Mi Ultimo Adis Adis, Patria adorada, regin del sol querida, perla del Mar de Oriente, nuestro perdido

edn, darte voy, alegre, la triste, mustia vida; y fuera ms brillante, ms fresca, ms florida, tambin por ti la diera, la diera por t bien. En campos de batalla, luchando con delirio, otros te dan sus vidas, sin dudas, sin pesar. El sitio nada importa: ciprs, laurel o lirio, cadalso o campo abierto, combate o cruel martirio. lo mismo es si lo piden la Patria y el hogar. Yo muero, cuando veo que el cielo se colora y al fin anuncia el da, tras lbrego capuz; Si grana necesitas, para teir tu aurora, ivierte la sangre ma, derrmala en buen ahora, y drela un reflejo de su naciente luz! Mis sueos, cuando apenas muchacho adolescente, mis sueos cuando jven, ya lleno de vigor, fueron el verte un da, joya del Mar de Oriente, secos los negros ojos, alta la tersa frente, sin ceo, sin arrugas, sin manchas de rubor. Ensueo de mi vida, mi ardiente vivo anhelo. salud! te grita el alma que pronto va a partir; Salud! iah, que es hermoso caer por darte vuelo, morir por darte vida, morir bajo tu cielo, y en tu encantada tierra la eternidad dormir! Si sobre mi sepulcro vieres brotar, un da, entre la espesa yerba, sencilla humilde flor, acrcala a tus labios y besa el alma ma, y sienta yo en mi frente, bajo la tumba fra, de tu ternura el soplo, de tu hlito el calor. Deja la luna verme, con luz tranquila y suave;

deja que el alba enve su resplandor fugaz; deja gemir al viento, con su murmullo grave; y si desciende y posa sobre mi cruz un ave, deja que el ave entone su cntico de paz. Deja que el sol, ardiendo, las lluvias evapore y al cielo tornen puras, con mi clamor en pos; deja que un ser amigo mi fin temprano Ilore; y en las serenas tardes, cuando por m alguien ore, ora tambin, oh patria, por mi descanso a Dios. Ora por todos cuantos murieron sin ventura; por cuantos padecieron tormentos sin igual; por nuestras pobres madres, que gimen su amargura; por hurfanos y viudas, por presos en tortura, y ora por t, que veas tu redencin final. Y cuando, en noche obscura, se envuelva el cementerio, y solos los muertos queden velando all, no turbes su reposo, no turbes el misterio: tal vez acordes oigas de ctara o salterio; isoy yo, querida Patria, yo que te canto a t. Y cuando ya mi tumba, de todos olvidada, no tenga cruz ni piedra que marquen su lugar, deja que la are el hombre, la esparza con la azada, y mis cenizas, antes que vuelvan a la nada, el polvo de tu alfombra que vayan a formar. Entonces nada importa me pongas en olvido; tu atmsfera, tu espacio, tus valles cruzar; vibrante y limpia nota ser para tu odo: Aroma, luz, colores, rumor, canto, gemido, constante repitiendo la esencia de mi fe. Mi Ptria idolatrada, dolor de mis dolores, querida Filipinas, oye el postrer adis. ahi, te dejo todo: mis padres, mis amores. voy donde no hay esclavos, verdugos ni opresores;

donde la fe no mata, donde el que reina es Dios. Adis, padres y hermanos, trozos del alma ma, amigos de la infancia, en el perdido hogar; Dad gracias, que descanso del fatigoso da; Ados, dulce extranjera, mi amiga, mi alegra; Ados, queridos seres! Morir es descansar!

MY LAST FAREWELL Fare thee well, motherland I adore, region the sun holds dear Pearl of the sea oriental, our paradise come to grief; I go with gladness to give thee my life all withered and drear; Though it were more brilliant, more fresh with flowery cheer, Even then for thee would I give it, would give it for thy relief. On many a field of battle, struggling mad with delirium, Others gave thee their lives, without a doubt or lament; The place does not matter at all; cypress, laurel or lily may come, The open arena or scaffold, a fight or a cruel martyrdom, 'Tis the same if to that by one's home, and his motherland he is sent. I am dying as now I behold how color is staining the sky, Announcing the day at last beyond this dismal night; If thou requirest scarlet with which thine aurora to dye, Behold then, here is my blood, poured out as thine hour is nigh -I give it to thee for reflecting the gleam of thy natal light. My dreams, while yet merely a child, or when nearing maturity, My dreams, when a youth full of vigor at length I became, Where to see Thee one happier day, O jewel of the orient sea, Thine ebon eyes dried of their tears, thine uplifted brow clear and free From the frowns and the furrows, the stains and the stigma of shame. O dream that inspired my life, my ardent enduring desire. God bless thee!, this fervent soul cries, that soon is departing from thee; God bless thee! How lovely it is to fail and to lift thee higher; To die and to give thee my life; here under the sky expire, And in thine enchanted terrain to sleep for eternity. If over my tomb thou beholdest, one day beginning to grow, A slender and diffident flower peeping out through the crowding grass,

Draw it close to they lips and thy kiss, to my very soul shall go, And I shall feel on my forehead, in the chilly tomb below, Thy tenderness of thy breathing, the warmth of its vapor pass. Let the moon look down upon me with her soft and tranquil ray; Let the dawn send forth her splendor on a swiftly fleeting wing; Let the moaning wind above me murmur solemnly away; And if a bird descending, on my cross alight, one day, Let the bird his canticle of peace above me sing. Let the sun turn the rains into vapor with his ardent rays, And carry them pure to heaven, my death knell 'neath them pressed. Let some friendly person weep, for the premature end of my days, And in the serene afternoons, while anyone for me prays, O motherland, pray for me too, that I close to God my rest. Pray for all of the others who haplessly have died, For those who were tormented with inimitable pain; For our unhappy mothers who in bitter sorrow cried; For orphans and widows and captives, by horrid torture tried; And pray for thyself that thou mayest, thy final redemption gain. And when in the night the darkness enwraps the graveyard round, And only, only the dead remain there to watch with me, Do not disturb their repose, their mystery profound; If haply thou hearest a zither, or a psaltery resound, 'Tis I, my motherland dear, I who am singing to thee. And when in the end my tomb, forgotten by all men, Has neither a cross nor a stone to keep its place revealed, Let any man plow it and spread it with his spade, and then My ashes, before they resolve into nothingness again, Will scatter to mingle with dust upon thy flowery field. Consign me to oblivion then, it matters naught, Thine air, thy space, thy valleys I shall permeate, My vibrant limpid notes shall to thine ear be brought, Aroma, lights and colors, songs with moaning fraught,

The essence of my faith shall constantly relate. My idolized motherland, whose grieving makes me grieve, Dearest Filipinas, hear my last farewell again! I now leave all to thee, my parents, my loved ones I leave. I go where there are no slaves, a brute's lash to receive; Where faith does not kill, and where it is God who doth reign. Farewell, my parents and brothers, parts of the soul of me Friends of my early childhood in the home now dispossessed, Give thanks when I am at rest from this day of misery, Sweet foreigner, my friend, my joy, farewell to thee. Farewell my loved ones all . . . To die is but to rest.