If the unfortunate fate engulfing me,
The ending of my history of grief,
The closing of my span of years so brief,
Mother, should wake a single pang in thee,
Weep not. No saddening thought to me devote;
I calmly go to a death that is glory-filled,
My lyre before it is forever stilled
Breathes out to thee its last and dying note.
A note scarce more than a burden-easing sigh,
Tender and sacred, innocent, sincere —
Spontaneous and instinctive as the cry
I gave at birth — And now the hour is here —
Oh, God, thy mantle of mercy o'er my sins!
Mother, farewell! The pilgrimage begins.
Notes
Written in the Chapel of the Hospital of Santa Cristina on the night before his execution for allegedly conspiring to free Cuba's slaves. The poem is addressed to his white mother, who placed him in an orphanage at birth because he was the product of an illicit relationship with a man of color.
This poem was translated by James Weldon Johnson.
There is also another translation of this poem by William Cullen Bryant.
Adding your comment: