses of the angered sea.

As the heaven’s dew the meadow fresh feeds and strengthensSo that blooming flowers all the earthEmbroider in the days of spring; so alsoIf Religion holy nourishesEducation with its doctrines, sheShall walk in joy and generosityToward the Good, and everything bestrewThe fragrant and luxuriant fruits of Virtue.

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The vital breath of prudent EducationInstills a virtue of enchanting powers;

She lifts the motherland to highest stationAnd endless dazzling glories on her shower.

And as the zephyr’s gentle exhalationRevives the matrix of the fragrant flower;So education multiplies her gifts of grace;

With prudent hand imparts them to the human race.

For her a mortal man will gladly partWith all he has; he will give his calm repose;

For her are born all sciences and all arts,That brews of men with laurel fair enclose.

As from the towering mountain’s lofty heart.The purest current of the streamlet flows,

So education without stint or measure givesSecurity and peace to lands in which she lives.

Where education reigns on lofty seatYouth blossoms forth with vigor and agility;

His error subjugates with solid feet,And is exalted by conceptions of nobility,She breaks the neck of vice and its deceit;Black crime turns pale at Her hostility;

The barbarous nations She knows how to tame,From savages create heroic fame.

And as the spring doth sustenance bestowOn all the plants, on bushes in the mead,

Its placid plenty goes to overflowAnd endlessly with lavish love to feed

The banks by which it wanders, gliding slow,Supplying beauteous nature’s every need.So he who prudent Education doth procureThe twering heights of honor will secure.

From out his lips the water crystal pure,Of perfect virtue shall not cease to go.

With careful doctrines of his faith made sure,The powers of evil he will overthrow,

Through Education Our Motherland Recieves Light

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Like feaming waves that never long endure,But perish on the shore at every blow;

And from his good example other men shall learnTheir upward steps toward the heavenly paths to turn.

Within the breast of wretched humankindShe lights the living flame of goodness bright;

The hands of fiercest criminal doth bind;And in these breasts will surely pour delight

Which seek her mystic benefits to find, —Those souls She sets aflame with love of right.

That gives to life its surest consolation.

And as the mighty rock aloft may towerAbove the center of the stormy deep

In scorn of storm, or fierce Sou’wester’s powerOr fury of the waves that raging sweep,

Until their first mad hatred, spent, they cowerAnd tired at last subside and fall asleep, —

So, he that takes wise Education buy the hand,Invincible shall guide the reigns of motherland.

Oh sapphires shall his service be engraved,A thousand honors to him by this land be granted;For in their bosoms will his noble sons have saved

Luxuriant flowers his virtue transplanted;And by the love of goodness ever laved.

The lords and governors will see implantedTo endless days the Christian Education;

Within their noble, faith-enraptured nation.

And as in early morning we beholdThe ruby sun pours forth resplendent rays;And lovely dawn her scarlet and her gold,Her brilliant colors all about her sprays;So skillfull noble Teaching doth unfoldTo living minds the joy of virtuos ways.

She offers our dear motherland the light.That leads us to immortal glory’s height.

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The Captivity and Triumph: Battle of Lucena and the Imprisonment of Boabdil

The proud Abencérage provokesThe soldiers brave of Castilla

Ferociously to humble himAfter he had destroyed Montilla.

The Count of Cabra soon arrivesIn his strong arm he displays his saber,Like Death that lugubriously unfolds

Her back wings of death and slaughter.

Toward the troops of an impious raceLike a lion he dashes eagerly;

As the radiant sun to the new-born dayWith him goes Don Diego anxiously.

Thus like the fleeing fugitive stagEvading 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 fightTo attack with utter harshness.

Boabdil encourages his hordesWith wrath and savage fury:

His anguish on his face he showsWith grit to the fleeing men speaks he:

“To where art thou led, Oh, wretched Moors,by the fear that thee blinds and chases?

From whom do thee flee? With whom, hapless men,The stout heart to fight refuses?”

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Said he; and with menace the trumpet sounds;Ours arrive and start the fighting,

And everywhere is heard aloneOf flashing steel the rattling.

Don Alonso Aguilar attacksThem on one flank in furious battle.

He wounds, beheads, devastates, and assaultsAs a wolf, the timid cattle.

Alas! The Muslim, stubborn and cruelImplores his Prophet vainly

While against the Christians noble and strong,The spear and the rein tightens he.

Amidst the fiery tumult of warThere did the commander brave die:Into pieces broken: helmets, spears,

And horses on the ground lie.

His soldiers now terrified and tiredFlee before the Christian victors;Just as away the timorous deer

Run as the lion brave roars.

When the King, abandoned, finds himselfAnd seeing escape isn’t too soon,He gets down his horses terrified,

And hides in the woods like a poltroon.

Two unconquered Christmas did find him;And by royal symbols detected,

Instantly to Don Diego him they tookLike a royal captive defeated.

There at Lucena the Christians’ GodHumbled down the arrogant’s power

Who wanted to tie with a heavy chainThe Spaniard as downcast pris’ner.

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The Triumphal Entry of the Catholic Monarchs into Granada

‘Twas a quiet and gloomy nightWhose mem’ry hurts the heart,

A night ago in which the Muslim KingTreads 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 tearsBathe his eyes, a-flowing down his cheeks,

And to the ceiling gilt and arabesqueHe turns again his weary gaze.

