Last Poem of Rizal

-His friend Mariano Ponce gave it the title of MI ULTIMO ADIOS, as it originally had none

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

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

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

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

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

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

         My dreams, when scarcely a lad adolescent,

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

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

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

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

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

         Let the moon with soft, gentle light me descry,

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

         Let the burning sun the raindrops vaporize

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

         Pray thee for all the hapless who have died,

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

         And when the dark night wraps the cemet'ry

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

         And when my grave by all is no more remembered,

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

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

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

         My idolized Country, for whom I most gravely pine,

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

         Farewell, parents, brothers, beloved by me,

Friends of my childhood, in the home distressed;
Give thanks that now I rest from the wearisome day;
Farewell, sweet stranger, my friend, who brightened my way;
Farewell, to all I love. To die is to rest.
To The Philippines
-Rizal wrote the original sonnet in Spanish

Aglowing and fair like a houri on high,

Full of grace and pure like the Morn that peeps
When in the sky the clouds are tinted blue,
Of th' Indian land, a goddess sleeps.

The light foam of the son'rous sea

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

With tenderness, stammering, my Muse

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

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.
Memories Of My Town
When I recall the days
A pleasant fun I found;
That saw my childhood of yore
At your rustic temple I prayed
Beside the verdant shore
With a little boy's simple faith
Of a murmuring lagoon;
And your aura's flawless breath
When I remember the sighs
Filled my heart with joy profound.
Of the breeze that on my brow
Sweet and caressing did blow
Saw I God in the grandeur
With coolness full of delight;
Of your woods which for centuries stand;
Never did I understand
When I look at the lily white
In your bosom what sorrows were;
Fills up with air violent
While I gazed on your azure sky
And the stormy element
Neither love nor tenderness
On the sand doth meekly sleep;
Failed me, 'cause my hapiness
When sweet 'toxicating scent
In the heart of nature rests there.
From the flowers I inhale
Which at the dawn they exhale
Tender childhood, beautiful town,
When at us it begins to peep;
Rich fountain of hapiness,
Of harmonious melodies,
I sadly recall your face,
That drive away my sorrow!
Oh precious infancy,
Return thee to my heart,
That a mother lovingly
Bring back my gentle hours
Did succeed to embellish.
As do the birds when the flow'rs
I remember a simple town;
Would again begin to blow !
My cradle, joy and boon,
Beside the cool lagoon
But, alas, adieu! E'er watch
The seat of all my wish.
For your peace, joy and repose,
Genius of good who kindly dispose
Oh, yes! With uncertain pace
Of his blessings with amour;
I trod your forest lands,
It's for thee my fervent pray'rs,
And on your river banks
It's for thee my constant desire
Knowledge ever to acquire
And may God keep your candour!
Hymn To Labor
For the Motherland in war,
For the Motherland in peace,
Will the Filipino keep watch,
He will live until life will cease!
MEN :
Now the East is glowing with light,
Go! To the field to till the land,
For the labour of man sustains
Fam'ly, home and Motherland.
Hard the land may turn to be,
Scorching the rays of the sun above...
For the country, wife and children
All will be easy to our love.
(Chorus)
WIVES :
Go to work with spirits high,
For the wife keeps home faithfully,
Inculcates love in her children
For virtue, knowledge and country.
When the evening brings repose,
On returning joy awaits you,
And if fate is adverse, the wife,
Shall know the task to continue.
(Chorus)
MAIDENS :
Hail! Hail! Praise to labour,
Of the country wealth and vigor!
For it brow serene's exalted,
It's her blood, life, and ardor.
If some youth would show his love
Labor his faith will sustain :
Only a man who struggles and works
Will his offspring know to maintain.
(Chorus)
CHILDREN :
Teach, us ye the laborious work
To pursue your footsteps we wish,
For tomorrow when country calls us
We may be able your task to finish.
And on seeing us the elders will say :
"Look, they're worthy 'f their sires of yore!"
Incense does not honor the dead
As does a son with glory and valor.
Our Mother Tongue
-A poem originally in Tagalog written by Rizal when he was only eight years old

IF truly a people dearly love

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

Goodbye to Leonor
And so it has arrived -- the fatal instant,

the dismal injunction of my cruel fate;

so it has come at last -- the moment, the date,

when I must separate myself from you.

Goodbye, Leonor, goodbye! I take my leave,

leaving behind with you my lover's heart!

Goodbye, Leonor: from here I now depart.

O Melancholy absence! Ah, what pain!

Kundiman

Truly hushed today

Are my tongue and heart
Harm is discerned by love
And joy flies away,
'Cause the Country was
Vanquished and did yield
Through the negligence
Of the one who led.

But the sun will return to dawn;

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

We shall shed
Blood and it shall flood
Only to emancipate
The native land;
While the designated time
Does not come,
Love will rest
And anxiety will sleep.

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 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.

