The Last Poem of Rizal

His friend Mariano Ponce gave it the title of MI ULTIMO ADIOS, as it originally had none
Farewell, my adored Land, region of the sun caressed, Pearl of the Orient Sea, our Eden lost, With gladness I give you my Life, sad and repressed; And were it more brilliant, more fresh and at its best, I would still give it to you for your welfare at most. On the fields of battle, in the fury of fight, Others give you their lives without pain or hesitancy, The place does not matter: cypress laurel, lily white, Scaffold, open field, conflict or martyrdom's site, It is the same if asked by home and Country. I die as I see tints on the sky b'gin to show And at last announce the day, after a gloomy night; If you need a hue to dye your matutinal glow, Pour my blood and at the right moment spread it so, And gild it with a reflection of your nascent light! My dreams, when scarcely a lad adolescent, My dreams when already a youth, full of vigor to attain, Were to see you, gem of the sea of the Orient, Your dark eyes dry, smooth brow held to a high plane Without frown, without wrinkles and of shame without stain. My life's fancy, my ardent, passionate desire, Hail! Cries out the soul to you, that will soon part from thee; Hail! How sweet 'tis to fall that fullness you may acquire; To die to give you life, 'neath your skies to expire, And in your mystic land to sleep through eternity! If over my tomb some day, you would see blow, A simple humble flow'r amidst thick grasses, Bring it up to your lips and kiss my soul so, And under the cold tomb, I may feel on my brow, Warmth of your breath, a whiff of your tenderness. Let the moon with soft, gentle light me descry, Let the dawn send forth its fleeting, brilliant light, In murmurs grave allow the wind to sigh, And should a bird descend on my cross and alight,

Let the bird intone a song of peace o'er my site. Let the burning sun the raindrops vaporize And with my clamor behind return pure to the sky; Let a friend shed tears over my early demise; And on quiet afternoons when one prays for me on high, Pray too, oh, my Motherland, that in God may rest I. Pray thee for all the hapless who have died, For all those who unequalled torments have undergone; For our poor mothers who in bitterness have cried; For orphans, widows and captives to tortures were shied, And pray too that you may see your own redemption. And when the dark night wraps the cemet'ry And only the dead to vigil there are left alone, Don't disturb their repose, don't disturb the mystery: If you hear the sounds of cittern or psaltery, It is I, dear Country, who, a song t'you intone. And when my grave by all is no more remembered, With neither cross nor stone to mark its place, Let it be plowed by man, with spade let it be scattered And my ashes ere to nothingness are restored, Let them turn to dust to cover your earthly space. Then it doesn't matter that you should forget me: Your atmosphere, your skies, your vales I'll sweep; Vibrant and clear note to your ears I shall be: Aroma, light, hues, murmur, song, moanings deep, Constantly repeating the essence of the faith I keep. My idolized Country, for whom I most gravely pine, Dear Philippines, to my last goodbye, oh, harken There I leave all: my parents, loves of mine, I'll go where there are no slaves, tyrants or hangmen Where faith does not kill and where God alone does reign. Farewell, parents, brothers, beloved by me, Friends of my childhood, in the home distressed; Give thanks that now I rest from the wearisome day; Farewell, sweet stranger, my friend, who brightened my way; Farewell, to all I love. To die is to rest.

To the Philippines
Rizal wrote the original sonnet in Spanish

A glowing and fair like a houri on high, Full of grace and pure like the Morn that peeps When in the sky the clouds are tinted blue, Of th' Indian land, a goddess sleeps. The light foam of the son'rous sea Doth kiss her feet with loving desire; The cultured West adores her smile And the frosty Pole her flow'red attire. With tenderness, stammering, my Muse To her 'midst undines and naiads does sing; I offer her my fortune and bliss: Oh, artists! her brow chaste ring With myrtle green and roses red And lilies, and extol the Philippines!