Sand and tearful he remembers thenThe Muslim exploits and the glorious jousts ;

And comparing the present illsWith 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 heardAnd crossing the streets

Of that now forsaken realm,Pale and petrified

Bathed in mortal sweat;

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Only lamentations deepWere heard everywhere,And some doleful voice

Thrown in its wild complaint.

The king stopped; the towers he sawHe 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 groundAnd mournfully saidAs he bends his head:

“Alas! Granada what happened to you?What became of your nights?

Alas! Where do your warriors sleepThat your anguish they don’t see?

Indeed! I your unhappy King,To the Libyan desert lands

Hurled and with chainsBy fate I also go.

“Today I lose everything, everything,Kingdom, palace, treasureAnd so alone I sadly weep

What cruel grief prepares for me;There was a time when your tow’rs

Preponderantly ruledAnd they were the havoc and dread

Of squadrons in front.”He said and the squadrons he sees

Commanded by Talavera,As he waves the flagOf Christian religion;

That by royal order the fortsThey were going to occupyAnd to take possession of

The Alhambra and its rooms.

And to Fernando TalaveraWho rules the knights

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With respect addresses himselfThe unfortunate Boabdil ;

And in manner like this speaks to himWith mournful stress,

Into cruel anguish plungedIn a thousand anxieties submerged:

“Go my lord, go immediatelyTo take hold of those abodes

By the great Almighty reservedFor your powerful King;

Allah chastises the Moors;Strip them of their property;

From their country he throws them outFor they did not keep his law.”

He said no more ; on his wayThe Mohammedan proceeds

And behind goes his faithful bandIn silence and with grief.

Aback they didn’t turn their gazeTo contemplate their ground,

For affliction perhaps would strikeThem with greater vehemence.

And in the distance they seeThe Christians’ camp did showSigns of contentment and joy

Upon seeing the celestial CrossThat 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 hearsThe voice of “Long live Castille !”

And he sees on their knees

The Spanish Combatants;And from the trumpets he hears

Triumphal harmonies.

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And the brilliant helmets he seesThe bright sun shining on them.

His footsteps then he turns

Toward King FernandoWho advances orderingHis troops with majesty;

And as he nears the King,The Moor gives to him the keys,

The only treasure and signOf 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 speakAnd having paid his respect

From that place he withdrawsA thousand ills he saw

Continuing his slow paceHis warriors sending forthA thousand doleful groans

As they leave the fair Genil.

Now, the warlike clarionOf Fernando sounds th’ entryIn Granada lovely and fair,

Now Christian with no infidel;The captives of the defeated Moor,Who sadly were dragging chainsAnd suff’ring torments and pains

With joy came to Isabel.

Like long-suff’ring warriors braveThe clement King greets them,

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His gladness showing on his face‘Cause from evil he saw them freed;

And the Queen abundant almsDistributes with benevolent handThat Queen who’s always of GodOught to wear immortal crown.

And as the Muslims hearThe 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 groansThey carefully hide,Their tearful pray’rs,To be heard they fear

Would augment the prideOf that victory

That causes their woe.

Now the flag of SpainProudly waves o’er the walls

Of noble Granada now secure !Now the Catholic KingsFrom their seat opulentWill decree wise laws

For the children of Genil.

Now delightful Granada, proudIs Christians’ dwelling place

And Granada belongsTo the faithful populace.

Now from Heaven God looks downWith joy the beautiful tow’rs

And merlons all fullOf Trophies and laurel.

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Oh tell me, celestial Muse, who in the mindOf Columbus infused a breath sublime,Invested with noble courage and faith,To plough the seas of the West?Who gave him brav’ry when imposingThe sea was angered, the wind roared,That in his rage the bad angel calledAgainst the son of faithful Spain?

In the midst of solemn tranquilityWhen languid earth was asleep,And the moon its trembling discThrough the diaphanous sky did steer,A man contemplates the wavy sea. . .Seen painted on his smiling faceSo magnificent clemency’s pow’rExuding kindness and intelligence.

The curly whitish waves of the seaThat bathe the spreading shore,Like silver reflect the white lightTo the soft breath of perfumed breeze;And while from the shadows strangeAround danced winged multitude,An old man, furious, fierce and graveFantastic rose from the sea profound.

He holds firm in his strong right handA heavy trident aflame. . .

“And your audacious heart hopes to sub-dueThe fierce sea’s terrible rageThat when the fiery tempest roarsIn mass it rises gloomy and grave?Oh! Who could calmly contemplateThe iron cold of bloody fate,That the roar of the wind which resoundsIn the abyss a sad tomb opes?

“What lies beyond? Only death,The dark sea that dreadfully terrifiesAnd infuses fear in the stoutest heart,Where at each instant darkly appearsThe tempest, with the mariner in doubtHow to guide his ship in such calamity;And the waters bury him in the depthWhere a thousand horrible monsters hide.

“But, alas, poor you! Alas, unhappy SpainIf you run in search of lands remote!I will excite the north wind’s rageAnd the hatred cruel of all that the ocean holds. . .And ere you step on the foreign shores,War and discord I’ll put within your ship;And I’ll not rest until I see your ruin,If divine protection saves you not. . .

“Hush, deceitful monster, with son’rous voiceChristopher answers him, ignorance...”

Heroism of Columbus

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“Christopher, to you, fame,And immortal crown and great renown Homage history pays !Your august name reachesPosterity and is amazed.