Song Of Maria Clara

-A poem, found in Rizal's book Noli me tangere, sung by Maria Clara, which accounts for the
title

Sweet are the hours in one's own Native Land,

         All there is friendly o'er which the sun shines above;
Vivifying is the breeze that wafts over her fields;
         Even death is gratifying and more tender is love.

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

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

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

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

To The Virgin Mary

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

From thy throne, from heaven high,

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

Thou art my Mother, Mary, pure;

Thou'll be the fortress of my life;
Thou'll be my guide on this angry sea.
If ferociously vice pursues me,
If in my pains death harasses me,
Help me, and drive away my woes !
To The Philippine Youth
 
Hold high the brow serene,
Softer than ambrosial rain;
O youth, where now you stand;
Thou, whose voice divine
Let the bright sheen
Rivals Philomel's refrain
Of your grace be seen,
And with varied line
Fair hope of my fatherland!
Through the night benign
 
Frees mortality from pain;
Come now, thou genius grand,
 
And bring down inspiration;
Thou, who by sharp strife
With thy mighty hand,
Wakest thy mind to life ;
Swifter than the wind's violation,
And the memory bright
Raise the eager mind to higher station.
Of thy genius' light
 
Makest immortal in its strength ;
Come down with pleasing light
 
Of art and science to the fight,
And thou, in accents clear
O youth, and there untie
Of Phoebus, to Apelles dear ;
The chains that heavy lie,
Or by the brush's magic art
Your spirit free to blight.
Takest from nature's store a part,
See how in flaming zone
To fig it on the simple canvas' length ;
Amid the shadows thrown,
 
The Spaniard'a holy hand
Go forth, and then the sacred fire
A crown's resplendent band
Of thy genius to the laurel may aspire ;
Proffers to this Indian land.
To spread around the fame,
 
And in victory acclaim,
Thou, who now wouldst rise
Through wider spheres the human name.
On wings of rich emprise,
 
Seeking from Olympian skies
Day, O happy day,
Songs of sweetest strain,
Fair Filipinas, for thy land!
So bless the Power to-day
That places in thy way
This favor and this fortune grand !
Education Gives Luster To
The Motherland
Wise education, vital breath
Inspires an enchanting virtue;
She puts the Country in the lofty seat
Of endless glory, of dazzling glow,
And just as the gentle aura's puff
Do brighten the perfumed flower's hue:
So education with a wise, guiding hand,
A benefactress, exalts the human band.
Man's placid repose and earthly life
To education he dedicates
Because of her, art and science are born
Man; and as from the high mount above
The pure rivulet flows, undulates,
So education beyond measure
Gives the Country tranquility secure.
Where wise education raises a throne
Sprightly youth are invigorated,
Who with firm stand error they subdue
And with noble ideas are exalted;
It breaks immortality's neck,
Contemptible crime before it is halted:
It humbles barbarous nations
And it makes of savages champions.
And like the spring that nourishes
The plants, the bushes of the meads,
She goes on spilling her placid wealth,
And with kind eagerness she constantly
feeds,
The river banks through which she slips,
And to beautiful nature all she concedes,
So whoever procures education wise
Until the height of honor may rise.
From her lips the waters crystalline
Gush forth without end, of divine virtue,
And prudent doctrines of her faith
The forces weak of evil subdue,
That break apart like the whitish waves
That lash upon the motionless shoreline:
And to climb the heavenly ways the people
Do learn with her noble example.
In the wretched human beings' breast
The living flame of good she lights
The hands of criminal fierce she ties,
And fill the faithful hearts with delights,
Which seeks her secrets beneficient
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 And she enlightens out Motherland dear
The pleasue of virtue to young and old As she offers endless glow and luster.

A Fragment
-A Translation from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin

To my Creator I sing,

to my All-Merciful Lord, the Omnipotent,

who hushed my suffering

and his sweet solace sent

to ease me while in tribulation I went.

You, with authority,

said: Live; and I myself to life came forth;

free will you gave to me

and a soul that must find worth

in goodness, like a compass needle set north.

You willed my birth to be

of honorable parents, a house of honor;

and a country you granted me:

rich, fair to all who won her,

though fortune and prudence may be scarce upon her.

To the Child Jesus

 
Why have you come to earth,
Child-God, in a poor manger?
Does Fortune find you a stranger
from the moment of your birth?
 
