THE LAST POEM OF RIZAL

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

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

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

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

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

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

My dreams, when scarcely a lad adolescent,

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

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

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

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

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

Let the moon with soft, gentle light me descry,

Let the dawn send forth its fleeting, brilliant light,
In murmurs grave allow the wind to sigh,
And should a bird descend on my cross and alight,
Let the bird intone a song of peace o'er my site.
 Let the burning sun the raindrops vaporize
And with my clamor behind return pure to the sky;
Let a friend shed tears over my early demise;
And on quiet afternoons when one prays for me on high,
Pray too, oh, my Motherland, that in God may rest I.

Pray thee for all the hapless who have died,

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

And when the dark night wraps the cemet'ry

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

And when my grave by all is no more remembered,

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

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

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

My idolized Country, for whom I most gravely pine,

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

Farewell, parents, brothers, beloved by me,

Friends of my childhood, in the home distressed;
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.
 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.

TO THE PHILIPPINES

Warm and beautiful like a houri of yore,

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

The small waves of the sonorous sea assail

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

My Muse, most enthusiastic and elate,

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

With myrtle, purple roses, and flowering greens

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

FIRST INSPIRATION

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
 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.

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 graves nothing more.

Begone, wanderer! In your own country,

a stranger now and alone!
Let the others sing of loving,
who are happy but 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.

TO THE PHILIPPINE YOUTH

Hold high the brow serene,

O youth, where now you stand;
Let the bright sheen
Of your grace be seen,
Fair hope of my fatherland!

Come now, thou genius grand,

And bring down inspiration;
With thy mighty hand,
Swifter than the wind's violation,
Raise the eager mind to higher station.

Come down with pleasing light

Of art and science to the fight,
O youth, and there untie
The chains that heavy lie,
Your spirit free to blight.
See how in flaming zone
Amid the shadows thrown,
The Spaniard'a holy hand
A crown's resplendent band
Proffers to this Indian land.

Thou, who now wouldst rise

On wings of rich emprise,
Seeking from Olympian skies
Songs of sweetest strain,
Softer than ambrosial rain;
Thou, whose voice divine
Rivals Philomel's refrain
And with varied line
Through the night benign
Frees mortality from pain;
Thou, who by sharp strife
Wakest thy mind to life ;
And the memory bright
Of thy genius' light
Makest immortal in its strength ;
 And thou, in accents clear
Of Phoebus, to Apelles dear ;
Or by the brush's magic art
Takest from nature's store a part,
To fig it on the simple canvas' length ;

Go forth, and then the sacred fire

Of 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 to-day
That places in thy way
This favor and this fortune grand!

OUR MOTHER TONGUE

IF truly a people dearly love
The tongue to them by Heaven sent,
They'll surely yearn for liberty
Like a bird above in the firmament.

BECAUSE by its language one can judge

A town, a barrio, and kingdom;
And like any other created thing
Every human being loves his freedom.

ONE who doesn't love his native tongue,

Is worse than putrid fish and beast;
AND like a truly precious thing
It therefore deserves to be cherished.

THE Tagalog language's akin to Latin,

To English, Spanish, angelical tongue;
For God who knows how to look after us
This language He bestowed us upon.

AS others, our language is the same

With alphabet and letters of its own,
It was lost because a storm did destroy
On the lake the bangka 1 in years bygone.
 FLOWER AMONG FLOWERS
Flower among flowers, soft bud swooning,
that the wind moves to a gentle crooning.
Wind of heaven, wind of love,
you who gladden all you espy;
you who smile and will not sigh,
candour and fragrance from above;
you who perhaps came down to earth
to bring the lonely solace and mirth,
and to be a joy for the heart to capture.
They say that into your dawn you bear
the immaculate soul a prisoner
-- bound with the ties of
passion and rapture?

They say you spread good everywhere

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

TO THE VIRGIN MARY

Mary, sweet peace and dearest consolation

of suffering mortal: you are the fount whence springs
the current of solicitude that brings
unto our soil unceasing fecundation.

From your abode, enthroned on heaven's height,

in mercy deign to hear my cry of woe
and to the radiance of your mantle draw
my voice that rises with so swift a flight.

You are my mother, Mary, and shall be

my life, my stronghold, my defense most thorough;
and you shall be my guide on this wild sea.

If vice pursues me madly on the morrow,

if death harasses me with agony:
come to my aid and dissipate my sorrow!

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?

THE SONG OF MARIA CLARA

Sweet the hours in the native country,

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

Warm kisses on the lips are playing

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

How sweet to die for the native country,

where friendly shines the sun above!
Death is the breeze for him who has
no country, no mother, and no love!

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.

