Thy Mystic Land

Original text (as first published) Approximate English translation (not rhyming) Sa Aking Mga Kabatà Kapagka ang baya'y sadyáng umiibig Sa kanyáng salitáng kaloob ng langit, Sanglang kalayaan nasa ring masapit Katulad ng ibong nasa himpapawid. Pagka't ang salita'y isang kahatulan Sa bayan, sa nayo't mga kaharián, At ang isáng tao'y katulad, kabagay Ng alin mang likha noong kalayaán. Ang hindi magmahal sa kanyang salitâ Mahigit sa hayop at malansáng isdâ, Kayâ ang marapat pagyamaning kusà Na tulad sa ináng tunay na nagpalà. Ang wikang Tagalog tulad din sa Latin Sa Inglés, Kastilà at salitang anghel, Sapagka't ang Poong maalam tumingín Ang siyang naggawad, nagbigay sa atin. Ang salita nati'y huwad din sa iba Na may alfabeto at sariling letra, Na kaya nawalá'y dinatnan ng sigwâ Ang lunday sa lawà noóng dakong una. To my Fellow Youth If a nation's people certainly love Their gift of language bestowed by heaven, So too will they regain their pawned freedom As the bird that flies in the sky. For language is a measure of worth Of cities, nations, and kingdoms, And each person alike, deserves That of any creation born free. One who does not treasure his own language is worse than a beast and putrid fish, Thus it should be nurtured gladly As our mothers nurtured us. The language Tagalog is like Latin, Like English, Spanish, and the language of angels For it was the Lord, in his wisdom Who bestowed it, who gave it to us. This language is like that of others, With their own alphabet and their own characters, But vanished as if a sudden storm had come upon A boat in a lake in an age long past. Spanish José Gatmaitan

English

« Mi Último Adiós » ¡Adiós, Patria adorada, región del sol querida, Perla del mar de oriente, nuestro perdido Edén! A darte voy alegre la triste mustia vida, Y fuera más brillante, más fresca, más florida, También por ti la diera, la diera por tu bien. En campos de batalla, luchando con delirio, Otros te dan sus vidas sin dudas, sin pesar; El sitio nada importa, ciprés, 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 día tras lóbrego capuz; si grana necesitas para teñir tu aurora, Vierte la sangre mía, derrámala en buen hora Y dórela un reflejo de su naciente luz. Mis sueños cuando apenas muchacho adolescente, Mis sueños cuando joven ya lleno de vigor, Fueron el verte un día, joya del mar de oriente, Secos los negros ojos, alta la tersa frente, Sin ceño, sin arrugas, sin manchas de rubor Ensueño de mi vida, mi ardiente vivo anhelo, ¡Salud te grita el alma que pronto va a partir! ¡Salud! Ah, 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 día Entre la espesa yerba sencilla, humilde flor, Acércala a tus labios y besa al alma mía, Y sienta yo en mi frente bajo la tumba fría, De tu ternura el soplo, de tu hálito el calor. Deja a la luna verme con luz tranquila y suave, Deja que el alba envíe 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 cántico 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 llore Y en las serenas tardes cuando por mí alguien ore, ¡Ora también, 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 huérfanos y viudas, por presos en tortura Y ora por ti que veas tu redención final. Y cuando en noche oscura se envuelva el cementerio Y solos sólo muertos queden velando allí, No turbes su reposo, no turbes el misterio, Tal vez acordes oigas de cítara o salterio, Soy yo, querida Patria, yo que te canto a ti. 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 atmósfera, tu espacio, tus valles cruzaré. Vibrante y limpia nota seré para tu oído, Aroma, luz, colores, rumor, canto, gemido, Constante repitiendo la esencia de mi fe. Mi patria idolatrada, dolor de mis dolores, Querida Filipinas, oye el postrer adiós. Ahí 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. Adiós, padres y hermanos, trozos del alma mía, Amigos de la infancia en el perdido hogar, Dad gracias que descanso del fatigoso día; Adiós, dulce extranjera, mi amiga, mi alegría, Adiós, queridos seres, morir es descansar.

"My Last Farewell" Farewell, my adored Land, region of the sun caress'd, Pearl of the Orient Sea, our Eden lost, With gladness I give thee my Life, sad and repress'd; And were it more brilliant, more fresh and at its best, I would still give it to thee for thine welfare at most. On the fields of battle, in the fury of fight, Others give thee their lives without pain or hesitancy, The place matters not: cypress, laurel, or lily; 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 vigour to attain, Were to see thee, Gem of the sea of the Orient, Thy 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 thee, that will soon part from thee; Hail! How sweet 'tis to fall that fullness thou may acquire; To die to give thee life, 'neath thy skies to expire, And in thy mystic land to sleep through eternity! If over my tomb some day, thou wouldst see blow, A simple humble flow'r amidst thick grasses, Bring it up to thy lips and kiss my soul so, And under the cold tomb, I may feel on my brow, Warmth of thy breath, a whiff of thy 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 vaporise And with my clamour 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 thou may seest thine own redemption. And when the dark night wraps the cemet'ry And only the dead to vigil there are left alone, Disturb not their repose, disturb not the mystery: If thou hear the sounds of cithern or psaltery, It is I, dear Country, who, a song t'thee intone. And when my grave by all is no more remembered, With neither cross nor stone to mark its place, Let it be ploughed by man, with spade let it be scattered And my ashes ere to nothingness are restored, Let them turn to dust to cover thy earthly space. Then it matters not that thou should forget me: Thy atmosphere, thy skies, thy vales I'll sweep; Vibrant and clear note to thy ears I shall be: Aroma, light, hues, murmur, song, moanings deep, Constantly repeating the essence of the faith I keep. My idolised 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 doth 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.