Dieciséis de septiembre. Poema

“Dieciséis de septiembre. Poema” by José Joaquín Fernández de Lizardi, written in Mexico around 1810. Translated by Griffin Brown.

Renew, oh muse, the victorious breath,
with which, faithful to the holy love of the      homeland,
the glorious end of his bitter weeping
I boldly predicted in an inspired tone:
when most proud
and with false triumphs more proud,
the vicious Iberian
so much alas! in oppression, he laid his hand,
that the defeated Anahuac
he counted his yoke forever yoked.

To the miserable slave (cruel, he said)
that blinds independence by calling,
of rebellion, the nefarious flag
once raised in impious revelry,
back in chains,
with more rigor tied to his neck,
let's increase the penalties,
that to his last progeny prolonged,
in worthy captivity
for centuries secured our empire.

What served in the Dolores vile farmhouse,
that the treacherous shepherd gave the cry
of freedom, which docilely repeated
the insane mob with a prolix zeal?
His inexperienced courage,
stimulated by sacrilegious audacity,
in our sight, stiff
he remained in the field and learned his lesson,
his criminal leader
He has already surrendered his neck to the avenging knife.

As when the rainy Pleiades break
the bosom of the burning clouds,
the waves of the sea, once asleep
suddenly, the south wind alters stormy;
of the daring crowd
Thus, the remains frighten our voice,
that resonates indignantly
and remember, if she rises proudly,
deep respect
that inspired Vespucci to the rich world.

Woe to him who today has the most seditious lips,
from freedom to the flattering name
opened, under the pretext of being a novelist
lying evils, futile grievances!
From the shameful scaffold
swiftly descend to the cold grave,
and a profitable example
to the rebel, it will be that in his stubbornness
ignores the yoke
that the undefeated Spaniard was pleased to throw it away.

Thus, the children of rude Vandalia
fierce cries came when the august hero
yielded to fortune's unjust blow;
and the strong arm that the company shields
missing their champions,
of terror and death preceded,
fierce squadrons
They cut down flowering fields with impunity,
and to the gloomy desert
they consecrate the pious name of peace.

However, it will not be the benign sky,
easy accomplice of bloody oppression,
deny the homeland in such a cruel storm
a tender look of comfort.
Before the merciful throne
the burning prayer rises without ceasing,
the mournful moan
of that prelate, who was inflamed with fire
of divine charity
defenseless America sponsors.

"Loving Father," he says, "that to your making,
as the most sublime gift you granted
the noble freedom with which you wanted
of your glory to exalt it to the height
Don't you see a whole world?
moan, deprived of such excellence,
under fierce rule
of the execrable people who decant,
murdering the man,
give honor to your exalted and sweet name?

Oh, how much he rejoiced in his wickedness!
when by inscrutable permission
of such a just and adorable decree
in blood he bathed in the conquest,
sacrilegious tree-hugger
the banner of your cross in impious mockery,
when most profaning
their religion with black hypocrisy,
for the glory of heaven
covered the Indian soil with excesses!

Since then, his power has weighed so much
upon the defenseless people! What horrors,
always growing into greater crimes,
the first in your sight has increased!
The seductive cunning
in aid, they have joined their violence:
corrupting morality
They preach with their barbaric insolence,
and by divine laws
They proclaim the whims of their kings.

There one sees with astonishing horror.
like treason, punishing patriotism,
heroism has been made a crime
that elevates and magnifies man so much.
What else? In horrendous doubt
the sacred oracle is consulted
to know if the garment
of reason to the Indian has been granted,
and while Rome remains silent,
among the beasts, he is confused.

And what, when he thought he had arrived?
the longed-for moment of redemption,
You allow, just God, that I sing proudly.
new triumphs for the hateful tyranny?
The first champion,
the generous Hidalgo has perished:
the last term
to see the work was not granted to him;
but other champions
raise the nations to redeem them.

He said, and Morelos feels enraged.
The noble chest in warlike breath;
Victory takes its seat on its banner
and his example is followed by a thousand.
The spread blood
of heroes their number grows,
as if perhaps wounded
from the axe, the oak turns green,
and receives more vigor
and with more pomp and more greenery, it revives.

But who can give praise a worthy reward?
with supreme titles he snatches,
and the most glorious laurel to his brow ties,
undefeated warrior, benign victor?
The one who said in Iguala:
"Free the homeland!" and then it was
that the prolix havoc
stopped, and the voracious fire of war,
and with sweet mercy
on the throne, he established Independence.

Endless hymns to his indelible glory!
Eternal honor to the clear men
that they knew how to prepare the way for you,
Oh, immortal Iturbide! to victory.
Their names were previously
covered with pure, splendid light;
but our eyes saw
shine yours like a beautiful night,
among countless stars
to the moon in the high firmament.

Illustrious shadows, that with bloody irrigation
You fertilized the plant of freedom,
and you bequeathed its sweetest fruits
to the native soil, burning in sacred fire!
Receive today benign,
of your faithful gratitude, Sincere pledges
in worthy praises,
More than durable marble and bronze,
with which your memory
placed in the palace of glory.