“Blesses you the worldIn canticles of love and contentmentAll that LusitaniaHolds proclaim instantlyYour faith’s noble valor.

“Who, like you, is gentle,Constant, resigned, and gen’rous? Conquered thou the dreadfulFury of the wavy seaAnd the cowardly, treach’rous mariner.

“Hail, illustrious Adm’ral, Firm of heart, fiery in the fight ; To your constant valorKindly today I offerCastles and honors together.w“I, your voice I shall beTo proclaim before my standards Viceroy of good gracesAnd above the towersI shall put your name in royal flags.”

Thus did speak the sov’reign, Portugal’s Juan the enlightened. Glory great beforehandAnd the highest post in his palace Offers he the veteran.

But . . . hurriedly he fleesColumbus from the treach’rous deceiver Of the palace ambitious;Runs he, flies to where dwellsIsabel the Christian, his benefactress.

Columbus and John II

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Great Solace in Great MisfortuneHardly the shining PhoebusDyed the clouds with scarletMorning now is peepingWith delightful freshness;When the bicolored standardOf Castilla shows upUpright in the matutinal airOn a fragile floating craft.

The great Admiral ColumbusOf the Spanish nation,It is he who waves the flagIn the wind on the high sea,And, the ship goes a-glidingOver the waters crystallineHis subalterns did want to reachVery quickly the mines of gold.

On his way he visitsThe great Cacique courteous and kind,Th’ Admiral contemplatesTo return it with love,And th’ arrogant CaciqueOffers him from his treasureA colossal bar of gold, Gift of infinite value.

It was night and to common reposeThinking not of the days’ hardships,The ship’s brave men gave themselves.Only one youth did keep watch.

Thrice the frightening silenceCalls him to a soft pleasant sleep;And three times the fleet with skillThrough the wide sea directed he. . .Yielded he at last. . . In sorry abandonAlas, he leaves the ship!. . . Cruel mishap!. . .To inexpert hands and entrustingCastille’s name and greatness.

And in the meantime - And the ship to theBreakers - ShoalImpetuous - WildSounded, - Ran.

At the repeated blow of breakers,Rises instantly Columbus,Knows he the trouble: shouts he disturbed. . .Come to him his men and seeing him are shocked:What confusion!. . . What voices!. . . Grating noiseHeard everywhere!. . . The fleet is advancingTo the sandbank; all persist in fighting,If asleep they’re dreaming, some are in doubt.

Only Columbus, like resounding thunder,In the midst of the frightful night,Raises his voice, serenely he throwsTo the water a boat, with majestic wordsGives he the order. . . but soon the shipFull of men who’re fleeing shamefully:He alone is animated, firmly hopes;Fights he and fights again with cruel death.

Vain were the efforts, and science‘Gainst the furious liquid elementOffers weak resistance in vainTo the violent, deathly push,And Columbus already knows the impotence. . .“Here you have us!” sounds at that moment,More harmonious than the cry of vict’ryAnd the trumpet of acclaiming glory.

This is Vicente Yaňez, who, condemningThe repugnant perfidy of the rest,Places all the men at his commandOn the side of Columbus with gallantry.While the water keeps on comingInto the ship that weak already is sinking. . .And while the boat is torn to pieces,Heartless death is threatening them.

Columbus triedTo save his menAnd with sadness seesHis ship being lost;To leave her he doesn’t wantAnd, exhales a moanLike the bee that has lostIts pleasure sweet.

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Now sadly he looksAt his ship without men. . .And suff’ring, aloneHe found himself. . .

His tender gazeAround does turnWith grief he sweepsAt his ill luck, exclaimed:“Goodbye, dear ship;Goodbye, you who ploughed through oceans wideFrom Iberia divineWith valor you metA thousand risksObedient to my command,Alas, mitigate the woes of my soul! ...‘With sadness I look at youAnd seeing your remainsAfflicted I heave a sigh!Like the lamentable fatesThey spoiled your handsomeness!Are you, may I surmise

The ship that in happy daysYour bravery you showed,And protected by pow’r divineYou did resist with prideThe hurricane and confused whirlwind?. . .

“How can I return to the Spanish shoresWithout my Santa Maria?Oh heaven merciful and just!How can I give the newsOf his conquered fertile land,If in the waves you’re submerged, beloved ship?”Thus spoke Columbus, and from the barkHe hastily moves awayExhaling a sigh,Expression mute of his pains,While tears, as bitter fount,Drop sadly from his eyes. . .

The adverse fate afterwardsThe veteran couriersWith sadness relateAt Guacanagari;And his presence occasions applause.

And the CaciqueInvented otherFantastic gamesDelightful;And ChristopherUpon hearing the noisy shoutsAnd the jubilation,Concluded:

Instantly he orders his soldiersThat they show the crack of the cannon.The Cacique with his men was frightenedOn hearing such strong and warlike sound.

And they went toward the nearby woodsInhabited ne’er by any mortal,While ready the Indians look surprisedAt the sight of the martial contest.

At the rhythmic crack of the cannonThey all sadly thought that they’d perish;Those who cannot flee to the ground fall;The rest of Indians away ran.

And later the Spaniards opened fireWith harquebusses with equal adeptness,Infusing within the Indians’ breastsMute surprise panicky extreme fear;

With valor unequaled they did later showA simulated contest with side-armsWhile very much satisfied the IndiansClapped their hands ceaselessly shouting.

