My Last Farewell
by Dr. José Rizal
(English version of Huling Paalam or Mi Ultimo Adiós)
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
you 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
cithern 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.
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