I am a prisoner in the hands of the enemy,Enduring the shame of captivity.My bones stick out and my strength is goneThrough not getting enough to eat.My brother is a MandarinAnd his horses are fed on maize.Why can’t he spare a little moneyTo send and ransom me?
I am a prisoner in the hands of the enemy,Enduring the shame of captivity.My bones stick out and my strength is goneThrough not getting enough to eat.My brother is a MandarinAnd his horses are fed on maize.Why can’t he spare a little moneyTo send and ransom me?
In the country of Yüeh when a man made friends with another they set up an altar of earth and sacrificed upon it a dog and a cock, reciting this oath as they did so:
In the country of Yüeh when a man made friends with another they set up an altar of earth and sacrificed upon it a dog and a cock, reciting this oath as they did so:
If you were riding in a coachAnd I were wearing a “li,”[9]And one day we met in the road,You would get down and bow.If you were carrying a “tēng”[10]And I were riding on a horse,And one day we met in the roadI would get down for you.
If you were riding in a coachAnd I were wearing a “li,”[9]And one day we met in the road,You would get down and bow.If you were carrying a “tēng”[10]And I were riding on a horse,And one day we met in the roadI would get down for you.
[9]A peasant’s coat made of straw.
[9]A peasant’s coat made of straw.
[10]An umbrella under which a cheap-jack sells his wares.
[10]An umbrella under which a cheap-jack sells his wares.
Shang Ya!I want to be your friendFor ever and ever without break or decay.When the hills are all flatAnd the rivers are all dry,When it lightens and thunders in winter,When it rains and snows in summer,When Heaven and Earth mingle—Not till then will I part from you.
Shang Ya!I want to be your friendFor ever and ever without break or decay.When the hills are all flatAnd the rivers are all dry,When it lightens and thunders in winter,When it rains and snows in summer,When Heaven and Earth mingle—Not till then will I part from you.
“The dew on the garlic-leaf,” sung at the burial of kings and princes.
“The dew on the garlic-leaf,” sung at the burial of kings and princes.
How swiftly it dries,The dew on the garlic-leaf,The dew that dries so fastTo-morrow will fall again.But he whom we carry to the graveWill never more return.
How swiftly it dries,The dew on the garlic-leaf,The dew that dries so fastTo-morrow will fall again.But he whom we carry to the graveWill never more return.
“The Graveyard,” sung at the burial of common men.
“The Graveyard,” sung at the burial of common men.
What man’s land is the graveyard?It is the crowded home of ghosts,—Wise and foolish shoulder to shoulder.The King of the Dead claims them all;Man’s fate knows no tarrying.
What man’s land is the graveyard?It is the crowded home of ghosts,—Wise and foolish shoulder to shoulder.The King of the Dead claims them all;Man’s fate knows no tarrying.
The following seventeen poems are from a series known as the Nineteen Pieces of Old Poetry. Some have been attributed to Mei Shēng (first centuryB.C.), and one to Fu I (first centuryA.D.). They are manifestly not all by the same hand nor of the same date. Internal evidence shows that No. 3 at least was written after the date of Mei Shēng’s death. These poems had an enormous influence on all subsequent poetry, and many of the habitualclichésof Chinese verse are taken from them. I have omitted two because of their marked inferiority.
The following seventeen poems are from a series known as the Nineteen Pieces of Old Poetry. Some have been attributed to Mei Shēng (first centuryB.C.), and one to Fu I (first centuryA.D.). They are manifestly not all by the same hand nor of the same date. Internal evidence shows that No. 3 at least was written after the date of Mei Shēng’s death. These poems had an enormous influence on all subsequent poetry, and many of the habitualclichésof Chinese verse are taken from them. I have omitted two because of their marked inferiority.
On and on, always on and onAway from you, parted by a life-parting.[11]Going from one another ten thousand “li,”Each in a different corner of the World.The way between is difficult and long,Face to face how shall we meet again?The Tartar horse prefers the North wind,The bird from Yüeh nests on the Southern branch.Since we parted the time is already long,Daily my clothes hang looser round my waist.Floating clouds obscure the white sun,The wandering one has quite forgotten home.Thinking of you has made me suddenly old,The months and years swiftly draw to their close.I’ll put you out of my mind and forget for everAnd try with all my might to eat and thrive.[12]
On and on, always on and onAway from you, parted by a life-parting.[11]Going from one another ten thousand “li,”Each in a different corner of the World.The way between is difficult and long,Face to face how shall we meet again?The Tartar horse prefers the North wind,The bird from Yüeh nests on the Southern branch.Since we parted the time is already long,Daily my clothes hang looser round my waist.Floating clouds obscure the white sun,The wandering one has quite forgotten home.Thinking of you has made me suddenly old,The months and years swiftly draw to their close.I’ll put you out of my mind and forget for everAnd try with all my might to eat and thrive.[12]
[11]The opposite of a parting by death.