After such acclamationsTh’ Admiral preparesTo departAnd he wished to leaveMany men behindOn the beautiful isle.

Him to safeguardStrong wall raise theyThat surrounds his home,And they nail the flagOf the Spanish nationOn the rampart.

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To the Child Jesus How God-child hast Thou come

To earth in cave forlorn?Does Fortune now deride TheeWhen Thou art scarcely born?

Ah woe! Celestial King,Who mortal from dost keep

Woulds’t rather than be SovereignBe Shepherd of Thy Sheep?

To the Virgin Mary Dear Mary, giving comfort and sweet peace

To all afflicted mortals; thou the springWhence flows a current of relief, to bring

Our soil fertility that does not cease;Upon thy throne, where thou dest reign on high,

Oh, list’ with pity as I weeful grieveAnd spread thy radiant mantle to receive

My voice which rises swiftly to the skyPlacid Mary, thou my dear mother dear,

My sustenance, my fortitude must be,And in the fearsome sea my way must steer.

If deprivation comes to buffet me,And if grim death in agony draws near,

Oh, succor me, from anguish set me free.

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Hold high the brow serene,O youth, where now you stand;Let the bright sheenOf 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 lightOf art and science to the fight,O youth, and there untieThe chains that heavy lie,Your spirit free to blight.

See how in flaming zoneAmid the shadows thrown,The Spaniard’a holy handA crown’s resplendent bandProffers to this Indian land. Thou, who now wouldst riseOn wings of rich emprise,Seeking from Olympian skies Songs of sweetest strain,Softer than ambrosial rain;

Thou, whose voice divineRivals Philomel’s refrainAnd with varied lineThrough the night benignFrees mortality from pain;

Theme: Grow, O, Timid Flower

Thou, who by sharp strifeWakest thy mind to life ;And the memory brightOf thy genius’ lightMakest immortal in its strength;

And thou, in accents clearOf Phoebus, to Apelles dear ;Or by the brush’s magic artTakest from nature’s store a part,To fig it on the simple canvas’ length; Go forth, and then the sacred fireOf thy genius to the laurel may aspire;To spread around the fame,And in victory acclaim, Through wider spheres the human name. Day, O happy day,Fair Filipinas, for thy land!So bless the Power todayThat places in thy wayThis favor and this fortune grand !

To the Filipino Youth

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It was night : the moaning windSighs as it kisses the towers tallAnd on its wings carries mournfullyThousands of confused noises agitating the space.

Aweful clouds bedim the peaceOf 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 bedThat 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 de-light.

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 outlinedDubious 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 resound-ed 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 patrimonyThat to the Muslim Allah once be-queathed !

Vainly did you conquer the flagsOf the Pow’rful Christian of Guadalete On the green banks, for againRaises he rebellious his captive head.

Pelayo, the great Pelayo, the noble Goth, The illustrious son of fierce Favila,On the hard rocks of CovadongaFights the forces of the Moor.

Abd-el-Aziz and Mohammed

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The Cross, the Cross, insignia idolized, Follows its army that to conquer as-pires: 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 beFor only God helps the faithful with his arm.

But alas! If you sleep in the arms of delight And my heavenly precepts you ignoreThe 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 plungeThe 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 lostYou will shed, and in shameful tor-ment You will count the days of your return.

And rejoicing proudly at your distressIn 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 fightAnd to the wind let the son’rous trum-pet release Warlike accent, to glory a toast.

Trembles the ground beneath the sad-dle light Of the fiery steed that Arabia breedsAnd like showy murex in burning redInfidel blood tints your scimitar.

Before the Moon that my insignia dis-plays 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 frightThat the vision divine caused the Moor.

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To The Very Reverend Father Ramon Pablo SJ

Sweet is the breeze that at the break of dawn The calyx of fragrant flowers shakes, Alluring odors soft they spreadO’er the countryside ;

The placid murmur is sweet and soft Of the gentle rivulet that with joy Throws silv’ry foam on sands of goldAnd 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 whiteMellow and sweet;

But your name, oh, Father idolized, Instills the purest joy in our breast, Whence it diffuses most mellow raysOf eternal glow. The Almighty’s hand affectionateYou show us, Father, whose love sin-cere Throughout the bitter road of lifeDoes 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.

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To Miss C.O. y P. (A Translation from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin)

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.

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30

They bid me strike the lyre That mute and torn so long has lain;And yet I cannot wake the strain,Nor will the Muse one note inspire!Coldly, it shakes in accents dire.As if my soul itself to wring,And when its sound seems but to flingA jest at its own low lament;So in sad isolation pent,My soul can neither feel nor sing.

There was time — ah , ‘tis true —But that time long ago has past —When upon me the Muse had castIndulgent smile and friendship’s due;But of that age now all too fewThe thoughts that with me yet will stay;As from the hours of festive playThere linger on mysterious notes,And in our minds the memory floatsOf minstrelsy and music gay.

A plant I am, that scarcely grown,Was torn from out its Eastern bed,Were all around perfume is shedAnd life but as a dream is known;The land that I can call my ownBy me forgotten ne’er to be,Where thrilling birds their song taught me,And cascades with their ceaseless roar, And all along the spreading shoreThe murmurs of the sounding sea.

While yet in childhood’s happy day, I learn upon its sun to smile,And in my breast there seems the whileSeething volcanic fires to play, A bard I was, my wish alwaysTo call upon the fleeting wind, “Go forth, and spread around its flame, From zone to zone with glad acclaim,And earth to heaven together bind!”

