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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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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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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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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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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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;

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 as-pire;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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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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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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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 grayBe Neckar’s banks, or shady wood,And pluck’d you from beside the wayTell, too, the tale to you addressed,

To the Flowers of Heidelberg

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And how with tender care, Your bending leaves he press’d‘Twixt pages of some volumes rare.

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’erAll 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 earthWhose light smiled on you at your birth.

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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 tomor-rowThy 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 imbuesWith 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 please

And give to suffering souls sur-ceaseFrom 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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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 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.

Goodbye to Leonor (A Translation from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin)

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!

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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.

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!

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. Kundiman

In 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!

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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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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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| |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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|POEMS

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.

Specimens of Tagal Folklore

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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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