1. MemoriesofMyTown
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!
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 Religion,
Education gains renown, and
Woe to the impious mind
that blindly spurning
The sapient teachings of
religion, this
Unpolluted fountain-head

2. forsakes.
As the sprout, growing from
the pompous vine,
Proudly offers us its
honeyed clusters
While the generous and
loving garment
Feeds its roots; so the
fresh’ning waters
Of celestial virtue give new
life
To Education true,
shedding
On it warmth and light;
because of them
The vine smells sweet and
gives delicious fruit
Without Religion, Human
Education
Is like unto a vessel struck
by winds
Which, sore beset, is of its
helm deprived
By the roaring blows and
buffets of the dread
Tempestuous Boreas, who
fiercely wields
His power until he proudly
send her down
Into the deep abysses of
then angered sea.
As the heaven’s dew the
meadow feeds and strengthen
So that blooming flowers all
the earth
Embroider in the days of
spring; so also
If Religion holy nourishes
Education with its doctrine,
she
Shall walk in joy and
generosity
Toward the good, and
everywhere bestrew
The fragrant and luxuriant
fruits of virtue
TO THE FILIPINO YOUTH
Hold high your faultless brow,
Filipino youth, on this day grand!
Shine forth resplendent now,
In gallant glory stand,
Handsome home of my motherland!
Radiant Genius, arise!
Make thy noblest dreams his own;
Catch his mind in keen surprise;
Swifter than by tempest blown
Sweep him up to glory's throne!
Descend, O youth, -- the lovely light
Of art and science in your train; --
On life's arena, smite
And break the heavy chain
Where long your pinioned poetry
hath lain.
Behold how, on this ardent zone
Where shadows dwell, the
Spaniard's hand,
So wise and pious grown,
Confers a garland grand
Upon the youth of our fair Indian
land!
O you, who now aspiring rise
On fancy's gifted wings
From Mount Olympus to the skies,

3. While Poetry more sweetly sings
Than any sweetness nectar ever
brings.
Ye rivals of the nightingale
Who carol some celestial lay
Beneath the night moon pale,
And by the tune you play
Drive bitter mortal pain away.
All ye who hold the power to free
Those sorely grieved, by your
charm'd word,
And fix in their fond memory,
That by your genius is stirred,
The immortal thought that ye have
heard.
And ye who Phoebus' charms
expose,
That stole divine Apollo's heart;
And borrowing from nature's
clothes,
With artist's magic art,
On linen canvas portray every part.
O hasten! See whose sacred flame
Of genius will be laurel crowned;
And hear what moral name,
While trumpet peals resound,
Around the whole wide world will
be renowned!
O blessed day and hour,
Beloved Filipinas, for your land,
Thanks to the mighty Power
Which, with loving hand,
This venture and this consolation
planned
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
Woulds’t rather than be
sovereign
Be sherperd of thy sheep
To the Flowers of
Heidelberg
Go to my country, go, O foreign flowers,
sown by the traveler along the road,
and under that blue heaven
that watches over my loved ones,
recount the devotion
the pilgrim nurses for his native sod!
Go and say say that when dawn
opened your chalices for the first time
beside the icy Neckar,
you saw him silent beside you,
thinking of her constant vernal clime.
Say that when dawn
which steals your aroma
was whispering playful love songs to your
young
sweet petals, he, too, murmured
canticles of love in his native tongue;
that in the morning when the sun first
traces
the topmost peak of Koenigssthul in gold
and with a mild warmth raises
to life again the valley, the glade, the
forest,
he hails that sun, still in its dawning,
that in his country in full zenith blazes.