[11]The opposite of a parting by death.
[12]The popular, but erroneous, interpretation of these two lines is:“That I’m cast away and rejected I will not repine,But only hope with all my heart you’re well.”
[12]The popular, but erroneous, interpretation of these two lines is:
“That I’m cast away and rejected I will not repine,But only hope with all my heart you’re well.”
“That I’m cast away and rejected I will not repine,But only hope with all my heart you’re well.”
Green, green,The grass by the river-bank.Thick, thick,The willow trees in the garden.Sad, sad,The lady in the tower.White, white,Sitting at the casement window.Fair, fair,Her red-powdered face.Small, small,She puts out her pale hand.Once she was a dancing-house girl.Now she is a wandering man’s wife.The wandering man went, but did not return.It is hard alone to keep an empty bed.
Green, green,The grass by the river-bank.Thick, thick,The willow trees in the garden.Sad, sad,The lady in the tower.White, white,Sitting at the casement window.Fair, fair,Her red-powdered face.Small, small,She puts out her pale hand.Once she was a dancing-house girl.Now she is a wandering man’s wife.The wandering man went, but did not return.It is hard alone to keep an empty bed.
Green, green,The cypress on the mound.Firm, firm,The boulder in the stream.Man’s life lived within this world,Is like the sojourning of a hurried traveller.A cup of wine together will make us glad,And a little friendship is no little matter.Yoking my chariot I urge my stubborn horses.I wander about in the streets of Wan and Lo.In Lo Town how fine everything is!The “Caps and Belts”[13]go seeking each other out.The great boulevards are intersected by lanes,Wherein are the town-houses of Royal Dukes.The two palaces stare at each other from afar,The twin gates rise a hundred feet.By prolonging the feast let us keep our hearts gay,And leave no room for sadness to creep in.
Green, green,The cypress on the mound.Firm, firm,The boulder in the stream.Man’s life lived within this world,Is like the sojourning of a hurried traveller.A cup of wine together will make us glad,And a little friendship is no little matter.
Yoking my chariot I urge my stubborn horses.I wander about in the streets of Wan and Lo.In Lo Town how fine everything is!The “Caps and Belts”[13]go seeking each other out.The great boulevards are intersected by lanes,Wherein are the town-houses of Royal Dukes.The two palaces stare at each other from afar,The twin gates rise a hundred feet.By prolonging the feast let us keep our hearts gay,And leave no room for sadness to creep in.
[13]High officers.
[13]High officers.
Of this day’s glorious feast and revelThe pleasure and delight are difficult to describe.Plucking the lute they sent forth lingering sounds,The new melodies in beauty reached the divine.Skilful singers intoned the high words,Those who knew the tune heard the trueness of their singing.We sat there each with the same desireAnd like thoughts by each unexpressed:“Man in the world lodging for a single life-timePasses suddenly like dust borne on the wind.Then let us hurry out with high stepsAnd be the first to reach the highways and fords:Rather than stay at home wretched and poorFor long years plunged in sordid grief.”
Of this day’s glorious feast and revelThe pleasure and delight are difficult to describe.Plucking the lute they sent forth lingering sounds,The new melodies in beauty reached the divine.Skilful singers intoned the high words,Those who knew the tune heard the trueness of their singing.We sat there each with the same desireAnd like thoughts by each unexpressed:“Man in the world lodging for a single life-timePasses suddenly like dust borne on the wind.Then let us hurry out with high stepsAnd be the first to reach the highways and fords:Rather than stay at home wretched and poorFor long years plunged in sordid grief.”
In the north-west there is a high house,Its top level with the floating clouds.Embroidered curtains thinly screen its windows,Its storied tower is built on three steps.From above there comes a noise of playing and singing,The tune sounding, oh! how sad!Who can it be, playing so sad a tune?Surely it must be Ch’i Liang’s[14]wife.The tranquil “D” follows the wind’s rising,The middle lay lingers indecisive.To each note, two or three sobs,Her high will conquered by overwhelming grief.She does not regret that she is left so sad,But minds that so few can understand her song.She wants to become those two wild geeseThat with beating wings rise high aloft.
