lossoming through the dense foliage, take it to your lips and kiss
my soul. Let me feel upon my forehead under the cold tomb your warm
and tender breath.

Let the moon with her soft and silent light watch over me; let dawn
spread its fulgent splendor; let the wind moan with solemn murmur. And
should a bird descend and repose upon my cross, let it there proclaim
a canticle of peace.

Let the burning sun evaporate the dew, spreading through space the
notes of my songs. Let a friendly being mourn my early end, praying
on calm evenings, when thou also, oh, dear country! should pray to
God for me.

Pray for all those who died unhonored; for those who suffered unequaled
torments; for our poor mothers who silently grieve; for orphans and
for widows; for prisoners in torture; and pray for thyself that thou
mayest attain thy final redemption.

And when the dark shades of night enwrap the cemetery, and the dead
are left alone to watch, do not disturb their rest, do not disturb
their mystery. Shouldst thou hear chords of a zither, it is I,
beloved country! who sings to thee.

And when my grave, by all forgotten, is marked by neither cross
nor stone, let the ploughman scatter its mould; and my ashes before
returning to nothing will become the dust of your soil.

Then, I will not mind if thou castest me into oblivion. Thy atmosphere,
thy space, thy valleys I will cross. A vibrating, limpid note I
will be in your ear; aroma, color, rumor, song, a sigh, constantly
repeating the essence of my faith.

My idolized country! grief of my griefs! My adored Philippines! Hear my
last farewell. I leave them all with thee; my fathers and my loves. I
go where there are no slaves, no oppressors, no executioners; where
faith is not death; where He who reigns is God.

Farewell! fathers and brothers, parts of my soul! Friends of my
infancy in the lost home. Give thanks that I should rest from the
fatiguing day. Farewell, sweet stranger, my friend, my joy. Farewell,
beloved beings. To die is to rest.

_Jose Rizal._

_The Vision of Friar Rodriguez._

Comfortably seated in an arm chair one night, satisfied with himself
as well as with his supper, Friar Jose Rodriguez dreamed of the
many pennies that the sale of his little books was drawing from the
pockets of the Filipinos, when suddenly, and as if by enchantment,
the yellow light of the lamp gave a brilliant, white flash, the air
was filled with soft perfume, and without his bein