4. And tell of that day
when he collected you along the way
among the ruins of a feudal castle,
on the banks of the Neckar, or in a forest
nook.
Recount the words he said
as, with great care,
between the pages of a worn-out book
he pressed the flexible petals that he took.
Carry, carry, O flowers,
my love to my loved ones,
peace to my country and its fecund loam,
faith to its men and virtue to its women,
health to the gracious beings
that dwell within the sacred paternal
home.
When you reach that shore,
deposit the kiss I gave you
on the wings of the wind above
that with the wind it may rove
and I may kiss all that I worship, honor
and love!
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 require,
Helicon’s 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;
E’en sometimes I must weep;
For he who love would keep
Great pain has undergone.
Fled are the days of ease,
The days of Love’s delight;
When flowers still would please
And give to suffering souls surcease
From pain and sorrow’s blight.
One by one they have passed on,
All I loved and moved among;
Dead or married—from 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 tyrant’s crime.
Hymn to Talisay
Hail, Talisay,
firm and faithful,
ever forward
march elate!
You, victorious,
the elements
—land, sea and air—
shall dominate!

5. The sandy beach of Dapitan
and the rocks of its lofty mountain
are your throne. O sacred asylum
where I passed my childhood days!
In your valley covered with flowers
and shaded by fruitful orchards,
our minds received their formation,
both body and soul, by your grace.
We are children, children born late,
but our spirits are fresh and healthy;
strong men shall we be tomorrow
that can guard a family right.
We are children that nothing frightens,
not the waves, nor the storm, nor the
thunder;
the arm ready, the young face tranquil,
in a fix we shall know how to fight.
We ransack the sand in our frolic;
through the caves and the thickets we
ramble;
our houses are built upon rocks;
our arms reach far and wide.
No darkness, and no dark night,
that we fear, no savage tempest;
if the devil himself comes forward,
we shall catch him, dead or alive!
Talisayon, the people call us:
a great soul in a little body;
in Dapitan and all its region
Talisay has no match!
Our reservoir is unequalled;
our precipice is a deep chasm;
and when we go rowing, our bancas
no banca in the world can catch!
We study the problems of science
and the history of the nation.
We speak some three or four languages;
faith and reason we span.
Our hands can wield at the same time
the knife, the pen and the spade,
the picket, the rifle, the sword—
companions of a brave man.
Long live luxuriant Talisay!
Our voices exalt you in chorus,
clear star, dear treasure of childhood,
a childhood you guide and please.
In the struggles that await the grown
man,
subject to pain and sorrow,
your memory shall be his amulet;
and your name, in the tomb, his peace.
My Retreat
Beside a spacious beach of fine and delicate
sand
and at the foot of a mountain greener than a
leaf,
I planted my humble hut beneath a pleasant
orchard,
seeking in the still serenity of the woods
repose to my intellect and silence to my
grief.
Its roof is fragile nipa; its floor is brittle
bamboo;
its beams and posts are rough as rough-hewn
wood can be;
of no worth, it is certain, is my rustic cabin;
but on the lap of the eternal mount it
slumbers
and night and day is lulled by the crooning
of the sea.
The overflowing brook, that from the
shadowy jungle
descends between huge bolders, washes it
with its spray,
donating a current of water through
makeshift bamboo pipes
that in the silent night is melody and music
and crystalline nectar in the noon heat of the
day.

6. If the sky is serene, meekly flows the spring,
strumming on its invisible zither
unceasingly;
but come the time of the rains, and an
impetuous torrent
spills over rocks and chasms—hoarse,
foaming and aboil—
to hurl itself with a frenzied roaring toward
the sea.
The barking of the dog, the twittering of the
birds,
the hoarse voice of the kalaw are all that I
hear;
there is no boastful man, no nuisance of a
neighbor
to impose himself on my mind or to disturb
my passage;
only the forests and the sea do I have near.
The sea, the sea is everything! Its sovereign
mass
brings to me atoms of a myriad faraway
lands;
its bright smile animates me in the limpid
mornings;
and when at the end of day my faith has
proven futile,
my heart echoes the sound of its sorrow on
the sands.
At night it is a mystery! … Its diaphanous
element
is carpeted with thousands and thousands of
lights that climb;
the wandering breeze is cool, the firmament
is brilliant,
the waves narrate with many a sigh to the
mild wind
histories that were lost in the dark night of
time.
‘Tis said they tell of the first morning on the
earth,
of the first kiss with which the sun inflamed
her breast,
when multitudes of beings materialized from
nothing
to populate the abyss and the overhanging
summits
and all the places where that quickening kiss
was pressed.
But when the winds rage in the darkness of
the night
and the unquiet waves commence their
agony,
across the air move cries that terrify the
spirit,
a chorus of voices praying, a lamentation
that seems
to come from those who, long ago, drowned
in the sea.
Then do the mountain ranges on high
reverberate;
the trees stir far and wide, by a fit of
trembling seized;
the cattle moan; the dark depths of the forest
resound;
their spirits say that they are on their way to
the plain,
summoned by the dead to a mortuary feast.
The wild night hisses, hisses, confused and
terrifying;
one sees the sea afire with flames of green
and blue;
but calm is re-established with the approach
of dawning
and forthwith an intrepid little fishing vessel
begins to navigate the weary waves anew.
So pass the days of my life in my obscure
retreat;
cast out of the world where once I dwelt:
such is my rare
good fortune; and Providence be praised for
my condition:
a disregarded pebble that craves nothing but
moss
to hide from all the treasure that in myself I

7. bear.
I live with the remembrance of those that I
have loved
and hear their names still spoken, who haunt
my memory;
some already are dead, others have long
forgotten—
but what does it matter? I live remembering
the past
and no one can ever take the past away from
me.
It is my faithful friend that never turns
against me,
that cheers my spirit when my spirit’s a
lonesome wraith,
that in my sleepless nights keeps watch with
me and prays
with me, and shares with me my exile and
my cabin,
and, when all doubt, alone infuses me with
faith.
Faith do I have, and I believe the day will
shine
when the Idea shall defeat brute force as
well;
and after the struggle and the lingering
agony
a voice more eloquent and happier than my
own
will then know how to utter victory’s
canticle.
I see the heavens shining, as flawless and
refulgent
as in the days that saw my first illusions
start;
I feel the same breeze kissing my autumnal
brow,
the same that once enkindled my fervent
enthusiasm
and turned the blood ebullient within my
youthful heart.
Across the fields and rivers of my native
town
perhaps has traveled the breeze that now I
breathe by chance;
perhaps it will give back to me what once I
gave it:
the sighs and kisses of a person idolized
and the sweet secrets of a virginal romance.
On seeing the same moon, as silvery as
before,
I feel within me the ancient melancholy
revive;
a thousand memories of love and vows
awaken:
a patio, an azotea, a beach, a leafy bower;
silences and sighs, and blushes of delight …
A butterfly athirst for radiances and colors,
dreaming of other skies and of a larger
strife,
I left, scarcely a youth, my land and my
affections,
and vagrant everywhere, with no qualms,
with no terrors,
squandered in foreign lands the April of my
life.
And afterwards, when I desired, a weary
swallow,
to go back to the nest of those for whom I
care,
suddenly fiercely roared a violent hurricane
and I found my wings broken, my dwelling
place demolished,
faith now sold to others, and ruins
everywhere.
Hurled upon a rock of the country I adore;
the future ruined; no home, no health to
bring me cheer;
you come to me anew, dreams of rose and
gold,
of my entire existence the solitary treasure,
convictions of a youth that was healthy and
sincere.

8. No more are you, like once, full of fire and
life,
offering a thousand crowns to immortality;
somewhat serious I find you; and yet your
face beloved,
if now no longer as merry, if now no longer
as vivid,
now bear the superscription of fidelity.
You offer me, O illusions, the cup of
consolation;
you come to reawaken the years of youthful
mirth;
hurricane, I thank you; winds of heaven, I
thank you
that in good hour suspended by uncertain
flight
to bring me down to the bosom of my native
earth.
Beside a spacious beach of fine and delicate
sand
and at the foot of a mountain greener than a
leaf,
I found in my land a refuge under a pleasant
orchard,
and in its shadowy forests, serene
tranquility,
repose to my intellect and silence to my
grief.