In the north-west there is a high house,Its top level with the floating clouds.Embroidered curtains thinly screen its windows,Its storied tower is built on three steps.From above there comes a noise of playing and singing,The tune sounding, oh! how sad!Who can it be, playing so sad a tune?Surely it must be Ch’i Liang’s[14]wife.The tranquil “D” follows the wind’s rising,The middle lay lingers indecisive.To each note, two or three sobs,Her high will conquered by overwhelming grief.She does not regret that she is left so sad,But minds that so few can understand her song.She wants to become those two wild geeseThat with beating wings rise high aloft.
[14]Who had no father, no husband, and no children.
[14]Who had no father, no husband, and no children.
Crossing the river I pluck hibiscus-flowers:In the orchid-swamps are many fragrant herbs.I gather them, but who shall I send them to?My love is living in lands far away.I turn and look towards my own country:The long road stretches on for ever.The same heart, yet a different dwelling:Always fretting, till we are grown old!
Crossing the river I pluck hibiscus-flowers:In the orchid-swamps are many fragrant herbs.I gather them, but who shall I send them to?My love is living in lands far away.I turn and look towards my own country:The long road stretches on for ever.The same heart, yet a different dwelling:Always fretting, till we are grown old!
A bright moon illumines the night-prospect:The house-cricket chirrups on the eastern wall.The Handle of the Pole-star points to the Beginning of Winter.The host of stars is scattered over the sky.The white dew wets the moor-grasses,—With sudden swiftness the times and seasons change.The autumn cicada sings among the trees,The swallows, alas, whither are they gone?Once I had a same-house friend,He took flight and rose high away.He did not remember how once we went hand in hand,But left me like footsteps behind one in the dust.In the South is the Winnowing-fan and the Pole-star in the North,And a Herd-boy[15]whose ox has never borne the yoke.A friend who is not firm as a great rockIs of no profit and idly bears the name.
A bright moon illumines the night-prospect:The house-cricket chirrups on the eastern wall.The Handle of the Pole-star points to the Beginning of Winter.The host of stars is scattered over the sky.
The white dew wets the moor-grasses,—With sudden swiftness the times and seasons change.The autumn cicada sings among the trees,The swallows, alas, whither are they gone?
Once I had a same-house friend,He took flight and rose high away.He did not remember how once we went hand in hand,But left me like footsteps behind one in the dust.
In the South is the Winnowing-fan and the Pole-star in the North,And a Herd-boy[15]whose ox has never borne the yoke.A friend who is not firm as a great rockIs of no profit and idly bears the name.
[15]Name of a star. The Herd-boy, who is only figuratively speaking a herd-boy, is like the friend who is no real friend.
[15]Name of a star. The Herd-boy, who is only figuratively speaking a herd-boy, is like the friend who is no real friend.
In the courtyard there grows a strange tree,Its green leaves ooze with a fragrant moisture.Holding the branch I cut a flower from the tree,Meaning to send it away to the person I love.Its sweet smell fills my sleeves and lap.The road is long, how shall I get it there?Such a thing is not fine enough to send:But it may remind him of the time that has past since he left.[16]
In the courtyard there grows a strange tree,Its green leaves ooze with a fragrant moisture.Holding the branch I cut a flower from the tree,Meaning to send it away to the person I love.Its sweet smell fills my sleeves and lap.The road is long, how shall I get it there?Such a thing is not fine enough to send:But it may remind him of the time that has past since he left.[16]
[16]I.e.(supposing he went away in the autumn), remind him that spring has come.
[16]I.e.(supposing he went away in the autumn), remind him that spring has come.
Far away twinkles the Herd-boy star;Brightly shines the Lady of the Han River.Slender, slender she plies her white fingers.Click, click go the wheels of her spinning-loom.At the end of the day she has not finished her task;Her bitter tears fall like streaming rain.The Han River runs shallow and clear;Set between them, how short a space!But the river water will not let them pass,Gazing at each other but never able to speak.
Far away twinkles the Herd-boy star;Brightly shines the Lady of the Han River.Slender, slender she plies her white fingers.Click, click go the wheels of her spinning-loom.At the end of the day she has not finished her task;Her bitter tears fall like streaming rain.The Han River runs shallow and clear;Set between them, how short a space!But the river water will not let them pass,Gazing at each other but never able to speak.
Turning my chariot I yoke my horses and go.On and on down the long roadsThe autumn winds shake the hundred grasses.On every side, how desolate and bare!The things I meet are all new things,Their strangeness hastens the coming of old age.Prosperity and decay each have their season.Success is bitter when it is slow in coming.Man’s life is not metal or stone,He cannot far prolong the days of his fate.Suddenly he follows in the way of things that change.Fame is the only treasure that endures.
