POEMS

To My Fellow Children
Whenever people of a country truly love The language which by heavn they were taught to use That country also surely liberty pursue As does the bird which soars 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 livings being born in liberty. Whoever knows not how to love his native tongue Is worse than any beast 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 Latin language are the same And English and Castillian and the angels tongue; And God, whose watchful care oer all is flung, Has given us His blessing in the speech we claim, Our mother tongue, like all the highest 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.

POEMS

My First Inspiration
Why do the scented bowers In fragrant fray Rival each others flowers This festive day? Why is sweet melody bruited In the sylvan dale, Harmony sweet and fluted Like the nightingale? Why do the birds sing so In the tender grass, Flitting from the bough to bough With the winds that pass? And why does the crystal spring Run among the flowers While lullaby zephyrs sing Like its crystal showers? Sweet mother, they celebrate Your natal day The rose with her scent innate The bird with his lay. The murmurous spring this day Without alloy, Murmuring birds you always To live in joy. While the crystalline murmurs glisten, Hear you the accents strong Struck from my lyre, listen! To my loves first song.

POEMS

Felicitacion
The sisters of your wife Greet you on your feast day. If Philomela with harmonious tongue To blond Apollo, who manifests his face Behind high hill or overhanging mountain, Canticles sends. So we as well, full of a sweet contentment, Salute you and your very noble saint With tender music and fraternal measures, Dear Antonino. From all your sisters and your other kin Receive most lovingly the loving accent That the suave warmth of love dictates to them Placid and tender. From amorous wife and amiable Emilio Sweetly receive an unsurpassed affection; And may its sweetness in disaster soften The ruder torments. As the sea pilot, who so bravely fought Tempestuous waters in the dark of night, Gazes upon his darling vessel safe And come to port. So, setting aside all [worldly] predilections, Now let your eyes be lifted heavenward To him who is the solace of all men And loving Father. And from ourselves that in such loving accents Salute you everywhere you celebrate, These clamorous vivas that from the heart resound Be pleased to accept.

POEMS

The Departure: Hymn to Magellans Fleet

One beautiful day when in the East The sun had gaily brightened, At Barrameda with rejoicing great Activities everywhere reigned. Tis cause on the shores the caravels Would part with their sails a-swelling; And noble warriors with their 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.

POEMS

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

Where does that frail ship go That proudly cruises on And ploughs the distant seas To seek the lands unknown? Whos the brave and invincible, That from far down the West Sails on the expansive world To yonder roseate East? Of Spain hes a heroic son, A Titan new of pirence, Who with fury fights against, If it holds him, the hurricane. Hes Elcano who undertakes A task that enchants the world; To accomplish it he vows And its vastness him doesnt hold. And to Red-tailed eagle akin That soars high in the wind With an unequalled flight And with a movement swift, Of the blowing storm that roars, He scorns the horrible hiss; And mocks with kingly air The lightings shattering noise. And like a craggy rock No impetuous ocean in range Or the Fury of hurricanes Him can Change or disengage; Such is the invincible Elcano, When cruising through The waves, with his Spanish ships, 5

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

The Battle: Urbiztondo, Terror of Jolo

A hundred war-tried ships At the mercy of the gentle wind, Leave behind Manila bay -The ruffled sea they plough. A short while they descry The Moros of Jolo Who with pride they raise A thousand waving flags. And when the soldiers strong Had alighted on the shores And pointed all their guns Against the enemys wall, With manly accent spoke The general : Soldiers of mine, Upon your valor depends The rich glory of victory. I would prefer to die Rather than desist from attack ; To thee the country entrusts Her noble, sacred seals. Said he ; and like Notus fierce By horrid lightning hedged in In furious tempests it sows

POEMS
Sad weeping and mourning around ; So Urbiztondo unsubdued His soldiers following him, He spreads death everywhere With cold steel in his hand. And like a lion in the woods He roars, engendering fear, As he looks upon the prey That with havoc he devours; So the noted fighting men With fury and frenzied fright, Approach the barricades As they give a headlong assault. And the Castiles lion shakes His forelock wrathfully And readies his pointed claws To spread tears everywhere. Eight bastions, do surrender Of the Moros of Jolo To the furious rattle of Mars And Urbiztondos assault. Ah ! Theyre the ones, noble Spain, Like Lepantos heroes they are, At Pavia theyre the ones Whore the thunderbolt of war. The fire consumes and devours The castles and palaces And all the Joloans own At our soldiers fierce attack. Perfidious Mahumat flees, Tyrannical and godless Sultan, And the warriors valorous March into Jolo as they sing.