FELICITATION

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.
 MISS C.O. Y R.
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.
INTIMATE ALLIANCE BETWEEN RELIGION AND GOOD EDUCATION

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 freshning 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 heavens 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 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.
 WATER AND FIRE

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!

TO JOSEPHINE

Josephine, Josephine
Who to these shores have come
Looking for a nest, a home,
Like a wandering swallow;
If your fate is taking you
To Japan, China or Shanghai,
Don't forget that on these shores
A heart for you beats high.

HYMN TO TALISAY

Hail, Talisay, firm and faithful,

ever forward march elate!

You, victorious, the elements

land, sea and air
shall dominate!

The sandy beach of Dapitan

and the rocks of its lofty mountain
are your throne. O sacred asylum
where I passed my childhood days!

In your valley covered with flowers

and shaded by fruitful orchards,
our minds received their formation,
both body and soul, by your grace.

We are children, children born late,

but our spirits are fresh and healthy;
strong men shall we be tomorrow
that can guard a family right.
 We are children that nothing frightens,
not the waves, nor the storm, nor the thunder;
the arm ready, the young face tranquil,
in a fix we shall know how to fight.

We ransack the sand in our frolic;

through the caves and the thickets we ramble;
our houses are built upon rocks;
our arms reach far and wide.

No darkness, and no dark night,

that we fear, no savage tempest;
if the devil himself comes forward,
we shall catch him, dead or alive!

Talisayon, the people call us:

a great soul in a little body;
in Dapitan and all its region
Talisay has no match!

Our reservoir is unequalled;

our precipice is a deep chasm;
and when we go rowing, our bancas
no banca in the world can catch!

We study the problems of science

and the history of the nation.
We speak some three or four languages;
faith and reason we span.

Our hands can wield at the same time

the knife, the pen and the spade,
the picket, the rifle, the sword
companions of a brave man.

Long live luxuriant Talisay!

Our voices exalt you in chorus,
clear star, dear treasure of childhood,
a childhood you guide and please.

In the struggles that await the grown man,

subject to pain and sorrow,
your memory shall be his amulet;
 TO MY MUSE

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 garon
for a cup of coffee please.

Instead of tender stanzas that move the hearts 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 loves 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 elses groaning?

For what, when among the people who criticize and maltreat me,
arid the soul, the lips frigid, theres 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.

Youll 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.

HYMN TO LABOR

CHORUS:

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.
 COLUMBUS AND JOHN 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.
EDUCATION GIVES LUSTER TO THE MOTHERLAND

Wise education, vital breath

Inspires an enchanting virtue;
She puts the Country in the lofty seat
Of endless glory, of dazzling glow,
And just as the gentle aura's puff
Do brighten the perfumed flower's hue:
So education with a wise, guiding hand,
A benefactress, exalts the human band.

Man's placid repose and earthly life

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

Where wise education raises a throne

Sprightly youth are invigorated,
Who with firm stand error they subdue
And with noble ideas are exalted;
It breaks immortality's neck,
Contemptible crime before it is halted:
It humbles barbarous nations
And it makes of savages champions.
And like the spring that nourishes
The plants, the bushes of the meads,
She goes on spilling her placid wealth,
And with kind eagerness she constantly feeds,
The river banks through which she slips,
And to beautiful nature all she concedes,
So whoever procures education wise
Until the height of honor may rise.

From her lips the waters crystalline

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

In the wretched human beings' breast

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

And like a rock that rises with pride

In the middle of the turbulent waves
When hurricane and fierce Notus roar
She disregards their fury and raves,
That weary of the horror great
So frightened calmly off they stave;
Such is one by wise education steered
He holds the Country's reins unconquered.
His achievements on sapphires are engraved;
The Country pays him a thousand honors;
For in the noble breasts of her sons
Virtue transplanted luxuriant flow'rs;
And in the love of good e'er disposed
Will see the lords and governors
The noble people with loyal venture
Christian education always procure.

And like the golden sun of the morn

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

The proud Abencrage 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.
 TO MY FELLOW CHILDREN

Whenever people of a country truly love

The language which by heav'n they were taught to use
That country also surely liberty pursue
As does the bird which soars to freer space above.

For language is the final judge and referee

Upon the people in the land where it holds sway;
In truth our human race resembles in this way
The other living beings born in liberty.

Whoever knows not how to love his native tongue

Is worse than any best or evil smelling fish.
To make our language richer ought to be our wish
The same as any mother loves to feed her young.

Tagalog and the Latin language are the same

And English and Castilian and the angels' tongue;
And God, whose watchful care o'er all is flung,
Has given us His blessing in the speech we calim,

Our mother tongue, like all the highest that we know

Had alphabet and letters of its very own;
But these were lost -- by furious waves were overthrown
Like bancas in the stormy sea, long years ago.

THE EMBARKATION

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.