Turning my chariot I yoke my horses and go.On and on down the long roadsThe autumn winds shake the hundred grasses.On every side, how desolate and bare!The things I meet are all new things,Their strangeness hastens the coming of old age.Prosperity and decay each have their season.Success is bitter when it is slow in coming.Man’s life is not metal or stone,He cannot far prolong the days of his fate.Suddenly he follows in the way of things that change.Fame is the only treasure that endures.
The Eastern Castle stands tall and high;Far and wide stretch the towers that guard it.The whirling wind uprises and shakes the earth;The autumn grasses grow thick and green.The four seasons alternate without pause,The year’s end hurries swiftly on.The Bird of the Morning Wind is stricken with sorrow;The frail cicada suffers and is hard pressed.Free and clear, let us loosen the bonds of our hearts.Why should we go on always restraining and binding?In Yen and Chao are many fair ladies,Beautiful people with faces like jade.Their clothes are made all of silk gauze.They stand at the door practising tranquil lays.The echo of their singing, how sad it sounds!By the pitch of the song one knows the stops have been tightened.To ease their minds they arrange their shawls and belts;Lowering their song, a little while they pause.“I should like to be those two flying swallowsWho are carrying clay to nest in the eaves of your house.”
The Eastern Castle stands tall and high;Far and wide stretch the towers that guard it.The whirling wind uprises and shakes the earth;The autumn grasses grow thick and green.
The four seasons alternate without pause,The year’s end hurries swiftly on.The Bird of the Morning Wind is stricken with sorrow;The frail cicada suffers and is hard pressed.Free and clear, let us loosen the bonds of our hearts.Why should we go on always restraining and binding?In Yen and Chao are many fair ladies,Beautiful people with faces like jade.Their clothes are made all of silk gauze.They stand at the door practising tranquil lays.The echo of their singing, how sad it sounds!By the pitch of the song one knows the stops have been tightened.To ease their minds they arrange their shawls and belts;Lowering their song, a little while they pause.“I should like to be those two flying swallowsWho are carrying clay to nest in the eaves of your house.”
I drive my chariot up to the Eastern Gate;From afar I see the graveyard north of the Wall.The white aspens how they murmur, murmur;Pines and cypresses flank the broad paths.Beneath lie men who died long ago;Black, black is the long night that holds them.Deep down beneath the Yellow Springs,Thousands of years they lie without waking.In infinite succession light and darkness shift,And years vanish like the morning dew.Man’s life is like a sojourning,His longevity lacks the firmness of stone and metal.For ever it has been that mourners in their turn were mourned,Saint and Sage,—all alike are trapped.Seeking by food to obtain ImmortalityMany have been the dupe of strange drugs.Better far to drink good wineAnd clothe our bodies in robes of satin and silk.
I drive my chariot up to the Eastern Gate;From afar I see the graveyard north of the Wall.The white aspens how they murmur, murmur;Pines and cypresses flank the broad paths.Beneath lie men who died long ago;Black, black is the long night that holds them.Deep down beneath the Yellow Springs,Thousands of years they lie without waking.
In infinite succession light and darkness shift,And years vanish like the morning dew.Man’s life is like a sojourning,His longevity lacks the firmness of stone and metal.For ever it has been that mourners in their turn were mourned,Saint and Sage,—all alike are trapped.Seeking by food to obtain ImmortalityMany have been the dupe of strange drugs.Better far to drink good wineAnd clothe our bodies in robes of satin and silk.
The dead are gone and with them we cannot converse.The living are here and ought to have our love.Leaving the city-gate I look aheadAnd see before me only mounds and tombs.The old graves are ploughed up into fields,The pines and cypresses are hewn for timber.In the white aspens sad winds sing;Their long murmuring kills my heart with grief.I want to go home, to ride to my village gate.I want to go back, but there’s no road back.
The dead are gone and with them we cannot converse.The living are here and ought to have our love.Leaving the city-gate I look aheadAnd see before me only mounds and tombs.The old graves are ploughed up into fields,The pines and cypresses are hewn for timber.In the white aspens sad winds sing;Their long murmuring kills my heart with grief.I want to go home, to ride to my village gate.I want to go back, but there’s no road back.