POEMS

In Memory of My Town
When early childhoods happy days In memory I see once more Along the lovely verdant shore That meets a gently murmuring sea; When I recall the whisper soft Of zephyrs dancing on my brow With cooling sweetness, even now New luscious life is born in me. When I behold the lily white That sways in do the winds command While gently sleeping on the sand The stormy water rests awhile; When from the flowers there softly breathes A bouqet ravishingly sweet, Out-poured the newborn dawn to meet, As on us she begins to smile. With sadness I recall... I recall Thy 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 insecure In your dark forests deeply sank; And there by every rivers bank I found refreshment and delight; Within that rustic temple prayed With childhoods simple faith unfeigned White cooling breezes, pure, unstained, Would send my heart on rapturuos flight. I saw the Maker in the grandeur Of your ancient hoary wood, Ah, never in your refuge could A mortal by regret be smitten; And while upon your sky of blue I gaze, no love nor tenderness Coul fail, for here on natures dress My happiness itself was written. Ah, tender childhood, lovely town, Rich amount of my felicities, Oh those harmonious melodies Which 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 keep For thy peace, thy bliss, and tranquility O Genius of good, so kind! Give me these gifts, with charity. To thee are my fervent vows, To these I cease not so sigh These to learn, and I call to the sky To have thy sincerity.

The 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 Reigion, 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 Feed 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 hem deprived By the roaring blows and buffets of the dread Tempestous 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 fresh 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 everything bestrew The fragrant and luxuriant fruits of Virtue. 9

POEMS

POEMS
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 Reigion, 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 Feed 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 hem deprived By the roaring blows and buffets of the dread Tempestous 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 fresh 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 everything bestrew The fragrant and luxuriant fruits of Virtue. 10

POEMS

Through Education Our Motherland Recieves Light

The vital breath of prudent Education Instills a virtue of enchanting powers; She lifts the motherland to highest station And endless dazzling glories on her shower. And as the zephyrs gentle exhalation Revives 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 part With 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 mountains lofty heart. The purest current of the streamlet flows, So education without stint or measure gives Security and peace to lands in which she lives. Where education reigns on lofty seat Youth 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 bestow On all the plants, on bushes in the mead, Its placid plenty goes to overflow And endlessly with lavish love to feed The banks by which it wanders, gliding slow, Supplying beauteous natures every need. So he who prudent Education doth procure The 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,

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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 learn Their upward steps toward the heavenly paths to turn. Within the breast of wretched humankind She 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 tower Above the center of the stormy deep In scorn of storm, or fierce Souwesters power Or fury of the waves that raging sweep, Until their first mad hatred, spent, they cower And 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 implanted To endless days the Christian Education; Within their noble, faith-enraptured nation. And as in early morning we behold The 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 unfold To living minds the joy of virtuos ways. She offers our dear motherland the light. That leads us to immortal glorys height.

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POEMS

The Captivity and 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 back 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 Prophets 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, wretched Moors, by the fear that thee blinds and chases? From whom do thee flee? With whom, hapless men, The stout heart to fight refuses?

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POEMS
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 in furious battle. He wounds, beheads, devastates, and assaults As a wolf, 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 deer Run as the lion brave roars. When the King, abandoned, finds himself And seeing escape isnt too soon, He gets down his horses terrified, And hides in the woods like a poltroon. Two unconquered Christmas did find him; And by royal symbols detected, Instantly to Don Diego him they took Like a royal captive defeated. There at Lucena the Christians God Humbled down the arrogants power Who wanted to tie with a heavy chain The Spaniard as downcast prisner. 14