But it I left, and now no more – Like a tree that is broken and sere – My natal gods bring the echo clearOf songs that in past times they bore;Wide seas I cross’d to foreign shore,With hope of change and other fate,My folly was made clear too late, For in the place of good I soughtThe seas reveal’d unto naught,But made death’s spectre on me wait,

All these fond fancies that were mine, All love, all feeling, all emprise, Were left beneath the sunny skies;Which o’er that flowery region shine;So press no more that plea of thine,For sings of live from out a heartThat coldly lies a thing apart;Since now with tortur’d soul I hasteUnresting o’er the desert waste, And lifeless gone is all the art.

They Ask Me for Verses

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31

Go to my native land, go, foreign flowers.Sown by the traveller on his way.And there, beneath its azure sky.

Where all my affections lie;There from the weary pilgrim say,

What faith is his in that land of ours!

Go there and tell how when the dawnHear early light diffusing,

Your petals first flung open wide;His steps beside chill Neckar drawn,

You see him silent by your side,Upon its Spring perennial musing,

Saw how when morning’s light,All your fragrance stealing,Whispers to you as in mirth,

Playful songs of Love’s delight,He, too, murmurs his love’s feeling In the tongue he learned at – birth

That when the sun of Keenigstuhl’s heightPours out its golden flood,

And with its slowly warming light Gives life to vale and grove and wood,

He greets that sun here only upraising,Which in his native land is at its zenith blazing.

And tell there of that day he stood, Near to a ruin’d castle gray

Be Neckar’s banks, or shady wood,And pluck’d you from beside the wayTell, too, the tale to you addressed,

And how with tender care, Your bending leaves he press’d

‘Twixt pages of some volumes rare.

To the Flowers of Heidelberg

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Bear then, O flowers, love’s message bear;My love to all the lov’d ones there,

Peace to my country – fruitful land – Faith whereon its sons may stand,And virtue for its daughters’ care;All those beloved creatures greet,

That still around homes altar meet.

And when you come unto its shore,This kiss I now on you bestow,

Fling where the winded breezes blow;That borne on them it may hover o’er

All that I love, esteem, and adore.

But though, O flowers, you come unto that land,And still perchance your colors hold;

So far from this heroic strand,Whose soil first bade your life unfoldStill here your fragrance will expand;Your soul that never quits the earth

Whose light smiled on you at your birth.

The Song of Maria Clara

Sweet are the hours in one’s native land,Where all is dear the sunbeams bless;Life – giving breezes sweep the strand,And death is soften’d by love’s; caress

Warm kisses play on mother’s lips,On her fond, tender breast awakening;

When round her neck the soft arm slips, And bright eyes smile, all love partaking.

Sweet is death for one’s native land,Where all is dear the sunbeams bless;

Death is the breeze that sweeps the strand,Without a mother, home, or love’s caress.

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To My CreatorTo my Creator I singWho did soothe me in my great loss;To the Merciful and KindWho in my troubles gave me repose.

Thou with that pow'r of thineSaid: Live! And with life myself I found;And shelter gave me thouAnd a soul impelled to the goodLike a compass whose point to the North is bound.

Thou did make me descendFrom honorable home and respectable stock,And a homeland thou gavest meWithout limit, fair and richThough fortune and prudence it does lack.

Water and Fire(A Translation from the Spanish by Nick

Joaquin)

Water are we, you say, and your-selves 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 cun-ning science within the cauldrons of the ardent breast, without rage, without defiance, do we form steam, fifth element in-deed: progress, life, enlightenment, and speed!

KundimanIn the Oriental beautifulWhere the sun is born,

In a land or beautyFull of enchantmentsBut bound in chains.

Where the despot reigns,The land dearest to me.Ah! that is my country, She is a slave oppressed

Groaning in the tyrant’s grips;Lucky shall he be

Who can give her liberty!

Josephine, JosephineWho 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 on these shoresA heart for you beats high.

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CHORUS:For our country in war.For our country in peaceThe Filipinos will be ready,While he lives and when he dies.

MEN:As soon as the East is tinted with lightForth to the fields to plow the loam!Since it is work that sustains the mand,The motherland, family and the home.Hart though the soul 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 wifeImplanting in her children, loveFor 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 us praise to work!The country’s vigour and her wealth;For work lift up your brow sereneIt is your blood, your life, your health.If any youth protests his loveHis work shall prove if he be good.That man alone who strives and toilsCan find the way to feed his brood.

BOYS:Teach us then the hardest tasksFor down thy trails we turn our feetThat when our country call tomorrowThy purposes we may complete.And may our elders say, who see us.See! How worthy of their sires!No incense can exalt our dead onesLike a brave son who aspires!

Hymn to Labor

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Invoked no longer is the MuseThe lyre is out of date:The poets it no longer use,And youth its inspiration now im-buesWith other form and state.

If today our fancies aughtOf verse would still unsought;And without heed we but inquire.Why the coffee is not brought.

In the place of thought sincereThat our hearts may fee,We must seize a pen of steel,And with verse and line severeFling abroad a jest and jeer.

Muse, that in the past inspired me;And with songs of live hast fired me;Go thou now to full repose,For today in sordid proseI must earn the gold that hired me.

Now must I ponder deep,Meditate and struggle on;E’en sometimes I must weep;For he who love would keepGreat pain has undergone.

