EL EMBARQUE by JOSE RIZAL

El Embarque


En bello dia,
Cuando radiante
Febo en Levante
Feliz brillo,
En Barrameda
Con gran contento
El movimiento
Doquier reino.

Es que en las playas
Las carabelas
Hinchan las velas
Y a partir van;
Y un mundo ignoto,
Nobles guerreros
Con sus aceros
Conquistaran.

Y todo es jubilo
Todo alegria
Y bizarria
En la ciudad;
Doquier resuenan
Roncos rumores
De los tambores
Con majestad

Mil y mil salvas
Hace a las naves
Con ecos graves
Ronco canon,
Y a los soldados
El pueblo hispano
Saluda unfano
Con afeccion.

Adios! les dice,
Hijos amados,
Bravos soldados
Del patrio hogar;
Cenid de glorias
A nuestra Espana,
En la campana
De ignoto mar.

Mientras se alejan
Al suave aliento
Del fresco viento
Con emocion,
Todos bendicen
Con voz piadosa
Tan gloriosa
Heroica accion.

Saluda el pueblo
Por vez postrera
A la bandera
De Magallan,
Que lleva el rumbo
Al Oceano
De ruge insano
El huracan.


Jose Rizal biography,timeline,Jose Rizal's poems,Mi Ultimo Adios,My Last Farewell,A La Juventud Filipina

Tulang Palaka-Tulang Pambata

Ang Tulang Pambata.

Ito ay nagsisilbing pag-unawa noong kamusmusan ng ating mga ninuno. Ito rin ay nagpapahayag at nagpapa-alala sa mga maliligayang karanasan noong sila'y bata pa.

Halimbawa:

Tulang Palaka

Ako'y tutula,
Tulang palaka,
Ako'y uupo,
Tapos na po.

palaisipan

CANTO DEL VIAJERO by JOSE RIZAL

This is the Spanish version of the poem of Jose Rizal The Song of the Traveler in English which is found in this page and the Awit ng Manlalakbay in Tagalog which is found in this page.

Canto Del Viajero

Hoja seca que cuela indecisa
Y arrebata violente turbion,
Asi vive en la tierra el viajero,
Sin norte, sin alma, sin patria ni amor.

Busca ansioso doquiera la dicha
Y la dicha se aleja fugaz:
Vana sombra que burla su anhelo! ...
Por ella el viajero se lanza a la mar!

Impelido por mano invisible
Vagara confin en confin;
Los recuedos le haran compania
De seres queridos, de un dia feliz.

Una tumba quiza en el desiero
Hallara, dulce asilo de paz,
De su patria y del mundo olvidado ...
Descanse tranquilo, tras tanto penar !

Y le envidian al triste viajero
Cuando cruza la tierra veloz ...
Ay! no saben que dentro del alma
Existe un vacio de falta el amor!

Volvera el peregrino a su patria
Y a sus lares tal vez volvera,
Y hallara por doquier nieve y ruina
Amores perdidos, sepulcros, no mas.

Ve, Viajero, prosigue tu senda,
Extrangero en tu propio pais;
Deja a otros que canten amores,
Los otros que gocen; tu vuelve a partir.

Ve, viajero, no vuelvas el rostro,
Que no hay llanto que siga al adios;
Ve, viajero, y ahoga tu penas;
Que el mundo se burla de ajeno dolor.

Jose Rizal biography,timeline,Jose Rizal's poems,Mi Ultimo Adios,My Last Farewell,A La Juventud Filipina

Ulan! Ulan!-Tulang Pambata

Ang Tulang Pambata.

Ito ay nagsisilbing pag-unawa noong kamusmusan ng ating mga ninuno. Ito rin ay nagpapahayag at nagpapa-alala sa mga maliligayang karanasan noong sila'y bata pa.

Halimbawa:


Ulan! Ulan!
Ulan! Ulan!
Pantay kawayan!