The years of a lifetime do not reach a hundred.Yet they contain a thousand years’ sorrow.When days are short and the dull nights long,Why not take a lamp and wander forth?If you want to be happy you must do it now,There is no waiting till an after-time.The fool who’s loath to spend the wealth he’s gotBecomes the laughing-stock of after ages.It is true that Master Wang became immortal,But how canwehope to share his lot?
The years of a lifetime do not reach a hundred.Yet they contain a thousand years’ sorrow.When days are short and the dull nights long,Why not take a lamp and wander forth?If you want to be happy you must do it now,There is no waiting till an after-time.The fool who’s loath to spend the wealth he’s gotBecomes the laughing-stock of after ages.It is true that Master Wang became immortal,But how canwehope to share his lot?
Cold, cold the year draws to its end,The crickets and grasshoppers make a doleful chirping.The chill wind increases its violence.My wandering love has no coat to cover him.He gave his embroidered furs to the Lady of Lo,But from me his bedfellow he is quite estranged.Sleeping alone in the depth of the long nightIn a dream I thought I saw the light of his face.My dear one thought of our old joys together,He came in his chariot and gave me the front reins.I wanted so to prolong our play and laughter,To hold his hand and go back with him in his coach.But, when he had come he would not stay longNor stop to go with me to the Inner Chamber.Truly without the falcon’s wings to carry meHow can I rival the flying wind’s swiftness?I go and lean at the gate and think of my grief,My falling tears wet the double gates.
Cold, cold the year draws to its end,The crickets and grasshoppers make a doleful chirping.The chill wind increases its violence.My wandering love has no coat to cover him.He gave his embroidered furs to the Lady of Lo,But from me his bedfellow he is quite estranged.Sleeping alone in the depth of the long nightIn a dream I thought I saw the light of his face.My dear one thought of our old joys together,He came in his chariot and gave me the front reins.I wanted so to prolong our play and laughter,To hold his hand and go back with him in his coach.But, when he had come he would not stay longNor stop to go with me to the Inner Chamber.Truly without the falcon’s wings to carry meHow can I rival the flying wind’s swiftness?I go and lean at the gate and think of my grief,My falling tears wet the double gates.
At the beginning of winter a cold spirit comes,The North Wind blows—chill, chill.My sorrows being many, I know the length of the nights,Raising my head I look at the stars in their places.On the fifteenth day the bright moon is full,On the twentieth day the “toad and hare” wane.[17]A stranger came to me from a distant landAnd brought me a single scroll with writing on it;At the top of the scroll was written “Do not forget,”At the bottom was written “Goodbye for Ever.”I put the letter away in the folds of my dress,For three years the writing did not fade.How with an undivided heart I loved youI fear that you will never know or guess.
At the beginning of winter a cold spirit comes,The North Wind blows—chill, chill.My sorrows being many, I know the length of the nights,Raising my head I look at the stars in their places.On the fifteenth day the bright moon is full,On the twentieth day the “toad and hare” wane.[17]A stranger came to me from a distant landAnd brought me a single scroll with writing on it;At the top of the scroll was written “Do not forget,”At the bottom was written “Goodbye for Ever.”I put the letter away in the folds of my dress,For three years the writing did not fade.How with an undivided heart I loved youI fear that you will never know or guess.
[17]The “toad and hare” correspond to our “man in the moon.” The waning of the moon symbolizes the waning of the lover’s affection.
[17]The “toad and hare” correspond to our “man in the moon.” The waning of the moon symbolizes the waning of the lover’s affection.
The bright moon, oh, how white it shines,Shines down on the gauze curtains of my bed.Racked by sorrow I toss and cannot sleep.Picking up my clothes, I wander up and down.My absent love says that he is happy,But I would rather he said he was coming back.Out in the courtyard I stand hesitating, alone.To whom can I tell the sad thoughts I think?Staring before me I enter my room again;Falling tears wet my mantle and robe.
The bright moon, oh, how white it shines,Shines down on the gauze curtains of my bed.Racked by sorrow I toss and cannot sleep.Picking up my clothes, I wander up and down.My absent love says that he is happy,But I would rather he said he was coming back.Out in the courtyard I stand hesitating, alone.To whom can I tell the sad thoughts I think?Staring before me I enter my room again;Falling tears wet my mantle and robe.
By Wu-ti (157-87B.C.), sixth emperor of the Han dynasty. He came to the throne when he was only sixteen. In this poem he regrets that he is obliged to go on an official journey, leaving his mistress behind in the capital. He is seated in his state barge surrounded by his ministers.
By Wu-ti (157-87B.C.), sixth emperor of the Han dynasty. He came to the throne when he was only sixteen. In this poem he regrets that he is obliged to go on an official journey, leaving his mistress behind in the capital. He is seated in his state barge surrounded by his ministers.