POEMS

The Triumphal Entry of the Catholic Monarchs into Granada

Twas a quiet and gloomy night Whose memry hurts the heart, A night ago in which the Muslim King Treads the Alhambras beautiful floor. The face pale, loose his hair, Tired eyes of frigid gaze, Head low, recumbent his face, The sad Muslim looks at his palaces. The Muslim looks at them and abundant tears Bathe his eyes, a-flowing down his cheeks, And to the ceiling gilt and arabesque He turns again his weary gaze. Sand and tearful he remembers then The Muslim exploits and the glorious jousts ; And comparing the present ills With the combats of past days, Goodbye, Alhambra, he says; Alhambra, goodbye, Abode of joy and abundant happiness ; Goodbye, palace full of pleasures, Inexhaustible fountain of delight. Sad I leave you and now Im going To cruel exile, of hardships full, In order not to see your towers high, Your fountains clear and rich abodes. He said ; and moaning the costly habiliments Of the gilded apartments he removes ; And of its beautiful decorations stripped The huge halls, sad he withdraws, And in the silence of the night When the luckless Arabs were asleep, When only the hissing of the winds Through the peaceful city could be heard And crossing the streets Of that now forsaken realm, Pale and petrified Bathed in mortal sweat; 15

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Only lamentations deep Were heard everywhere, And some doleful voice Thrown in its wild complaint. The king stopped; the towers he saw He contemplated those walls; The bottles remembered he That he waged in happy times; But he could not control himself And he lowered his gazed to the ground And mournfully said As he bends his head: Alas! Granada what happened to you? What became of your nights? Alas! Where do your warriors sleep That your anguish they dont see? Indeed! I your unhappy King, To the Libyan desert lands Hurled and with chains By fate I also go. Today I lose everything, everything, Kingdom, palace, treasure And so alone I sadly weep What cruel grief prepares for me; There was a time when your towrs Preponderantly ruled And they were the havoc and dread Of squadrons in front. He said and the squadrons he sees Commanded by Talavera, As he waves the flag Of Christian religion; That by royal order the forts They were going to occupy And to take possession of The Alhambra and its rooms. And to Fernando Talavera Who rules the knights 16

POEMS
With respect addresses himself The unfortunate Boabdil ; And in manner like this speaks to him With mournful stress, Into cruel anguish plunged In a thousand anxieties submerged: Go my lord, go immediately To take hold of those abodes By the great Almighty reserved For your powerful King; Allah chastises the Moors; Strip them of their property; From their country he throws them out For they did not keep his law. He said no more ; on his way The Mohammedan proceeds And behind goes his faithful band In silence and with grief. Aback they didnt turn their gaze To contemplate their ground, For affliction perhaps would strike Them with greater vehemence. And in the distance they see The Christians camp did show Signs of contentment and joy Upon seeing the celestial Cross That on the Alhambra is displayed When the city was overrun ; And twas the primary sign Of the race that was subdued. And th unhappy Monarch hears The voice of Long live Castille ! And he sees on their knees The Spanish Combatants; And from the trumpets he hears Triumphal harmonies. 17

POEMS
And the brilliant helmets he sees The bright sun shining on them. His footsteps then he turns Toward King Fernando Who advances ordering His troops with majesty; And as he nears the King, The Moor gives to him the keys, The only treasure and sign Of the Mohammedan powr. See there, Boabdil says to him, What I can offer you, And the only thing left to me, Of the Arabic domain My kingdom, trophies, men, Fields, houses, victories, Exalted honors, towrs And gardens all, now are yours. Boabdil thus did speak And having paid his respect From that place he withdraws A thousand ills he saw Continuing his slow pace His warriors sending forth A thousand doleful groans As they leave the fair Genil. Now, the warlike clarion Of Fernando sounds th entry In Granada lovely and fair, Now Christian with no infidel; The captives of the defeated Moor, Who sadly were dragging chains And suffring torments and pains With joy came to Isabel. Like long-suffring warriors brave The clement King greets them, 18

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His gladness showing on his face Cause from evil he saw them freed; And the Queen abundant alms Distributes with benevolent hand That Queen whos always of God Ought to wear immortal crown. And as the Muslims hear The cries of festivity, Sonorous beating of drums, And the singing of delight, They lamented their fate, The glory they have lost, Their race that was subdued, Their country without peer. Their mournful groans They carefully hide, Their tearful prayrs, To be heard they fear Would augment the pride Of that victory That causes their woe. Now the flag of Spain Proudly waves oer the walls Of noble Granada now secure ! Now the Catholic Kings From their seat opulent Will decree wise laws For the children of Genil. Now delightful Granada, proud Is Christians dwelling place And Granada belongs To the faithful populace. Now from Heaven God looks down With joy the beautiful towrs And merlons all full Of Trophies and laurel. 19

