9 September 2016

Whenever people of a country truly love The language which by heaven they were taught to use That country also surely liberty pursue As does, the bird which soars to freer space above.

For language is the final judge and referee Upon the people in the land where it holds sway; In the truth our human race resembles in this way The other living beings born in liberty. Whenever knows not how to love his native tongue Is worse than any beast or evil swelling fish. To make our language richer ought to be our wish The same as any mother loves to feed her young. Tagalog and the Latin language are the sameAnd English and Castilian and the angel’s tongue; And God, whose watchful in the speech we claim. Our mother tongue, like all the highest that we know Had alphabet and letter of its very own; But these were lost-by furious waves were overthrown Like bancas in the stormy sea, long years ago. MY FIRST INSPIRATION Why do the scented flowers In fragrant fray Rizal each other’s 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 gender grass, Flitting from bough to bough With the winds that pass? And why does the crystal springRun among the flowers While lullaby zephyrs sing Like its crystal showers? I see the dawn in the east With beauty endowed. Why goes she to a feast In a carmine cloud? Sweet mother, they celebrate You natal day The rose with her scent innate, The bird with his lay MY LAST FAREWELL (Mi Ultimo Adios) Farewell, dear Fatherland, clime the sun caress’d, Peal of the orient seas, our Eden lost! Gladly now I go to give thee this faded life’s best, And were it brighter, fresher, or more blest, Still would I give three, nor count the cost.

Rizal Essay Example

On the field of battle,’mid the frenzy of fight, Others have given theirs lives, without doubt or breed;The place not matters-cypress or laurel or lily white, Scaffold or open-plain, combat or martyrdom’s plight, It’s ever the same, to serve our home and country’s need. I die just when I see the dawn break Though the gloom of night, to herald the day; And if color is lacking my blood shalt take, Pour’d out at need for they dear sake, To dye with its crimson the walking ray. My dreams, when life first opened to me, My dreams when the hopes of youth beat high, Were to see thy lov’d face, O gem of the Orient sea, From gloom and grief, from care and sorrow free; No blush on thy brow, no tear in thine eyes.Dream of my life, my living and burning desire, All hail! Cris the soul that is now to tale fight; All hail! And sweet it is for thee to expire; To die for thy sake, that thou may’st aspires; And sleep in thy blossom eternity’s long night. If over my grave some day thou sees grow, In the grassy sod, a humble flower, Draw to thy lips and kiss my soul so, While I feel on my brow in the cold tomb below The tough of thy tenderness, thy breath’s warm power. Let the moon beam over me soft and serene, Let the dawn shed over me its radiant flashes, Let the wind sad lament over me keen; And if on my cross a bird should be seen,Let it thrill there is hymn of peace to my aches. Let the sun draw vapors up to the sky, And heavenward in purity bear my tardy protest; Let some kind soul o’er my untimely fate sigh, And in the still evening a pray be lifted on high, From there, O my country, that in God I may rest.

Pray for all those that hapless have died, For all who have suffered the unmeasr’d pain; For our mothers that bitterly their woes have cried; For widows and orphans, for captives by torture tried; And then for thyself that redemption thou mayst gain. And when the dark night wraps the graveyard around, With only the dead in their vigil to see;Break not my repose or thy mystery profound, And perchance thou mayst bear a sad hymn resound; Tis I, O my country, raising a song unto thee. When even my grace is remembered no more, Unmark’d by never a cross nor a stone; Let the plow sweep through it, the spade turn it o’er, That my ashes may carpet thy earthly floor, Before into nothingness at last they are blown. Then will oblivion bring me no care, As over thy Wales and plains I sweep; Throbbing and cleansed in thy space and air, With color and light, with a song and lament I fare, Ever repeating the faith I keep. My Fatherlands ador’d that sadness to my sorrow lends,Beloved Filipino, hear now my last goodbye! Fir I go where no slave before the oppressor bends, Where faith can never kill, and God reigns e’er on high! Farewell to you all, my soul torn away, Friends of my childhood in the home of dispossessed! Give thanks that I rest in the wearisome day! Farwell to thee, too, sweet friend that lightened my way; Beloved creatures all, farewell! In death there is rest! TO THE FILIPINO YOUTH (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 the inspiration; With thy mighty hand, Swifter than eager mind to higher station. Come down with pleasing light OF art and sciences to the flight, O youth, and there untie The chains that heavy lie, Your spirit free to bright. See how in flaming zone Amid the shadows thrown The Spaniard’s holy land A crown’s resplendent band Proffers to this Indian land.

Thou, who now would rise On wings of rich empires, Seek from Olympian skies Song of sweetest strain, Soften than ambrosial rain. Thou whose voice divine Rivals Philomel’s refrain, And with varied line Through the night benign Frees mortality from pain.Thou, who by short strife Wakest thy mind to life; And the memory bright Of thy genius light Makes immortal in its strength. And thou, in accents clear Of Phoebus, to Apollo’s dear; OR by the brush’s magic art Takest form nature’s store a part To fix on the simple canvas’ length. Go forth, and then sacred fire OF they genius to the laurel may aspire; To spread around the flame, And in variety acclaim, Through under spheres the human name. Day, O happy day, Fair Filipinas, for my land! So bless the Power today That places in thy way This favor and this fortune grand. THEY ASK ME FOR VERSES You bid now to strike the lyre,That mute and torn so long has lain; And yet I cannot wake the stain, Nor will the Muse one note inspire! Coldly, it shakes in accents dire, As if my soul itself tow ring, And when its sound seems but to fling A jest at its own low lament; So in said isolate pent, My soul can neither feel nor sing.

There was a time-ah-it’s too true- But that time long ago has past- – When upon me the Muse had cast Indulgent smile and friendship’s 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 out its Eastern bed, Where all round perfume is shed And life but as a dream is known; The land that I can call my own By me forgotten ne’er 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 childhood’s happy day, I learn upon its sun y o 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 worth glad acclaim,And earth to heaven together bind! ” But it left, and now no more- Like a tree that is broken and sure- My natal gods bring the echo clear, OF songs that in past times they bore; Wide seas I cross’d to foreign shore, With hope of change and other fate, My folly was made clear too late, For in the place of good I sought The seas reveal’s unto naught, But made death’s specre on me wait. All these fond fancies that were mine, All love, all feeling, all emprise, Were left, beneath the sunny skies; Which o’er that flowery region shine; So press no more the plea of mine, For song of love from out of heart That coldly lies tortur’d soul I hasteUnresting o’re the desert waste, And lifeless gone is all the art. TO THE FLOWERS OF HEIDELBERG Go to my native land, go, foreign flowers. Sown by the traveler 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, Her early light diffusing. Your petals first flung open wide; His steps beside chill Necker drawn, You see him silent by your side. Upon its spring perennial musing. Saw how when morning’s light, 3All your fragrance stealing, Whispers to you as in mirth, Playful songs of Love’s delight,He, too, murmurs his love’s feeling In the tongue he learned at birth. That when the sun of Keenigstuhl’s height Pours out its golden flood, And with its slowly warming light Gives light to vale and grove and wood, He greets that sun, here only uprising, Which in his native land is at its zenith blazing. All tell thereof that day he stood, Near to a ruin’d or shady wood, And pluck’d you from beside the way Tell, too, that tale to you addressed, And how with tender care, You bending leaves he press’d Twist pages of some volume rare. Bear them, O flowers, love’s message bear; My love to all the lov’d ones there,Peace to my country-fruitful land – Faith whereon its son may stand, And virtue for its daughter’ care; All those beloved creatures greet, That still around home’s altar meet.

And when you come unto its shore, This kiss I now on you bestow, Fling where the winged breezes blow; That borne on them it may hover o’er 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, Still here you fragrance will expand: Your soul that never quits the earth Whose life smiled on you at your birth. \ THE SONG OF MARIA CLARASweet are the hours in one native land, Where all is dear the sunbeams bless; Life-giving breezes sweep the strand, And death is softened by love’s cares. Warm kisses play on mother’s lips, On her fond, tender breast awakening; When around her neck the soft am slips, And bright eyes smile, all love partaking. Sweet is death for one’s native land, Where all is der the sun beams bless; Death is the breeze that sweeps the strand, Without a mother, home, or love’s caress THE SONG OF THE TRAVELLER Like to a leaf that is fallen and withered, Tossed by the tempest from pole unto pole; Thus roams the pilgrim abroad without purpose,Roams without love, without country or soil. Following anxiously treacherous fortune; Fortune which ne’er as he grasp as 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 and West; Of the remembers the faces of love ones, Dreams of the day when he, too, was at rest.

Chance may assign him tomb of 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 seagull above;Little, ah, little they know what a void Saddens his soul be the absences of love. Home may the pilgrim return in the future, Back to his loved ones his footsteps he bends, Naught will he find our snow and the ruins, Ashes of love and the tomb of his friends. Pilgrims, begone! Nor return more hereafter, Stranger thou art in the land of thy birth; Others may sing of their love while rejoicing, Thou once again must roam o’er the earth. Pilgrim, begone! Nor return hereafter, Dry are the tears that awhile for thee ran; Pilgrim, begone! And forget thine affliction, Loud laughs the world at the sorrows of man. * HYMMN TO LABORChorus: For our country in war For our country in peace The Filipino will be ready While he lives and when he dies. Men: As soon as the East is tinted with the light Forth to the fields to plow the loam! Since it is work that sustains the man, The motherland, family, and the home. Hard though the soil may prove to be, Implacable the sun above, For motherland, our wives and babes, T’will is easy with our love.

Wives: Courageously set out to work, You 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 praise to work! The country’s vigor and her wealth; For work lift up you brow serene I is your blood, your life, your health. If any youth protest his love His works hall proves if he is good. That man alone who strives and toils Can find the way to feed his brood. Boys: Teach us then the hardest task For down thy trails we turn our feet That when our country calls 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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