Bagyo! Bagyo!
Pantay kabayo!

palaisipan

AWIT NG MANLALAKBAY by JOSE RIZAL

This is the Tagalog version of Jose Rizal's poem, Canto del Viajero which can be found in this page.
and the English version The Song of the Traveler which is found in the in this page.

Awit Ng Manlalakbay

Kagaya ng dahong nalanta, nalagas,
Sinisiklut-siklot ng hanging marahas;
Abang manlalakbay ay wala nang liyag,
Layuin, kalulwa't bayang matatawag.

Hinahabul-habol yaong kapalarang
Mailap at hindi masunggab-sunggaban;
Magandang pag-asa'y kung nanlalabo man,
Siya'y patuloy ring patungo kung saan!

Sa udyok ng hindi nakikitang lakas,
Silanga't Kanlura'y kanyang nililipad,
Mga minamahal ay napapangarap,
Gayon din ang araw ng pamamanatag.

Sa pusod ng isang disyertong mapanglaw,
Siya'y maaaring doon na mamatay,
Limot ng daigdig at sariling bayan,
Kamtan nawa niya ang kapayapaan!

Dami ng sa kanya ay nangaiinggit,
Ibong naglalakaby sa buong daigdig,
Hindi nila tanto ang laki ng hapis
Na sa kanyang puso ay lumiligalig.

Kung sa mga tanging minahal sa buhay
Siya'y magbalik pa pagdating ng araw,
Makikita niya'y mga guho lamang
At puntod ng kanyang mga kaibigan.

Abang manlalakbay! Huwag nang magbalik,
Sa sariling baya'y wala kang katalik;
Bayaang ang puso ng iba'y umawit,
Lumaboy kang muli sa buong daigdig.

Abang manlalakbay! Bakit babalik pa?
Ang luhang inyukol sa iyo'y tuyo na;
Abang manlalakbay! Limutin ang dusa,
Sa hapis ng tao, mundo'y nagtatawa.


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HYMN TO LABOR by JOSE RIZAL

Hymn To Labor



For the Motherland in war,
For the Motherland in peace,
Will the Filipino keep watch,
He will live until life will cease!

MEN :

Now the East is glowing with light,
Go! To the field to till the land,
For the labour of man sustains
Fam'ly, home and Motherland.
Hard the land may turn to be,
Scorching the rays of the sun above...
For the country, wife and children
All will be easy to our love.

(Chorus)

WIVES :

Go to work with spirits high,
For the wife keeps home faithfully,
Inculcates love in her children
For virtue, knowledge and country.
When the evening brings repose,
On returning joy awaits you,
And if fate is adverse, the wife,
Shall know the task to continue.

(Chorus)

MAIDENS :

Hail! Hail! Praise to labour,
Of the country wealth and vigor!
For it brow serene's exalted,
It's her blood, life, and ardor.
If some youth would show his love
Labor his faith will sustain :
Only a man who struggles and works
Will his offspring know to maintain.

(Chorus)

CHILDREN :

Teach, us ye the laborious work
To pursue your footsteps we wish,
For tomorrow when country calls us
We may be able your task to finish.
And on seeing us the elders will say :
"Look, they're worthy 'f their sires of yore!"
Incense does not honor the dead
As does a son with glory and valor.

Jose Rizal biography,timeline,Jose Rizal's poems,Mi Ultimo Adios,My Last Farewell,A La Juventud Filipina

THE SONG OF THE TRAVELER

This is the English translation of Jose Rizal's poem, CANTO DEL VIAJERO in Spanish which is found in this page and AWIT NG MANLALAKBAY in Tagalog which is found in this page.

The Song Of The Traveler


A withered leaf which flies uncertainly
And hurled about by furious hurricanes,
So goes the traveler about the world,
No guide, no hope, no fatherland, no love.

Anxiously he seeks a better fortune
And fickle fortune always takes to flight;
A shadow vain that mocks at his desire!
For her the wanderer has plowed the seas.