POEMS

Heroism of Columbus
Oh tell me, celestial Muse, who in the mind Of Columbus infused a breath sublime, Invested with noble courage and faith, To plough the seas of the West? Who gave him bravry when imposing The sea was angered, the wind roared, That in his rage the bad angel called Against the son of faithful Spain? In the midst of solemn tranquility When languid earth was asleep, And the moon its trembling disc Through the diaphanous sky did steer, A man contemplates the wavy sea. . . Seen painted on his smiling face So magnificent clemencys powr Exuding kindness and intelligence. The curly whitish waves of the sea That bathe the spreading shore, Like silver reflect the white light To the soft breath of perfumed breeze; And while from the shadows strange Around danced winged multitude, An old man, furious, fierce and grave Fantastic rose from the sea profound. He holds firm in his strong right hand A heavy trident aflame. . . And your audacious heart hopes to subdue The fierce seas terrible rage That when the fiery tempest roars In mass it rises gloomy and grave? Oh! Who could calmly contemplate The iron cold of bloody fate, That the roar of the wind which resounds In the abyss a sad tomb opes? What lies beyond? Only death, The dark sea that dreadfully terrifies And infuses fear in the stoutest heart, Where at each instant darkly appears The tempest, with the mariner in doubt How to guide his ship in such calamity; And the waters bury him in the depth Where a thousand horrible monsters hide. But, alas, poor you! Alas, unhappy Spain If you run in search of lands remote! I will excite the north winds rage And the hatred cruel of all that the ocean holds. . . And ere you step on the foreign shores, War and discord Ill put within your ship; And Ill not rest until I see your ruin, If divine protection saves you not. . . Hush, deceitful monster, with sonrous voice Christopher answers him, ignorance...

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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 faiths noble valor. Who, like you, is gentle, Constant, resigned, and genrous? Conquered thou the dreadful Fury of the wavy sea And the cowardly, treachrous mariner. Hail, illustrious Admral, Firm of heart, fiery in the fight ; To your constant valor Kindly today I offer Castles and honors together. w 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 sovreign, Portugals Juan the enlightened. Glory great beforehand And the highest post in his palace Offers he the veteran. But . . . hurriedly he flees Columbus from the treachrous deceiver Of the palace ambitious; Runs he, flies to where dwells Isabel the Christian, his benefactress.

POEMS

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POEMS

Great Solace in Great Misfortune

Hardly the shining Phoebus Dyed the clouds with scarlet Morning now is peeping With delightful freshness; When the bicolored standard Of Castilla shows up Upright in the matutinal air On a fragile floating craft. The great Admiral Columbus Of the Spanish nation, It is he who waves the flag In the wind on the high sea, And, the ship goes a-gliding Over the waters crystalline His subalterns did want to reach Very quickly the mines of gold. On his way he visits The great Cacique courteous and kind, Th Admiral contemplates To return it with love, And th arrogant Cacique Offers him from his treasure A colossal bar of gold, Gift of infinite value. It was night and to common repose Thinking not of the days hardships, The ships brave men gave themselves. Only one youth did keep watch. Thrice the frightening silence Calls him to a soft pleasant sleep; And three times the fleet with skill Through the wide sea directed he. . . Yielded he at last. . . In sorry abandon Alas, he leaves the ship!. . . Cruel mishap!. . . To inexpert hands and entrusting Castilles name and greatness. And in the meantime - And the ship to the Breakers - Shoal Impetuous - Wild Sounded, - Ran. At the repeated blow of breakers, Rises instantly Columbus, Knows he the trouble: shouts he disturbed. . . Come to him his men and seeing him are shocked: What confusion!. . . What voices!. . . Grating noise Heard everywhere!. . . The fleet is advancing To the sandbank; all persist in fighting, If asleep theyre dreaming, some are in doubt. Only Columbus, like resounding thunder, In the midst of the frightful night, Raises his voice, serenely he throws To the water a boat, with majestic words Gives he the order. . . but soon the ship Full of men whore fleeing shamefully: He alone is animated, firmly hopes; Fights he and fights again with cruel death. Vain were the efforts, and science Gainst the furious liquid element Offers weak resistance in vain To the violent, deathly push, And Columbus already knows the impotence. . . Here you have us! sounds at that moment, More harmonious than the cry of victry And the trumpet of acclaiming glory. This is Vicente Yaez, who, condemning The repugnant perfidy of the rest, Places all the men at his command On the side of Columbus with gallantry. While the water keeps on coming Into the ship that weak already is sinking. . . And while the boat is torn to pieces, Heartless death is threatening them. Columbus tried To save his men And with sadness sees His ship being lost; To leave her he doesnt want And, exhales a moan Like the bee that has lost Its pleasure sweet.

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POEMS
Now sadly he looks At his ship without men. . . And suffring, alone He found himself. . . His tender gaze Around does turn With grief he sweeps At his ill luck, exclaimed: Goodbye, dear ship; Goodbye, you who ploughed through oceans wide From Iberia divine With valor you met A thousand risks Obedient to my command, Alas, mitigate the woes of my soul! ... With sadness I look at you And seeing your remains Afflicted I heave a sigh! Like the lamentable fates They spoiled your handsomeness! Are you, may I surmise The ship that in happy days Your bravery you showed, And protected by powr divine You did resist with pride The hurricane and confused whirlwind?. . . How can I return to the Spanish shores Without my Santa Maria? Oh heaven merciful and just! How can I give the news Of his conquered fertile land, If in the waves youre submerged, beloved ship? Thus spoke Columbus, and from the bark He hastily moves away Exhaling a sigh, Expression mute of his pains, While tears, as bitter fount, Drop sadly from his eyes. . . The adverse fate afterwards The veteran couriers With sadness relate At Guacanagari; And his presence occasions applause. And the Cacique Invented other Fantastic games Delightful; And Christopher Upon hearing the noisy shouts And the jubilation, Concluded: Instantly he orders his soldiers That they show the crack of the cannon. The Cacique with his men was frightened On hearing such strong and warlike sound. And they went toward the nearby woods Inhabited neer by any mortal, While ready the Indians look surprised At the sight of the martial contest. At the rhythmic crack of the cannon They all sadly thought that theyd perish; Those who cannot flee to the ground fall; The rest of Indians away ran. And later the Spaniards opened fire With harquebusses with equal adeptness, Infusing within the Indians breasts Mute surprise panicky extreme fear; With valor unequaled they did later show A simulated contest with side-arms While very much satisfied the Indians Clapped their hands ceaselessly shouting. After such acclamations Th Admiral prepares To depart And he wished to leave Many men behind On the beautiful isle. Him to safeguard Strong wall raise they That surrounds his home, And they nail the flag Of the Spanish nation On the rampart.

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POEMS

To the Child Jesus

How God-child hast Thou come To earth in cave forlorn? Does Fortune now deride Thee When Thou art scarcely born? Ah woe! Celestial King, Who mortal from dost keep Wouldst rather than be Sovereign Be Shepherd of Thy Sheep?

To the Virgin Mary

Dear Mary, giving comfort and sweet peace To all afflicted mortals; thou the spring Whence 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 grieve And spread thy radiant mantle to receive My voice which rises swiftly to the sky Placid 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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Theme: Grow, O, Timid Flower 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 winds 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 Spaniarda holy hand A crowns 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 Philomels refrain And with varied line Through the night benign Frees mortality from pain; 25 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 brushs magic art Takest from natures 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 today That places in thy way This favor and this fortune grand !