Autumn wind rises: white clouds fly.Grass and trees wither: geese go south.Orchids all in bloom: chrysanthemums smell sweet.I think of my lovely lady: I never can forget.Floating-pagoda boat crosses Fēn River.Across the mid-stream white waves riseFlute and drum keep time to sound of the rowers’ song;Amidst revel and feasting, sad thoughts come;Youth’s years how few! Age how sure!
Autumn wind rises: white clouds fly.Grass and trees wither: geese go south.Orchids all in bloom: chrysanthemums smell sweet.I think of my lovely lady: I never can forget.Floating-pagoda boat crosses Fēn River.Across the mid-stream white waves riseFlute and drum keep time to sound of the rowers’ song;Amidst revel and feasting, sad thoughts come;Youth’s years how few! Age how sure!
The sound of her silk skirt has stopped.On the marble pavement dust grows.Her empty room is cold and still.Fallen leaves are piled against the doors.Longing for that lovely ladyHow can I bring my aching heart to rest?
The sound of her silk skirt has stopped.On the marble pavement dust grows.Her empty room is cold and still.Fallen leaves are piled against the doors.Longing for that lovely ladyHow can I bring my aching heart to rest?
The above poem was written by Wu-ti when his mistress, Li Fu-jēn, died. Unable to bear his grief, he sent for wizards from all parts of China, hoping that they would be able to put him into communication with her spirit. At last one of them managed to project her shape on to a curtain. The emperor cried:Is it or isn’t it?I stand and look.The swish, swish of a silk skirt.How slow she comes!
The above poem was written by Wu-ti when his mistress, Li Fu-jēn, died. Unable to bear his grief, he sent for wizards from all parts of China, hoping that they would be able to put him into communication with her spirit. At last one of them managed to project her shape on to a curtain. The emperor cried:
Is it or isn’t it?I stand and look.The swish, swish of a silk skirt.How slow she comes!
Is it or isn’t it?I stand and look.The swish, swish of a silk skirt.How slow she comes!
Ssŭ-ma Hsiang-ju was a young poet who had lost his position at court owing to ill-health. One day Cho Wēn-chün, a rich man’s daughter, heard him singing at a feast given by her father. She eloped with him that night, and they set up a wine-shop together. After a time Hsiang-ju became famous as a poet, but his character was marred by love of money. He sold love-poems, which the ladies of the palace sent to the emperor in order to win his favour. Finally, he gave presents to the “ladies of Mo-ling,” hoping to secure a concubine. It was this step that induced his mistress, Cho Wēn-chün, to write the following poem.
Ssŭ-ma Hsiang-ju was a young poet who had lost his position at court owing to ill-health. One day Cho Wēn-chün, a rich man’s daughter, heard him singing at a feast given by her father. She eloped with him that night, and they set up a wine-shop together. After a time Hsiang-ju became famous as a poet, but his character was marred by love of money. He sold love-poems, which the ladies of the palace sent to the emperor in order to win his favour. Finally, he gave presents to the “ladies of Mo-ling,” hoping to secure a concubine. It was this step that induced his mistress, Cho Wēn-chün, to write the following poem.
Our love was pureAs the snow on the mountains:White as a moonBetween the clouds—They’re telling meYour thoughts are doubleThat’s why I’ve comeTo break it off.To-day we’ll drinkA cup of wine.To-morrow we’ll partBeside the Canal:Walking aboutBeside the Canal,Where its branches divideEast and west.Alas and alas,And again alas.So must a girlCry when she’s married,If she find not a manOf single heart,Who will not leave herTill her hair is white.
Our love was pureAs the snow on the mountains:White as a moonBetween the clouds—They’re telling meYour thoughts are doubleThat’s why I’ve comeTo break it off.To-day we’ll drinkA cup of wine.To-morrow we’ll partBeside the Canal:Walking aboutBeside the Canal,Where its branches divideEast and west.Alas and alas,And again alas.So must a girlCry when she’s married,If she find not a manOf single heart,Who will not leave herTill her hair is white.
By General Su Wu (circa100B.C.)
By General Su Wu (circa100B.C.)
Since our hair was plaited and we became man and wifeThe love between us was never broken by doubt.So let us be merry this night together,Feasting and playing while the good time lasts.I suddenly remember the distance that I must travel;I spring from bed and look out to see the time.The stars and planets are all grown dim in the sky;Long, long is the road; I cannot stay.I am going on service, away to the battle-ground,And I do not know when I shall come back.I hold your hand with only a deep sigh;Afterwards, tears—in the days when we are parted.With all your might enjoy the spring flowers,But do not forget the time of our love and pride.Know that if I live, I will come back again,And if I die, we will go on thinking of each other.