Driven on by hands invisible,
Wandering from land to weary land,
Only memories to keep him company,
Of loved ones and of bygone happier days.

A tomb perhaps upon the desert
Calls him--refuge sweet of peace,--
Where, by his country and the world forgotten,
Tranquil he may sleep who knew such pain.

And if they envy this sad traveler
When he speeds so swiftly round the world,
Ah, little do they know that in his soul
Exist an aching void for want of love.

Should the wanderer turn back to his country,
And to his home, it may be, make his way,
He would find but snow and ruins everywhere,
All love destroyed, and sepulchres,--no more.

On, then, traveler, pursue your journey,
Stranger to the land where you were born.
Letting others sing their songs of love
And feel their joys, you fare on again.

And traveler, as you go, do not turn back,
For none will shed a tear to say farewell,
Go, pilgrim, try to drown your sorrow,
Because the world but scoffs when strangers grieve.

Jose Rizal biography,timeline,Jose Rizal's poems,Mi Ultimo Adios,My Last Farewell,A La Juventud Filipina

VERSO DE ISAGANI by JOSE RIZAL

Verso De Isagani


Aguas somos, decis vosotros fuego;
Como lo querais, sea!
Vivamos en sosiego
Y el incendio jamas luchar nos vea!
Sino que unidos por la ciencia sabia
De las calderas en el seno ardiente,
Sin coleras, sin rabia
Formemos el vapor, quinto elemento,
Progreso, vida, luz y movimiento!

Jose Rizal biography,timeline,Jose Rizal's poems,Mi Ultimo Adios,My Last Farewell,A La Juventud Filipina

The Story of the Moth-ANECDOTE OF JOSE RIZAL

STORY OF THE MOTH-ANECDOTE OF JOSE RIZAL

When I had not yet seen other rivers except the river of my town, crystalline and gay in its winding course, shaded by murmuring bamboo groves; when my world was only circumscribed by the bluish mountains of my province and the white surface of the lake that I discerned from after through some ruins, sparkling like a mirror and filled with graceful sails, I like stories very much and I believed with all my heart everything the books contained, convinced that what was printed must perforce be the truth. And why not, since my parents, who punished me for the smallest lie, emphatically enjoyed me to attend to my books, to read them diligently and understand them.


My first remembrance concerning letters goes back to my earliest age. I must be very small yet because when they polished the floor of our house with banana leaves, I would still fall slipping on the shiny surface as did the little skilled skaters on ice. It was still difficult for me to climb up a chair, I went down the stairs step by step, holding on to every baluster, and in our house as in the whole town, petroleum was unknown, or had I seen until that time any quinque, (34) nor had any carriage ever passed through the streets of my town that I believed to be the summum (35) of joy and animation.



One night, when everybody at home was already asleep, when all the lights in the globes (36) had already been put out by blowing them off by means of a curved tin tube which seemed to me the most exquisite and wonderful toy in the world, I don’t know why my mother and I had remained watching beside the only light that in all Philippine houses burned all night long, and that went out precisely at dawn waking the people with its cheerful hissing.



My mother then was still young. After a bath her hair which she let down to dry, dragged half a handbreadth on the floor, by which reason she knotted its end. She taught me to read in Amigo de los Niños, a very rare book, an old edition, which had lost its cover and which a very industrious sister of mine had covered again by pasting on its back a thick blue paper, the remnant of the wrapper of a bolt of cloth. My mother undoubtedly annoyed at hearing me read pitifully, for, as I didn’t understand Spanish, I could not give meaning to the phrases, took away the book from me. After scolding me for the drawings I had made on its pages, with legs and arms extended like a cross, she began to read asking me to follow her example. My mother, when she cold still see, read very well, recited, and knew how to make verses. How many times during Christmas vacation afterwards, she corrected my poems, making very apt observations. I listened to her full of childish admiration. Marveling at the ease with which she made them and at the sonorous phrases that she cold get from some pages that cost me so much effort to read and that I deciphered haltingly. Perhaps my ears soon got tired of hearing sounds that to me meant nothing. Perhaps due to my natural distraction, I gave little attention to the reading and watched more closely the cheerful flame around which some small moths fluttered with playful and uneven flight, perhaps I yawned, be it what it might, the case was that my mother, realizing the little interest that I showed, stopped her reading and said to me: “I’m going to read to you a very pretty story; be attentive.”