Our Mother Tongue

A poem originally in Tagalog written by Rizal when he was only eight years old

IF truly a people dearly love The tongue to them by Heaven sent, They'll surely yearn for liberty Like a bird above in the firmament. BECAUSE by its language one can judge A town, a barrio, and kingdom; And like any other created thing Every human being loves his freedom. ONE who doesn't love his native tongue, Is worse than putrid fish and beast; AND like a truly precious thing It therefore deserves to be cherished. THE Tagalog language's akin to Latin, To English, Spanish, angelical tongue; For God who knows how to look after us This language He bestowed us upon. AS others, our language is the same With alphabet and letters of its own, It was lost because a storm did destroy On the lake the bangka 1 in years bygone.

Memories of My Town
When I recall the days That saw my childhood of yore Beside the verdant shore Of a murmuring lagoon; When I remember the sighs Of the breeze that on my brow Sweet and caressing did blow With coolness full of delight; When I look at the lily white Fills up with air violent And the stormy element On the sand doth meekly sleep; When sweet 'toxicating scent From the flowers I inhale Which at the dawn they exhale When at us it begins to peep; I sadly recall your face, Oh precious infancy, That a mother lovingly Did succeed to embellish. I remember a simple town; My cradle, joy and boon, Beside the cool lagoon The seat of all my wish. Oh, yes! With uncertain pace I trod your forest lands, And on your river banks

A pleasant fun I found; At your rustic temple I prayed With a little boy's simple faith And your aura's flawless breath Filled my heart with joy profound. Saw I God in the grandeur Of your woods which for centuries stand; Never did I understand In your bosom what sorrows were; While I gazed on your azure sky Neither love nor tenderness Failed me, 'cause my happiness In the heart of nature rests there. Tender childhood, beautiful town, Rich fountain of happiness, Of harmonious melodies, That drive away my sorrow! Return thee to my heart, Bring back my gentle hours As do the birds when the flow'rs Would again begin to blow! But, alas, adieu! E'er watch For your peace, joy and repose, Genius of good who kindly dispose Of his blessings with amour; It's for thee my fervent pray'rs, It's for thee my constant desire Knowledge ever to acquire And may God keep your candour!

Hymn to Labor
For the Motherland in war, For the Motherland in peace, Will the Filipino keep watch, He will live until life will cease! MEN: Now the East is glowing with light, Go! To the field to till the land, For the labour of man sustains Fam'ly, home and Motherland. Hard the land may turn to be, Scorching the rays of the sun above... For the country, wife and children All will be easy to our love. (Chorus) WIVES: Go to work with spirits high, For the wife keeps home faithfully, Inculcates love in her children For virtue, knowledge and country. When the evening brings repose, On returning joy awaits you, And if fate is adverse, the wife, Shall know the task to continue. (Chorus) MAIDENS :

Hail! Hail! Praise to labour, Of the country wealth and vigor! For it brow serene's exalted, It's her blood, life, and ardor. If some youth would show his love Labor his faith will sustain : Only a man who struggles and works Will his offspring know to maintain. (Chorus) CHILDREN: Teach, us ye the laborious work To pursue your footsteps we wish, For tomorrow when country calls us We may be able your task to finish. And on seeing us the elders will say : "Look, they're worthy 'f their sires of yore!" Incense does not honor the dead As does a son with glory and valor.

Kundiman
Truly hushed today Are my tongue and heart Harm is discerned by love And joy flies away, 'Cause the Country was Vanquished and did yield Through the negligence Of the one who led. But the sun will return to dawn; In spite of everything Subdued people Will be liberated; The Filipino name Will return perhaps And again become In vogue in the world. We shall shed Blood and it shall flood Only to emancipate The native land; While the designated time Does not come, Love will rest And anxiety will sleep.

A Poem That Has No Title

To my Creator I sing Who did soothe me in my great loss; To the Merciful and Kind Who in my troubles gave me repose. Thou with that pow'r of thine Said: Live! And with life myself I found; And shelter gave me thou And a soul impelled to the good Like a compass whose point to the North is bound. Thou did make me descend From honorable home and respectable stock, And a homeland thou gavest me Without limit, fair and rich Though fortune and prudence it does lack.