Since our hair was plaited and we became man and wifeThe love between us was never broken by doubt.So let us be merry this night together,Feasting and playing while the good time lasts.
I suddenly remember the distance that I must travel;I spring from bed and look out to see the time.The stars and planets are all grown dim in the sky;Long, long is the road; I cannot stay.I am going on service, away to the battle-ground,And I do not know when I shall come back.I hold your hand with only a deep sigh;Afterwards, tears—in the days when we are parted.With all your might enjoy the spring flowers,But do not forget the time of our love and pride.Know that if I live, I will come back again,And if I die, we will go on thinking of each other.
(Parting from Su Wu)
(Parting from Su Wu)
The good time will never come back again:In a moment,—our parting will be over.Anxiously—we halt at the road-side,Hesitating—we embrace where the fields begin.The clouds above are floating across the sky:Swiftly, swiftly passing: or blending together.The waves in the wind lose their fixed placeAnd are rolled away each to a corner of Heaven.From now onwards—long must be our parting.So let us stop again for a little while.I wish I could ride on the wings of the morning windAnd go with you right to your journey’s end.
The good time will never come back again:In a moment,—our parting will be over.Anxiously—we halt at the road-side,Hesitating—we embrace where the fields begin.The clouds above are floating across the sky:Swiftly, swiftly passing: or blending together.The waves in the wind lose their fixed placeAnd are rolled away each to a corner of Heaven.From now onwards—long must be our parting.So let us stop again for a little while.I wish I could ride on the wings of the morning windAnd go with you right to your journey’s end.
Li Ling and Su Wu were both prisoners in the land of the Huns. After nineteen years Su Wu was released. Li Ling would not go back with him. When invited to do so, he got up and danced, singing:
Li Ling and Su Wu were both prisoners in the land of the Huns. After nineteen years Su Wu was released. Li Ling would not go back with him. When invited to do so, he got up and danced, singing:
I came ten thousand leaguesAcross sandy desertsIn the service of my Prince,To break the Hun tribes.My way was blocked and barred,My arrows and sword broken.My armies had faded away,My reputation had gone.My old mother is long dead.Although I want to requite my PrinceHow can I return?
I came ten thousand leaguesAcross sandy desertsIn the service of my Prince,To break the Hun tribes.My way was blocked and barred,My arrows and sword broken.My armies had faded away,My reputation had gone.
My old mother is long dead.Although I want to requite my PrinceHow can I return?
About the year 110B.C.a Chinese Princess named Hsi-chün was sent, for political reasons, to be the wife of a central Asian nomad king, K’un Mo, king of the Wu-sun. When she got there, she found her husband old and decrepit. He only saw her once or twice a year, when they drank a cup of wine together. They could not converse, as they had no language in common.
About the year 110B.C.a Chinese Princess named Hsi-chün was sent, for political reasons, to be the wife of a central Asian nomad king, K’un Mo, king of the Wu-sun. When she got there, she found her husband old and decrepit. He only saw her once or twice a year, when they drank a cup of wine together. They could not converse, as they had no language in common.
My people have married meIn a far corner of Earth:Sent me away to a strange land,To the king of the Wu-sun.A tent is my house,Of felt are my walls;Raw flesh my foodWith mare’s milk to drink.Always thinking of my own country,My heart sad within.Would I were a yellow storkAnd could fly to my old home!
My people have married meIn a far corner of Earth:Sent me away to a strange land,To the king of the Wu-sun.A tent is my house,Of felt are my walls;Raw flesh my foodWith mare’s milk to drink.Always thinking of my own country,My heart sad within.Would I were a yellow storkAnd could fly to my old home!
Ch’in Chia (first centuryA.D.) was summoned to take up an appointment at the capital at a time when his wife was ill and staying with her parents. He was therefore unable to say goodbye to her, and sent her three poems instead. This is the last of the three.
Ch’in Chia (first centuryA.D.) was summoned to take up an appointment at the capital at a time when his wife was ill and staying with her parents. He was therefore unable to say goodbye to her, and sent her three poems instead. This is the last of the three.