To the Filipino Youth

POEMS

Abd-el-Aziz and Mohammed

It was night : the moaning wind Sighs as it kisses the towers tall And on its wings carries mournfully Thousands of confused noises agitating the space. Aweful clouds bedim the peace Of the dark nights beautiful star, And a soft tint like a mantle of snow Covers the fields that the Spaniard treads. There, from the tall Moorish towr Sings the owl on th imposing peak, Numberless evils and bloody fights With fatidical accent foretells. In the meanwhile on the soft bed That the luxurious Moor makes of ivory, Rest doth seek the weary, brave AbdEl-Azis, Pleasant relief from the bygone day. Th incense mild in silver tripods That th Arabian bark distills, Burns and spreads intoxicating scent, Of the sumptuous chamber soft delight. Everything is silent : everyone sleeps ; Only the sorrowful Moor keeps guard, Contemplates the light that sadly Penetrates through th elegant arch. But so sudden he beholds outlined Dubious shadow that in the gentle light Agitates him for a time, and his sullen face Masculine contour acquires. With a white turban covered in his head, Animates his countenance a lengthy beard, From his belt a curved cutlass hangs Horribly dripping with ardent blood. Like the mournful sound of hollow bronze That deplores the agony of man, Thus the sepulchral silence his voice Ruffles, and the fatidical vision the Moor. Alas ! Alas ! It tells him, and resounded profound Th echo of his voice calm and cold, Terrible echo that touches the soul, Like the remembrance of a friendly voice. Alas, poor me ! Pity the nation brave That the sandy Lybia saw on her breast ! Alas, poor Koran, sacred patrimony That to the Muslim Allah once bequeathed ! Vainly did you conquer the flags Of the Powrful Christian of Guadalete On the green banks, for again Raises he rebellious his captive head. Pelayo, the great Pelayo, the noble Goth, The illustrious son of fierce Favila, On the hard rocks of Covadonga Fights the forces of the Moor. 26

POEMS
The Cross, the Cross, insignia idolized, Follows its army that to conquer aspires: Mary goes with them with her cloak Shelters she with love the bodies weak. But dont fear, for triumphant ever be Will the Muslim in the combat crude, And of no avail her protection would be For only God helps the faithful with his arm. But alas! If you sleep in the arms of delight And my heavenly precepts you ignore The throne that sustained Tarif will fall To the rough blow of the sword profane Like the overflowing river your blood Will inundate the vales and fields And the flourishing Iberias ground Th Arabs cold tomb will become ; And in numberless battles in eternal war, Into your breasts will plunge The proud Spaniards knife, and the vile dust Like the accursed .serpent youll bite ; And youll yield the ground inch by inch Fertilized by your blessed blood ; The weak women and children slaves will be In their sad affliction ; Hurled again to the desert cruel, Bitter tears for peace that was lost You will shed, and in shameful torment You will count the days of your return. And rejoicing proudly at your distress In their perfidy A thousand ships will arm, And the beautiful ground where I rest in peace They will threaten with fury never seen. Arm yourself ! Run ! Quickly fly ! Cast your veteran army with the fight And to the wind let the sonrous trumpet release Warlike accent, to glory a toast. Trembles the ground beneath the saddle light Of the fiery steed that Arabia breeds And like showy murex in burning red Infidel blood tints your scimitar. Before the Moon that my insignia displays Make the Cross its fortress yield, And forever victorious may they shine The beneficent doctrines of the Koran. Said he ; and like a lightly rising smoke That a strong wind rapidly dissipates, Thus disappeared the terrible fright That the vision divine caused the Moor. 27

POEMS

To The Very Reverend Father Ramon Pablo SJ

Sweet is the breeze that at the break of dawn The calyx of fragrant flowers shakes, Alluring odors soft they spread Oer the countryside ; The placid murmur is sweet and soft Of the gentle rivulet that with joy Throws silvry foam on sands of gold And drops of water white ; Sweet are the trills of musical birds Soft is th aroma of motley flowrs And the perfumes of th aurora white Mellow and sweet; But your name, oh, Father idolized, Instills the purest joy in our breast, Whence it diffuses most mellow rays Of eternal glow. The Almightys hand affectionate You show us, Father, whose love sincere Throughout the bitter road of life Does guide us with love. Alas! What will become of youthful toil That restlessly burns in our breast, Without the guidance or your kind hand, Your love, your zeal? Were, Father, your sons; you do guide us To the homes of eternal happiness. The mind will not be disturbed by fright With a pilot like you. The great Apostle whose name you bear, Whose footsteps with enthusiasm you trail, With heavenly favor shower you, A sacred treasure.

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POEMS

(A Translation from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin)

To Miss C.O. y P.

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.