Alas, of heavenly stock
now turned an earthly resident!
Do you not wish to be president
but the shepherd of your flock?
A Tribute to My Town
-A Translation from the Spanish by Nick
Joaquin

When I remember the days

that saw my early childhood
spent on the green shores
of a murmurous lagoon;
when I remember the coolness,
delicious and refreshing,
that on my face I felt
as I heard Favonius croon;
when I behold the white lily
swell to the wind’s impulsion,
and that tempestuous element
meekly asleep on the sand;
when I inhale the dear
intoxicating essence
the flowers exude when dawn
is smiling on the land;
sadly, sadly I recall
your visage, precious childhood,
which an affectionate mother
made beautiful and bright;
I recall a simple town,
my comfort, joy and cradle,
beside a balmy lake,
the seat of my delight.
Ah, yes, my awkward foot
explored your sombre woodlands,
and on the banks of your rivers
in frolic I took part.
I prayed in your rustic temple,
a child, with a child’s devotion;
and your unsullied breeze
exhilarated my heart.
The Creator I saw in the grandeur
of your age-old forests;
upon your bosom, sorrows
were ever unknown to me;
while at your azure skies
I gazed, neither love nor tenderness
failed me, for in nature
lay my felicity.
Tender childhood, beautiful town,
rich fountain of rejoicing
and of harmonious music
that drove away all pain:
return to this heart of mine,
return my gracious hours,
return as the birds return
when flowers spring again!
But O goodbye! May the Spirit
of Good, a loving gift-giver,
keep watch eternally over
your peace, your joy, your sleep!
For you, my fervent pryers;
for you, my constant desire
to learn; and I pray heaven
your innocence to keep!
 The ruder torments.

Felicitation
-A Translation from the Spanish by Nick
Joaquin
-Rizal was fourteen years old when he wrote this
poem in 1875. Rizal congratulates Antonio
Lopez, his bother-in-law (husband of his sister,
Narcisa), on his saint’s day.
“The sisters of your wife
Greet you on your feast day.”
I
If Philomela with harmonious tongue
To blond Apollo, who manifests his face
Behind high hill or overhanging mountain,
Canticles sends.
II
V
As the sea pilot, who so bravely fought
Tempestuous waters in the dark of night,
Gazes upon his darling vessel safe
And come to port.
VI
So, setting aside all [worldly] predilections,
Now let your eyes be lifted heavenward
To him who is the solace of all men
And loving Father.
VII
And from ourselves that in such loving accents
Salute you everywhere you celebrate,
These clamorous vivas that from the heart
resound
Be pleased to accept.

So we as well, full of a sweet contentment,

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

III

From all your sisters and your other kin

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

IV

From amorous wife and amiable Emilio

Sweetly receive an unsurpassed affection;
And may its sweetness in disaster soften
 blossom the roses
in your clime.

Flower Among Flowers

Flower among flowers, If then, like a fairy,
soft bud swooning, you enhance
that the wind moves the joy of those
to a gentle crooning. on whom you glance
Wind of heaven, with the magic charm
wind of love, God gave to you;
you who gladden oh, spare me an hour
all you espy; of your cheer,
you who smile a single day
and will not sigh, of your career,
candour and fragrance that the breast may savor
from above; the bliss it knew!
you who perhaps
came down to earth
to bring the lonely
solace and mirth,
and to be a joy
for the heart to capture.
They say that into
your dawn you bear
the immaculate soul
a prisoner
-- bound with the ties of
passion and rapture?

They say you spread

good everywhere
like the Spring
which fills the air
with joy and flowers
in Apriltime.
They say you brighten
the soul that mourns
when dark clouds gather,
and that without thorns
 with its murmur seems to say:
"Live happily ever after!"
 
And from that spring in the grove
now turn to hear the first note
that from my lute I emote
to the impulse of my love!
My First Inspiration
 
- This poem was written by José Rizal at age
nine or by his nephew, Antonio Lopez-Rizal
(Narcisa's son) whose handwriting was
similar to his uncle's.

Why falls so rich a spray

of fragrance from the bowers
of the balmy flowers
upon this festive day?
 
Why from woods and vales
do we hear sweet measures ringing
that seem to be the singing
of a choir of nightingales?
 
Why in the grass below
do birds start at the wind's noises,
unleashing their honeyed voices
as they hop from bough to bough?
 
Why should the spring that glows
its crystalline murmur be tuning
to the zephyr's mellow crooning
as among the flowers it flows?
 
Why seems to me more endearing,
more fair than on other days,
the dawn's enchanting face
among red clouds appearing?
 
The reason, dear mother, is
they feast your day of bloom:
the rose with its perfume,
the bird with its harmonies.
 
And the spring that rings with laughter
upon this joyful day
 Begone, wanderer! Look not behind you
nor grieve as you leave again.
Begone, wanderer: stifle your sorrows!
the world laughs at another's pain.

Song of the Wanderer

 

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!
 
 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
To the Flowers of Heidelberg
 

Go to my country, go, O foreign flowers,

sown by the traveler along the road, that with the wind it may rove
and under that blue heaven and I may kiss all that I worship, honor and
that watches over my loved ones, love!
recount the devotion  
the pilgrim nurses for his native sod! But O you will arrive there, flowers,
Go and say  say that when dawn and you will keep perhaps your vivid hues;
opened your chalices for the first time but far from your native heroic earth
beside the icy Neckar, to which you owe your life and worth,
you saw him silent beside you, your fragrances you will lose!
thinking of her constant vernal clime. For fragrance is a spirit that never can
Say that when dawn forsake
which steals your aroma and never forgets the sky that saw its birth.
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,