Fled are the days of ease,The days of Love’s delight;When flowers still would pleaseAnd give to suffering souls surceaseFrom pain and sorrow’s blight.

One by one they have passed on,All I live and moves among;Dead or married – from me gone,For all I place my hear uponBy fate adverse are stung.

Go thou, too, O Muse, depart,Other regions fairer find;For my land by offers artFor the laurel, chains that bind, For a temple prisons blind.

But before thou leavest me, speak:Tell me with thy voice sublime,Thou couldst ever from me seekA song of sorrow for the weak,Defiance to the tyrant’s crime.

To My Muse

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Hymn To Talisay

At Dapitan, the sandy shoreAnd Rocks aloft, on mountain crestForm thy throne, O refuge blest,That we from childhood days have known.In you vales that flowers adornAnd your fruitful leafy shade,Our thinking powers are being made,And soul with body being grown.

We are youth not line on earthBut our souls are free from sorrow;Calm, strong me we’ll be tomorrow, Who can guard our families’ rights.Lads are we who naught can frighten,Whether thunder, waves, or rainSwift of arm, serene of mienIn peril, shall we wage our fights.

With our games we churn the sands,Through the caves and crags we roam,On the rock we make our home,Everywhere our arms can reach.Neither dark nor night obscureCause us fear, nor fierce tormentThat even Satan can inventLife or death? We must face each!

“Talisayans”, people call us!Mighty souls in bodies smallO’er Dapitan’s district allNo Talisay like this towers.None can match our reservoir.Our diving pool the sea profound!No rowing boat the world aroundFor a moment can pass ours.

We study sciences exact;The history of our motherland; Three languages or four command;Bring faith and reason in accord.Our hands can manage at one timeThe sail and working spade and pen,The mason’s mail – for virile menCompanions – and the gun and sword.

Live, live, O leafy green Talisay!Our voices sing thy praise in chorusClear star, and precious treasure for us.Our childhood’s wisdom and its balm.In fights that wait for every man,In sorrow and adversity,Thy memory a charm will be,And in the tomb, thy name, thy calm.

CHORUS:

Hail, O Talisay!Firm and untiringEver aspiring, Stately thy gait.Things, everywhereIn sea, land and airShalt thou dominate.

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By the spreading beach where the sands are soft and fineAt the foot of the mouth in its mantle of greenI have built my hut in the pleasant grove’s confine;From the forest seeking peace and a calmness divine,Rest for the weary brain and silence to my sorrow’s keen. Its roof of the frail palm – leaf and its floor the cane.Its beams and post of the unhewn wood;Little there is of value in this hut so plain,And better by far in the lap of the mount to have lain,By the song and the murmur of the high sea’s flood.

A purling brook from the woodland gladeDrops down o’er the stones and around it sweeps,Whence a fresh stream is drawn by the rough cane’s aid;That in the still night its murmur has made,And in the day’s heat a crystal fountain leaps.

When the sky is serene how gently it flows,And its zither unseen ceaselessly plays;But when the rains fall a torrent it goesBoiling and foaming through the rocky close,Roaring uncheck’d to the sea’s wide ways.

The howl of the dog and the song of the bird,And only the kalao’s hoarse call resound;Nor is the voice of vain man to be heard;My mind to harass or my steps to begird;The woodlands alone and the sea wrap me round.

The sea, ah, the sea! for me it is all,And it massively sweeps from the world’s apart;Its smile in the morn to my souls is a call,

My Retreat

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And when in the evening my faith seems to pall,It breathes with its sadness on echo to my heart.

By night an Arcanum; when translucent it glows,All spangled over with its millions of lights,And the bright sky above resplendent shows;While the waves with their sighs tell of their woes – Tales that are lost as they roll to the heights.

They tell of the world when the first dawn broke, And the sunlight over their surface played;When thousands of being from nothingness woke,To people the depths and the heights to cloak,Wherever its life – giving kiss was laid.

But when in the night and the wild winds awake,And the waves in their fury begin to leap,Through the air rush the cries that my mind shake;Voices that pray, songs and moans that partakeOf laments from the souls sunk down in the deep.

Then from the heights the mountains groan,And the trees shiver tremulous from great unto least;The groves rustle plaintive and the herds utter moan,For they say that the ghost of the folk that are goneAre calling they down to their death’s merry feast.

In terror and confusion whispers the night,While blue and green flames flit over – the –deep ;But calm reigns with the morning’s light,And soon the bold fisherman comes into sight,And his bark rushes on the waves sink to sleep.

So onward glide the days in my lonely abode;Driven forth the world where once I was known, I muse o’er the fate upon me bestowed;A fragrant forgotten that the moss will corrode,To hide from mankind the world in me shown.

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I live in thought of the lov’d one’s left, And of their names to my mind are borne;Some have forsaken me and some by death are reft;But now ‘tis all one, as through the past I drift,That past which from one never be torn.

For it is the friend that is with me always, That ever in sorrow keeps the faith in my soul;While through the still night it watches and prays,As here in my exile in my one hut it staysTo strengthen my faith when doubts o’er me roll.

That faith I keep and I hope to see shineThe day when the idea prevails over might;When after the fray and death’s show decline.Some other voice sounds, far happer than mine, To raise the glad of the triumph of right.

I see the sky glow, refulgent and clear,As when it forced on my first dear illusion;I feel the same wind kiss my forehead sore,And the fire is the same that is burning hereTo stir up youth’s blood in boiling confusion.