29

POEMS

They Ask Me for Verses

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 fling A 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 cast Indulgent smile and friendships due; But of that age now all too few The thoughts that with me yet will stay; As from the hours of festive play There linger on mysterious notes, And in our minds the memory floats Of minstrelsy and music gay. A plant I am, that scarcely grown, Was torn from out its Eastern bed, Were all around perfume is shed And life but as a dream is known; The land that I can call my own By me forgotten neer to be, Where thrilling birds their song taught me, And cascades with their ceaseless roar, And all along the spreading shore The murmurs of the sounding sea. While yet in childhoods happy day, I learn upon its sun to smile, And in my breast there seems the while Seething volcanic fires to play, A bard I was, my wish always To 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 clear Of songs that in past times they bore; Wide seas I crossd to foreign shore, With hope of change and other fate, My folly was made clear too late, For in the place of good I sought The seas reveald unto naught, But made deaths spectre on me wait, All these fond fancies that were mine, All love, all feeling, all emprise, Were left beneath the sunny skies; Which oer that flowery region shine; So press no more that plea of thine, For sings of live from out a heart That coldly lies a thing apart; Since now with torturd soul I haste Unresting oer the desert waste, And lifeless gone is all the art.

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POEMS

To the Flowers of Heidelberg

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 dawn Hear 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 mornings light, All your fragrance stealing, Whispers to you as in mirth, Playful songs of Loves delight, He, too, murmurs his loves feeling In the tongue he learned at birth That when the sun of Keenigstuhls height Pours 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 ruind castle gray Be Neckars banks, or shady wood, And pluckd you from beside the way Tell, too, the tale to you addressed, And how with tender care, Your bending leaves he pressd Twixt pages of some volumes rare.

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POEMS
Bear then, O flowers, loves message bear; My love to all the lovd 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 oer All that I love, esteem, and adore. But though, O flowers, you come unto that land, And still perchance your colors hold; So far from this heroic strand, Whose soil first bade your life unfold Still here your fragrance will expand; Your soul that never quits the earth Whose light smiled on you at your birth.

The Song of Maria Clara

Sweet are the hours in ones native land, Where all is dear the sunbeams bless; Life giving breezes sweep the strand, And death is softend by loves; caress Warm kisses play on mothers 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 ones native land, Where all is dear the sunbeams bless; Death is the breeze that sweeps the strand, Without a mother, home, or loves caress.

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POEMS

To My Creator
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.

Kundiman
In the Oriental beautiful Where the sun is born, In a land or beauty Full of enchantments But 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 tyrants grips; Lucky shall he be Who can give her liberty!

(A Translation from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin)

Water and Fire

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, Dont forget on these shores A heart for you beats high.

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!

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POEMS

Hymn to Labor
CHORUS: For our country in war. For our country in peace The Filipinos will be ready, While he lives and when he dies. MEN: As soon as the East is tinted with light Forth to the fields to plow the loam! Since it is work that sustains the 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 wife Implanting in her children, love For wisdom, land, and virtuous life. When nightfall brings us to our rest, May smiling fortune guard our door; But if cruel fate should harm her man, The wife would toil on as before. GIRLS: Hail! Hail! Give us praise to work! The countrys vigour and her wealth; For work lift up your brow serene It is your blood, your life, your health. If any youth protests his love His work shall prove if he be good. That man alone who strives and toils Can find the way to feed his brood. BOYS: Teach us then the hardest tasks For down thy trails we turn our feet That when our country call tomorrow Thy purposes we may complete. And may our elders say, who see us. See! How worthy of their sires! No incense can exalt our dead ones Like a brave son who aspires!

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POEMS

To My Muse
Invoked no longer is the Muse The lyre is out of date: The poets it no longer use, And youth its inspiration now imbues With other form and state. If today our fancies aught Of verse would still unsought; And without heed we but inquire. Why the coffee is not brought. In the place of thought sincere That our hearts may fee, We must seize a pen of steel, And with verse and line severe Fling 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 prose I must earn the gold that hired me. Now must I ponder deep, Meditate and struggle on; Een sometimes I must weep; For he who love would keep Great pain has undergone. Fled are the days of ease, The days of Loves delight; When flowers still would please And give to suffering souls surcease From pain and sorrows blight. 35 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 upon By fate adverse are stung. Go thou, too, O Muse, depart, Other regions fairer find; For my land by offers art For 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 seek A song of sorrow for the weak, Defiance to the tyrants crime.

POEMS

Hymn To Talisay
At Dapitan, the sandy shore And Rocks aloft, on mountain crest Form thy throne, O refuge blest, That we from childhood days have known. In you vales that flowers adorn And your fruitful leafy shade, Our thinking powers are being made, And soul with body being grown. We are youth not line on earth But our souls are free from sorrow; Calm, strong me well be tomorrow, Who can guard our families rights. Lads are we who naught can frighten, Whether thunder, waves, or rain Swift of arm, serene of mien In 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 obscure Cause us fear, nor fierce torment That even Satan can invent Life or death? We must face each! Talisayans, people call us! Mighty souls in bodies small Oer Dapitans district all No Talisay like this towers. None can match our reservoir. Our diving pool the sea profound! No rowing boat the world around For 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 time The sail and working spade and pen, The masons mail for virile men Companions and the gun and sword. Live, live, O leafy green Talisay! Our voices sing thy praise in chorus Clear star, and precious treasure for us. Our childhoods 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 untiring Ever aspiring, Stately thy gait. Things, everywhere In sea, land and air Shalt thou dominate.

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POEMS

My Retreat
By the spreading beach where the sands are soft and fine At the foot of the mouth in its mantle of green I have built my hut in the pleasant groves confine; From the forest seeking peace and a calmness divine, Rest for the weary brain and silence to my sorrows 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 seas flood. A purling brook from the woodland glade Drops down oer the stones and around it sweeps, Whence a fresh stream is drawn by the rough canes aid; That in the still night its murmur has made, And in the days 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 goes Boiling and foaming through the rocky close, Roaring uncheckd to the seas wide ways. The howl of the dog and the song of the bird, And only the kalaos 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 worlds apart; Its smile in the morn to my souls is a call,

37

POEMS
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 partake Of 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 gone Are calling they down to their deaths merry feast. In terror and confusion whispers the night, While blue and green flames flit over the deep ; But calm reigns with the mornings 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 oer 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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POEMS
I live in thought of the lovd ones 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 stays To strengthen my faith when doubts oer me roll. That faith I keep and I hope to see shine The day when the idea prevails over might; When after the fray and deaths 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 here To stir up youths blood in boiling confusion. I breathe here the winds that perchance have passd Oer the fields and the rivers of my own natal shore; And mayhap they will bring on the returning blast The sighs that lovd being upon them has cast Messages sweet from the love I first bore. To see the same moon, all silverd 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,

39

POEMS

To wander unheeding, free from doubt of affright So in foreign lands were my brightest days spent. And when like a languishing bird I was fain To the home of my fathers and my love to return, Of a sudden the fierce tempest roard amain; So I saw my wings shattered and no home remain, My trust sold to others and wrecks round me burn. Hurld 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 lovd 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 groves 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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POEMS

The Song of the Traveler

Like 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 een as he grasps at it flees, Vain though the hopes that his yearning is seeking Yet 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 void Saddens 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 oer 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. 41

POEMS

(A Translation from the Spanish by Nick Joaquin)

Flowers 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 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!

42

My Last Farewell
Farewell, dear Fatherland, clime of the sun caressd, Pearl of the Orient seas, our Eden lost! Gladly now I go to give thee this faded lifes 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 martyrdoms plight, Tis ever the same, to serve our home and countrys 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, Pourd 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 lovd face, O gem of the Orient sea From 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 eternitys 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 below The touch of thy tenderness, thy breaths 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.

POEMS

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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 oer my untimely fate sigh, And in the still evening a prayer be lifter on high From thee; O my country, that in God I may rest. Pray for all those that hapless have died, For all who have suffered the unmeasurd 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, Unmarkd by never a cross or a stone; Let the plow sweep through it, the spade turn it oer That 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 adord 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 eer 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!

44

PROVERBS
Malakas ang bulong sa sigaw. Low words are stronger than loud words. Ang laki sa layaw karaniway hubad. A spoiled child is generally naked Hampas ng magulang ay nakataba. Parents punishment makes one fat. Ibang har 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 nadadal ng nod. The sleeping shrimp is carried away by the current. Sa bibig nahuhuli ang isda. The fish is caught through the mouth.

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RIDDLES

Isang butil na palay, sikip sa buong buhay. One rice-corn fills up all the house. The light. The rice-corn with the husk is yellowish. Matapang ako sa dalawa, duwag ako sa isa. I am brave against two, coward against one. The bamboo bridge. When the bridge is made of one bamboo, it is difficult to pass over; but when it is made of two or more, it is very easy Dala ako niya, dala ko siya. He carries me, I carry him. The shoes. Isang balong malalim puno ng patalim. A deep well filled with steel blades. The mouth.

46

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 ones conscience; and to doubt ones conscience 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.

47

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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