I see the sky glow, refulgent and clear, As when it forced on me my first dear illusion; I feel the same wind kiss my forehead sere, And the fire is the same that is burning here To stir up youth's blood in boiling confusion. I breathe here the winds that perchance have pass'd O'er the fields and the rivers of my own natal shore; And mayhap they will bring on the returning blast The sighs that lov'd being upon them has cast-- Messages sweet from the love I first bore. To see the same moon, all silver'd as of yore, I feel the sad thoughts within me arise; The fond recollections of the troth we swore, Of the field and the bower and the wide seashore, The blushes of joy, with the silence and sighs. A butterfly seeking the flowers and the light, Of other lands dreaming, of vaster extent; Scarce a youth, from home and love I took flight, To wander unheeding, free from doubt or affright-- So in foreign lands were my brightest days spent. And when like a languishing bird I was fain To the home of my fathers and my love to return, Of a sudden the fierce tempest roar'd amain; So I saw my wings shatter'd and no home remain, My trust sold to others and wrecks round me burn. Hurl'd out into exile from the land I adore, My future all dark and no refuge to seek; My roseate dreams hover round me once more, Sole treasures of all that life to me bore; The faiths of youth that with sincerity speak. But not as of old, full of life and of grace, Do you hold out hopes of undying reward; Sadder I find you; on your lov'd face, Though still sincere, the pale lines trace The marks of the faith it is yours to guard. You offer now, dreams, my gloom to appease, And the years of my youth again to disclose; So I thank you, O storm, and heaven-born breeze, That you knew of the hour my wild flight to ease, To cast me back down to the soil whence I rose. By the spreading beach where the sands are soft and fine, At the foot of the mount in its mantle of green; I have found a home in the pleasant grove's confine, In the shady woods, that peace and calmness divine, Rest for the weary brain and silence to my sorrow keen. The Church benefited by the presence of the exile, for he drew the design for an elaborate curtain to adorn the sanctuary at Easter time, and an artist Sister of Charity of the school there did the oil painting under his direction. In this line he must have been proficient, for once in Spain, where he traveled out of his way to Saragossa to visit one of his former teachers of the Ateneo, who he had heard was there, Rizal offered his assistance in making some altar paintings, and the Jesuit says that his skill and taste were much appreciated.