I breathe here the winds that perchance have pass’dO’er the fields and the rivers of my own natal shore;And mayhap they will bring on the returning blastThe sighs that lov’d being upon them has cast – Messages sweet from the love I first bore.

To see the same moon, all silver’d as or yore.I feel the sad thoughts within me arise;The fond recollections of the troth we swore,Of the field and the bower and the wide seashores,The blushes of joy, with the silence and sighs.A butterfly seeking the flowers and the light, Of other lands dreaming of vaster extent;Scarce a youth from home and love I took flight,

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|POEMS

To wander unheeding, free from doubt of affright – So in foreign lands were my brightest days spent.

And when like a languishing bird I was fainTo the home of my fathers and my love to return, Of a sudden the fierce tempest roar’d amain;So I saw my wings shattered and no home remain,My trust sold to others and wrecks round me burn.

Hurl’d out into exile from the land I adore, My future all darn and no refuge to seek;My roseate dreams hover, round me once more,Sole treasures of all that life to me bore;The faiths of youth that with sincerity speak.

But not as of old, full of life and of grace,Do you hold out hopes of undying reward;Sadder I find you; on your lov’d face,Though still sincere, the pale lines trace The marks of the faith it is yours to guard.

You offer now, dreams, my gloom to appease,And the years of my youth again to disclose;So I thank you, O storm, and heaven – born breeze,That you knew of the hour my wild flight to ease,To cast me back to the soil whence I rose.

By the spreading beach where the sands are soft and fine,At the foot of the mound in its mantle of green;I have found a home in the pleasant grove’s confine,In the shady woods, that peace and calmness divine,Rest for the weary brain and silence to my sorrow keen.

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The Song of the TravelerLike a leaf that is fallen and withered,

Tossed by the tempest from pole unto pole;Thus roam the pilgrim abroad without purpose,Roams without love, without country or soul.

Following anxiously treacherous fortune;Fortune which e’en as he grasps at it flees,

Vain though the hopes that his yearning is seekingYet does the pilgrim embark on the seas.

Ever impelled by the invisible power, Destined to roam from the East to the West;Oft he remembers the faces of loved ones,

Dreams of the day when he, too, was at rest.

Chance may assign him tomb on the desert,Grant him a final asylum of peace;

Soon by the world and his country forgotten,God rest his soul when his wanderings cease!

Often the sorrowing pilgrim is envied, Circling the globe like a sea – gull above;

Little, ah, little they know what a voidSaddens his soul by the absence of love.

Home may the pilgrim return in the future,Back to his loved ones his footsteps he bends;

Naught will be find out snow and the ruins,Ashes of love and the tomb of his friends/

Pilgrim, begone! Nor return here more hereafter,Stranger thou art in the land of thy birth;

Others may sing of their love while rejoicing,Thou once again must roam o’er the earth.

Pilgrim, begone! Nor return more hereafter, Dry are the tears that a while for thee ran;

Pilgrim, begone! And forget thine affliction,Loud laughs the worlds at the sorrows of man.

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Flowers Among Flowers(A Translation from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin)

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 April time.

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!

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| |POEMSMy Last Farewell

Farewell, dear Fatherland, clime of the sun caress’d, Pearl of the Orient seas, our Eden lost!Gladly now I go to give thee this faded life’s best, And were it brighter, fresher, or more blest, Still would I give thee, nor count the cost.

On the field of battle, ‘mid the frenzy of light,Others have given their lives, without doubt or heed;The place matters not – cypress or laurel or lily white,Scaffold or open plain, combat or martyrdom’s plight,‘Tis ever the same, to serve our home and country’s need.

I die just when you see the dawn break,Through the gloom of night, to herald the day; And if color is lacking my blood thou shalt take,Pour’d out at need for thy dear sake, To dye with its crimson the waking ray.

My dreams, when life first opened to me, My dreams, when the hopes of youth beat high, Were to see thy lov’d face, O gem of the Orient seaFrom gloom and grief, from care and sorrow free;No blush on thy brow, no tear in thine eye.

Dream of my life, my living and burning desire,All hail! Cries the soul that is now to take flight;All hail! And sweet it is for thee to expire, To die for thy sake, that thou mayst aspire, And sleep in thy bosom eternity’s long night.

If over my grave some day thou seest grow.In the grassy sod, a humble flower, Draw it to thy lips and kiss my soul so,While I may feel on my brow in the cold tomb belowThe touch of thy tenderness, thy breath’s warm power.

Let the moon beam over me soft and serene, Let the dawn shed over me its radiant flashes,Let the wind with the sad lament over me keen;And if on my cross a bird should be seen,Let it trill there its hymn of peace of my ashes.

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Let the sun draw the vapors up to the sky,And heavenward in purity bear my tardy protest; Let some kind soul o’er my untimely fate sigh,And in the still evening a prayer be lifter on highFrom thee; O my country, that in God I may rest.

Pray for all those that hapless have died,For all who have suffered the unmeasur’d pain; For our mothers that bitterly their woes have cried, For widows and orphans, for captives by torture tried;And then for thyself that redemption thou mayst gain.

And when the dark night wraps the graveyard around, With only the dead in their vigil to see;Break not my repose or the mystery profound,And perchance thou mayst hear a sad hymn resound;‘Tis I, O my country, raising a song unto thee.

When even my grave is remembered no more,Unmark’d by never a cross or a stone;Let the plow sweep through it, the spade turn it o’erThat my ashes may carpet they earthy floor,Before into nothingness at last they are blown.

Then will oblivion bring me no care;As over thy vales and plains I sweep;Throbbing and cleansed in thy space and air,With color and light, with song and lament I fare,Ever repeating the faith that I keep.

My Fatherland ador’d that sadness to my sorrow lends,Beloved Filipinas, hear now my last goodbye!I give thee all; parents and kindred and friends;For I go where no slave before the oppressor bends,Where faith can never kill, and God reigns e’er on high!

Farewell to you all, from my soul torn away,Friends of my childhood in the home dispossessed!Give thanks that I rest from the wearisome day!Farewell to thee. Too, sweet friend, that lightened my way;Beloved creatures all, farewell! In death there is rest!

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| PROVERBS |

Malakas ang bulong sa sigaw. Low words are stronger than loud words.

Ang laki sa layaw karaniwa’y hubad. A spoiled child is generally naked

Hampas ng magulang ay nakataba. Parents’ punishment makes one fat.

Ibang harī ibang ugali. New king, new fashion.

Nagpuputol ang kapus, ang labis ay nagdurugtong. What is short cuts off a piece from itself, what is long adds another on (the poor gets poorer, the rich richer).

Ang nagsasabing tapus ay siyang kinakapus. He who finishes his words finds himself wanting.

Nangangako habang napapako. Man promises while in need.

Ang naglalakad ng marahan, matinik may mababaw. He who walks slowly, though he may put his foot on a thorn, will not be hurt very much. (Tagals mostly go barefooted.)

Ang maniwala sa sabi ’y walang bait na sarili. He who believes in tales has no own mind.

Ang may isinuksok sa dingding ay may titingalain. He who has put something between the wall may afterwards look on (the saving man may afterwards be cheerful).

Walang mahirap gisingin na paris nang nagtutulogtulugan. The most difficult to rouse from sleep is the man who pretends to be asleep.

Labis sa salita, kapus sa gawa. Too many words, too little work.

Hipong tulog ay nadadalá ng ánod. The sleeping shrimp is carried away by the current.

Sa bibig nahuhuli ang isda. The fish is caught through the mouth.

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|RIDDLES

Isang butil na palay, sikip sa buong buhay. One rice-corn fills up all the house. — The light. The rice-corn with the husk is yellowish.

Matapang ako sa dalawa, duwag ako sa isa. I am brave against two, coward against one. — The bamboo bridge. When the bridge is made of one bamboo, it is difficult to pass over; but when it is made of two or more, it is very easy

Dala ako niya, dala ko siya. He carries me, I carry him. — The shoes.

Isang balong malalim puno ng patalim. A deep well filled with steel blades. — The mouth.

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| QUOTATIONS|Genius has no country; genius bursts forth everywhere; genius is like light and air, the patrimony of all: cosmopolitan as space, as life and God.

How can I doubt the existence of God when I am convinced of my own?... To doubt the existence of God is to doubt one’s conscience; and to doubt one’s con-science is to doubt everything.

Surely, a man owes everything to his mother, next to God.

It is useless life that is not consecrated to a great ideal. It is like a stone wasted on the field without becoming a part of any edifice.

Travel makes the world one.

Knowledge is the heritage of mankind, but only the courageous inherit it.

The school is the book in which is written the future of the nations.

Treat your old parents as you would like to be treated by your children later.

I have found Christianity splendid and Catholicism attractive as well as poetic.

A wise traveller carries to his own country the good usage he has seen and tries to apply them there with the necessary modifications... By travel are introduced all kinds of social, religious, and political improvements.

Before visiting a country, I tried to familiarize myself with its history.

Ignorance is slavery, because as a man thinks, so he is; a man who does not think for himself lacks personality; the blind man who allows himself to be guided by the thought of another is like the beast led by a rope.

Man works for an object. Remove the object and you reduce him to inaction.

I agree... that the Spaniards have done us much good, but we have also given them more; blood, lands, lives, and liberty, the last of which is the first and best gift of humanity.

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QUOTATIONS|Travel is a caprice in childhood, a passion in youth, a necessity in manhood, and an elegy in old age.

In order to know the destiny of the people; it is necessary to open the book of its past.

It is better to honor a good man in life than to worship him after he is dead.

The isolated rib of the buri palm is easily broken, but not so the broom of the ribs of the palm bound together.

I too love my native land and no matter how beautiful Europe may be, I like to return to her.

Success, wealth, and happiness, and each of these is the fruit of the toil and sacrifice.

Show us the schools of a people and we will show you what that people is.

We cannot all be doctors; it is necessary that there be some who would cultivate the land.

The individual should give way to the welfare of the society.

Give due respect to woman... Consider vile the man who raises his hand against a woman, be he prince, or alferez, or a rude country man.

I would like to give my country an example that I do not write for glory and fame, but for my native land.

All men are born equal, naked, without chains. God did not create man to be a slave; nor did He endow him with the intelligence to be fooled, or adorn him with reason to be deceived by others.

Let us trust in God.

He is a farmer. He, too contributes with his modest but useful work to the glory of his nation.

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| QUOTATIONS|Women should be enlightened, their minds cultivated, their reason developed. Only those who wish to perpetuate the enslavement of our people would oppose this; for, if women remained ignorant, the entire nation would not be able to rise from slavery, from colonialism.

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