Song of Maria Clara

A poem, found in Rizal's book Noli Me Tangere, sung by Maria Clara, which accounts for the title

Sweet are the hours in one's own Native Land, All there is friendly o'er which the sun shines above; Vivifying is the breeze that wafts over her fields; Even death is gratifying and more tender is love. Ardent kissed on a mother's lips are at play, On her lap, upon the infant child's awakening, The extended arms do seek her neck to entwine, And the eyes at each other's glimpse are smiling. It is sweet to die in one's own Native Land, All there is friendly o'er which the sun shines above; And deathly is the breeze for one without A country, without a mother and without love.

To the Philippine Youth

Unfold, oh timid flower! Lift up your radiant brow, This day, Youth of my native strand! Your abounding talents show Resplendently and grand, Fair hope of my Motherland! Soar high, oh genius great, And with noble thoughts fill their mind; The honor's glorious seat, May their virgin mind fly and find More rapidly than the wind. Descend with the pleasing light Of the arts and sciences to the plain, Oh Youth, and break forthright The links of the heavy chain That your poetic genius enchain. See that in the ardent zone, The Spaniard, where shadows stand, Doth offer a shining crown, With wise and merciful hand To the son of this Indian land. You, who heavenward rise On wings of your rich fantasy, Seek in the Olympian skies The tenderest poesy, More sweet than divine honey;

You of heavenly harmony, On a calm unperturbed night, Philomel's match in melody, That in varied symphony Dissipate man's sorrow's blight; You at th' impulse of your mind The hard rock animate And your mind with great pow'r consigned Transformed into immortal state The pure mem'ry of genius great; And you, who with magic brush On canvas plain capture The varied charm of Phoebus, Loved by the divine Apelles, And the mantle of Nature; Run ! For genius' sacred flame Awaits the artist's crowning Spreading far and wide the fame Throughout the sphere proclaiming With trumpet the mortal's name Oh, joyful, joyful day, The Almighty blessed be Who, with loving eagerness Sends you luck and happiness.

To Josephine
Rizal dedicated this poem to Josephine Bracken, an Irish woman who went to Dapitan accompanying a man seeking Rizal's services as an ophthalmologist. Josephine, Josephine Who to these shores have come Looking for a nest, a home, Like a wandering swallow; If your fate is taking you To Japan, China or Shanghai, Don't forget that on these shores A heart for you beats high.

Education Gives Luster to Motherland

Wise education, vital breath Inspires an enchanting virtue; She puts the Country in the lofty seat Of endless glory, of dazzling glow, And just as the gentle aura's puff Do brighten the perfumed flower's hue: So education with a wise, guiding hand, A benefactress, exalts the human band. Man's placid repose and earthly life To education he dedicates Because of her, art and science are born Man; and as from the high mount above The pure rivulet flows, undulates, So education beyond measure Gives the Country tranquility secure. Where wise education raises a throne Sprightly youth are invigorated, Who with firm stand error they subdue And with noble ideas are exalted; It breaks immortality's neck, Contemptible crime before it is halted: It humbles barbarous nations And it makes of savages champions. And like the spring that nourishes The plants, the bushes of the meads, She goes on spilling her placid wealth, And with kind eagerness she constantly feeds, The river banks through which she slips, And to beautiful nature all she concedes, So whoever procures education wise Until the height of honor may rise. From her lips the waters crystalline Gush forth without end, of divine virtue, And prudent doctrines of her faith The forces weak of evil subdue,

That break apart like the whitish waves That lash upon the motionless shoreline: And to climb the heavenly ways the people Do learn with her noble example. In the wretched human beings' breast The living flame of good she lights The hands of criminal fierce she ties, And fill the faithful hearts with delights, Which seeks her secrets beneficent And in the love for the good her breast she incites, And it's th' education noble and pure Of human life the balsam sure. And like a rock that rises with pride In the middle of the turbulent waves When hurricane and fierce Notus roar She disregards their fury and raves, That weary of the horror great So frightened calmly off they stave; Such is one by wise education steered He holds the Country's reins unconquered. His achievements on sapphires are engraved; The Country pays him a thousand honors; For in the noble breasts of her sons Virtue transplanted luxuriant flow'rs; And in the love of good e'er disposed Will see the lords and governors The noble people with loyal venture Christian education always procure. And like the golden sun of the morn Whose rays resplendent shedding gold, And like fair aurora of gold and red She overspreads her colors bold; Such true education proudly gives The pleasure of virtue to young and old And she enlightens out Motherland dear As she offers endless glow and luster.

To Virgin Mary
Mary, sweet peace, solace dear Of pained mortal ! You're the fount Whence emanates the stream of succor, That without cease our soil fructifies. From thy throne, from heaven high, Kindly hear my sorrowful cry! And may thy shining veil protect My voice that rises with rapid flight. Thou art my Mother, Mary, pure; Thou'll be the fortress of my life; Thou'll be my guide on this angry sea. If ferociously vice pursues me, If in my pains death harasses me, Help me, and drive away my woes!

Sa Aking Mga Kabata

Unang Tula ni Rizal. Sa edad 8, isunulat ni Rizal ang una niyang tula ng isinulat sa katutubong wika at pinamagatang "SA AKING MGA KABATA".

Kapagka ang bayay sadyang umiibig Sa langit salitang kaloob ng langit Sanlang kalayaan nasa ring masapi Katulad ng ibong nasa himpapawid Pagkat ang salitay isang kahatulan Sa bayan, sa nayo't mga kaharian

At ang isang taoy katulad, kabagay Ng alin mang likha noong kalayaan. Ang hindi magmahal sa kanyang salita Mahigit sa hayop at malansang isda Kaya ang marapat pagyamanin kusa Na tulad sa inang tunay na nagpala Ang wikang Tagalog tulad din sa Latin,

Sa Ingles, Kastila, at salitang anghel, Sapagkat ang Poong maalam tumingin Ang siyang naggagawad, nagbibigay sa atin. Ang salita natiy tulad din sa iba

Na may alfabeto at sariling letra, Na kaya nawalay dinatnan ng sigwa Ang lunday sa lawa noong dakong una.

To My Muse
(Translation By Charles Derbyshire)

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 require, Helicons hill remains unsought; And without heed we but inquire, Why the coffee is not brought. In the place of thought sincere That our hearts may feel, 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 love hast fired me; Go thou now to dull 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. One by one they have passed on, All I loved and moved among; Dead or marriedfrom me gone, For all I place my heart upon By fate adverse are stung. Go thou, too, O Muse, depart, Other regions fairer find; For my land but 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

Noli Me Tangere
Spain, to Rizal, was a venue for realizing his dreams. He finished his studies in Madrid and this to him was the realization of the bigger part of his ambition. His vision broadened while he was in Spain to the point of awakening in him an understanding of human nature, sparking in him the realization that his people needed him. It must have been this sentiment that prompted him to pursue, during the re-organizational meeting of the Circulo-Hispano-Filipino, to be one of its activities, the publication of a book to which all the members would contribute papers on the various aspects and conditions of Philippines life. "My proposal on the book," he wrote on January 2, 1884, "was unanimously approved. But afterwards difficulties and objections were raised which seemed to me rather odd, and a number of gentlemen stood up and refused to discuss the matter any further. In view of this I decided not to press it any longer, feeling that it was impossible to count on general support" "Fortunately," writes one of Rizals biographers, the anthology, if we may call it that, was never written. Instead, the next year, Pedro Paterno published his Ninay, a novel sub-titled Costumbres filipinas (Philippines Customs), thus partly fulfilling the original purpose of Rizals plan. He himself (Rizal), as we have seen, had put aside his pen in deference to the wishes of his parents. But the idea of writing a novel himself must have grown on him. It would be no poem to forgotten after a year, no essay in a review of scant circulation, no speech that passed in the night, but a long and serious work on which he might labor, exercising his mind and hand, without troubling his mothers sleep. He would call it Noli Me Tangere; the Latin echo of the Spoliarium is not without significance. He seems to have told no one in his family about his grand design; it is not mentioned in his correspondence until the book is well-nigh completed. But the other expatriates knew what he was doing; later, when Pastells was blaming the Noli on the influence of German Protestants, he would call his compatriots to witness that he had written half of the novel in Madrid a fourth part in Paris, and only the remainder in Germany. "From the first," writes Leon Ma. Guerrero, Rizal was haunted by the fear that his novel would never find its way into print, that it would remain unread. He had little enough money for his own needs, let alone the cost of the Nolis publication Characteristically, Rizal would not hear of asking his friends for help. He did not want to compromise them. Viola insisted on lending him the money (P300 for 2,000 copies); Rizal at first demurred Finally

Rizal gave in and the novel went to press. The proofs were delivered daily, and one day the messenger, according to Viola, took it upon himself to warn the author that if he ever returned to the Philippines he would lose his head. Rizal was too enthralled by seeing his work in print to do more than smile. The printing apparently took considerably less time than the original estimate of five months for Viola did not arrive in Berlin until December and by the 21st March 1887, Rizal was already sending Blumentritt a copy of "my first book." Rizal, himself, describing the nature of the Noli Me Tangere to his friend Blumentritt, wrote, "The Novel is the first impartial and bold account of the life of the tagalogs. The Filipinos will find in it the history of the last ten years" Criticism and attacks against the Noli and its author came from all quarters. An anonymous letter signed "A Friar" and sent to Rizal, dated February 15, 1888, says in part: "How ungrateful you are If you, or for that matter all your men, think you have a grievance, then challenge us and we shall pick up the gauntlet, for we are not cowards like you, which is not to say that a hidden hand will not put an end to your life." A special committee of the faculty of the University of Santo Tomas, at the request of the Archbishop Pedro Payo, found and condemned the novel as heretical, impious, and scandalous in its religious aspect, and unpatriotic, subversive of public order and harmful to the Spanish government and its administration of theses islands in its political aspect. On December 28, 1887, Fray Salvador Font, the cura of Tondo and chairman of the Permanent Commission of Censorship composed of laymen and ordered that the circulation of this pernicious book" be absolutely prohibited. Not content, Font caused the circulation of copies of the prohibition, an act which brought an effect contrary to what he desired. Instead of what he expected, the negative publicity awakened more the curiosity of the people who managed to get copies of the book. Assisting Father Font in his aim to discredit the Noli was an Augustinian friar by the name of Jose Rodriguez. In a pamphlet entitled Caiingat Cayo (Beware). Fr. Rodriguez warned the people that in reading the book they "commit mortal sin," considering that it was full of heresy.

As far as Madrid, there was furor over the Noli, as evidenced by an article which bitterly criticized the novel published in a Madrid newspaper in January, 1890, and written by one Vicente Barrantes. In like manner, a member of the Senate in the Spanish Cortes assailed the novel as "anti-Catholic, Protestant, socialistic." It is well to note that not detractors alone visibly reacted to the effects of the Noli. For if there were bitter critics, another group composed of staunch defenders found every reason to justify its publication and circulation to the greatest number of Filipinos. For instance, Marcelo H. Del Pilar, cleverly writing under an assumed name Dolores Manapat, successfully circulated a publication that negated the effect of Father Rodriguez Caiingat Cayo, Del Pilars piece was entitled Caiigat Cayo (Be Slippery as an Eel). Deceiving similar in format to Rodriguez Caiingat Cayo, the people were readily "misled" into getting not a copy o Rodriguez piece but Del Pillars. The Noli Me Tangere found another staunch defender in the person of a Catholic theologian of the Manila Cathedral, in Father Vicente Garcia. Under the pen-name Justo Desiderio Magalang. Father Garcia wrote a very scholarly defense of the Noli, claiming among other things that Rizal cannot be an ignorant man, being the product of Spanish officials and corrupt friars; he himself who had warned the people of committing mortal sin if they read the novel had therefore committed such sin for he has read the novel. Consequently, realizing how much the Noli had awakened his countrymen, to the point of defending his novel, Rizal said: "Now I die content." Fittingly, Rizal found it a timely and effective gesture to dedicate his novel to the country of his people whose experiences and sufferings he wrote about, sufferings which he brought to light in an effort to awaken his countrymen to the truths that had long remained unspoken, although not totally unheard of.