Upon hearing the word story I opened my eyes expecting a new and wonderful one. I looked at my mother who leafed through the book as if looking for it, and I got ready to listen with impatience and wonder. I didn’t suspect that in that old book that I read without understanding, there could be stories and pretty stories. My mother began to read to me the fable of the young and the old moths, translating it to me piece by piece into Tagalog. At the first verses my attention redoubled in such a way that I looked towards the light and fixed my attention on the moths that fluttered around it. The story could not have been more opportune. My mother emphasized and commented a great deal on the warnings of the old moth and directed them to me as if to tell me that these applied to me. I listened to her and what a rare phenomenon the light seemed to me more beautiful each time, the flame brighter, and I even envied instinctively the fate of those insects that played so cheerfully in its magical exhalation. Those that had succumbed were drowned in the oil; they didn’t frighten me. My mother continued her reading, I listened anxiously, and the fate of the two insects interested me intensely. The light agitated its golden tongue on one side, a singed moth in one of these movements fell into the oil, clapped its wings for sometime and died. That assumed for me that the flame and the moths were moving far away, very far, and that my mother’s voice acquired a strange, sepulchral timbre.



My mother finished the fable. I was not listening; all my attention, all my mind and all my thoughts were concentrated on the fate of that moth, young, dead, full of illusions.



“You see?” my mother said to me taking me to bed. “Don’t imitate the young moth and don’t be disobedient; you’ll get burned like it.”





I don’t know if I replied, promised something, or cried. The only thing I remember is that it took me a long time before I could sleep. That story had revealed to m e tings unknown to me until then. To me moths ceased to be insignificant insects; moths talked and knew how to warn and advise as well as my mother did. The light seemed to be more beautiful, dazzling, attractive. I understand why moths fluttered around lights. Advices and warnings resounded feebly in my ears. What preoccupied me most was the death of the imprudent, but at the bottom of my heart, I didn’t blame it. My mother’s solicitude didn’t have all the success that she hoped it would.



No; many years have elapsed; the child has become a man; has plowed the most famous foreign rivers and meditated besides their copious streams. The steamship has taken him across the seas and all the oceans; he has climbed the region of perpetual snow on mountains very much higher than the Makiling of his province. From experience he has received bitter lessons, oh, infinitely more than the sweet lesson that his mother gave him, and nevertheless the man preserves the heart of a child and he believes that light is the most beautiful thing there is in creation and that it is worthy for a man to sacrifice his life for it.

The loves of Jose Rizal,Josephine Bracken,Nelly Bousted,Leonor Rivera,Gertrude Beckett,Segundina Katigbak,Oseikiyosan,Suzanne Jacoby,Leonor Valenzuela,The Story of the Moth,anekdota

Sawikain (Tagalog Idioms)

Buwaya sa katihan : usurera, nagpapautang ng napakataas na interes o tubo.

English: usurer


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Sawikain(Tagalog Idioms)

Basa ang papel : bistado na

English translation: the person is already discovered to be lying or pretending what he is not what he said he is.

Sawikain (Tagalog Idioms)

Kakaning-itik: Walang gaanong halaga, hindi maipagmamalaki


English : lack of any fine, lofty, or redeeming qualities

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Sawikain (Tagalog Idioms)

ahas- taksil,traidor
English translation: traitor

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Sawikain-Tagalog Idioms

Kapit-tuko: mahigpit ang hawak

English translation: to adhere as if glued firmly


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