El Filibusterismo
The word "filibustero" wrote Rizal to his friend, Ferdinand Blumentritt, is very little known in the Philippines. The masses do not know it yet.

Jose Alejandro, one of the new Filipinos who had been quite intimate with Rizal, said, "in writing the Noli Rizal signed his own death warrant." Subsequent events, after the fate of the Noli was sealed by the Spanish authorities, prompted Rizal to write the continuation of his first novel. He confessed, however, that regretted very much having killed Elias instead of Ibarra, reasoning that when he published the Noli his health was very much broken, and was very unsure of being able to write the continuation and speak of a revolution. Explaining to Marcelo H. del Pilar his inability to contribute articles to the La Solidaridad, Rizal said that he was haunted by certain sad presentiments, and that he had been dreaming almost every night of dead relatives and friends a few days before his 29th birthday, that is why he wanted to finish the second part of the Noli at all costs. Consequently, as expected of a determined character, Rizal apparently went in writing, for to his friend, Blumentritt, he wrote on March 29, 1891: "I have finished my book. Ah! Ive not written it with any idea of vengeance against my enemies, but only for the good of those who suffer and for the rights of Tagalog humanity, although brown and not good-looking." To a Filipino friend in Hong Kong, Jose Basa, Rizal likewise eagerly announced the completion of his second novel. Having moved to Ghent to have the book published at cheaper cost, Rizal once more wrote his friend, Basa, in Hongkong on July 9, 1891: "I am not sailing at once, because I am now printing the second part of the Noli here, as you may see from the enclosed pages. I prefer to publish it in some other way before leaving Europe, for it seemed to me a pity not to do so. For the past three months I have not received a single centavo, so I have pawned all that I have in order to publish this book. I will continue publishing it as long as I can; and when there is nothing to pawn I will stop and return to be at your side." Inevitably, Rizals next letter to Basa contained the tragic news of the suspension of the printing of the sequel to his first novel due to lack of funds, forcing him to stop and leave the book half-way. "It is a pity," he wrote Basa, "because it seems to me that this second part is more important than the first, and if I do not finish it here, it will never be finished."

Fortunately, Rizal was not to remain in despair for long. A compatriot, Valentin Ventura, learned of Rizals predicament. He offered him financial assistance. Even then Rizals was forced to shorten the novel quite drastically, leaving only thirty-eight chapters compared to the sixty-four chapters of the first novel. Rizal moved to Ghent, and writes Jose Alejandro. The sequel to Rizals Noli came off the press by the middle of September, 1891.On the 18th he sent Basa two copies, and Valentin Ventura the original manuscript and an autographed printed copy. Inspired by what the word filibustero connoted in relation to the circumstances obtaining in his time, and his spirits dampened by the tragic execution of the three martyred priests, Rizal aptly titled the second part of the Noli Me Tangere, El Filibusterismo. In veneration of the three priests, he dedicated the book to them. "To the memory of the priests, Don Mariano Gomez (85 years old), Don Jose Burgos (30 years old), and Don Jacinto Zamora (35 years old). Executed in the Bagumbayan Field on the 28th of February, 1872." "The church, by refusing to degrade you, has placed in doubt the crime that has been imputed to you; the Government, by surrounding your trials with mystery and shadows causes the belief that there was some error, committed in fatal moments; and all the Philippines, by worshipping your memory and calling you martyrs, in no sense recognizes your culpability. In so far, therefore, as your complicity in the Cavite Mutiny is not clearly proved, as you may or may not have been patriots, and as you may or may not cherished sentiments for justice and for liberty, I have the right to dedicate my work to you as victims of the evil which I undertake to combat. And while we await expectantly upon Spain some day to restore your good name and cease to be answerable for your death, let these pages serve as a tardy wreath of dried leaves over one who without clear proofs attacks your memory stains his hands in your blood." Rizals memory seemed to have failed him, though, for Father Gomez was then 73 not 85, Father Burgos 35 not 30 Father Zamora 37 not 35; and the date of execution 17th not 28th. The FOREWORD of the Fili was addressed to his beloved countrymen, thus: "TO THE FILIPINO PEOPLE AND THEIR GOVERNMENT"