Solemn, solemn the coachman gets ready to go:“Chiang, chiang” the harness bells ring.At break of dawn I must start on my long journey:At cock-crow I must gird on my belt.I turn back and look at the empty room:For a moment I almost think I see you there.One parting, but ten thousand regrets:As I take my seat, my heart is unquiet.What shall I do to tell you all my thoughts?How can I let you know of all my love?Precious hairpins make the head to shineAnd bright mirrors can reflect beauty.Fragrant herbs banish evil smellsAnd the scholar’s harp has a clear note.The man in the Book of Odes[18]who was given a quinceWanted to pay it back with diamonds and rubies.When I think of all the things you have done for me,How ashamed I am to have done so little for you!Although I know that it is a poor return,All I can give you is this description of my feelings.
Solemn, solemn the coachman gets ready to go:“Chiang, chiang” the harness bells ring.At break of dawn I must start on my long journey:At cock-crow I must gird on my belt.I turn back and look at the empty room:For a moment I almost think I see you there.One parting, but ten thousand regrets:As I take my seat, my heart is unquiet.What shall I do to tell you all my thoughts?How can I let you know of all my love?Precious hairpins make the head to shineAnd bright mirrors can reflect beauty.Fragrant herbs banish evil smellsAnd the scholar’s harp has a clear note.The man in the Book of Odes[18]who was given a quinceWanted to pay it back with diamonds and rubies.When I think of all the things you have done for me,How ashamed I am to have done so little for you!Although I know that it is a poor return,All I can give you is this description of my feelings.
[18]Odes, v, 10.
[18]Odes, v, 10.
My poor body is alas unworthy:I was ill when first you brought me home.Limp and weary in the house—Time passed and I got no better.We could hardly ever see each other:I could not serve you as I ought.Then you received the Imperial Mandate:You were ordered to go far away to the City.Long, long must be our parting:I was not destined to tell you my thoughts.I stood on tiptoe gazing into the distance,Interminably gazing at the road that had taken you.With thoughts of you my mind is obsessed:In my dreams I see the light of your face.Now you are started on your long journeyEach day brings you further from me.Oh that I had a bird’s wingsAnd high flying could follow you.Long I sob and long I cry:The tears fall down and wet my skirt.
My poor body is alas unworthy:I was ill when first you brought me home.Limp and weary in the house—Time passed and I got no better.We could hardly ever see each other:I could not serve you as I ought.Then you received the Imperial Mandate:You were ordered to go far away to the City.Long, long must be our parting:I was not destined to tell you my thoughts.I stood on tiptoe gazing into the distance,Interminably gazing at the road that had taken you.With thoughts of you my mind is obsessed:In my dreams I see the light of your face.Now you are started on your long journeyEach day brings you further from me.Oh that I had a bird’s wingsAnd high flying could follow you.Long I sob and long I cry:The tears fall down and wet my skirt.
By Sung Tzŭ-hou (second centuryA.D.)
By Sung Tzŭ-hou (second centuryA.D.)
On the Eastern Way at the city of Lo-yangAt the edge of the road peach-trees and plum-trees grow;On the two sides,—flower matched by flower;Across the road,—leaf touching leaf.A spring wind rises from the north-east;Flowers and leaves gently nod and sway.Up the road somebody’s daughter comesCarrying a basket, to gather silkworms’ food.
On the Eastern Way at the city of Lo-yangAt the edge of the road peach-trees and plum-trees grow;On the two sides,—flower matched by flower;Across the road,—leaf touching leaf.
A spring wind rises from the north-east;Flowers and leaves gently nod and sway.Up the road somebody’s daughter comesCarrying a basket, to gather silkworms’ food.
(She sees the fruit trees in blossom and, forgetting about her silkworms, begins to pluck the branches.)
(She sees the fruit trees in blossom and, forgetting about her silkworms, begins to pluck the branches.)
With her slender hand she breaks a branch from the tree;The flowers fall, tossed and scattered in the wind.
With her slender hand she breaks a branch from the tree;The flowers fall, tossed and scattered in the wind.
The tree says:
The tree says:
“Lovely lady, I never did you harm;Why should you hate me and do me injury?”
“Lovely lady, I never did you harm;Why should you hate me and do me injury?”
The lady answers:
The lady answers:
“At high autumn in the eighth and ninth moonsWhen the white dew changes to hoar-frost,At the year’s end the wind would have lashed your boughs,Your sweet fragrance could not have lasted long.Though in the autumn your leaves patter to the ground,When spring comes, your gay bloom returns.But in men’s lives when their bright youth is spentJoy and love never come back again.”
“At high autumn in the eighth and ninth moonsWhen the white dew changes to hoar-frost,At the year’s end the wind would have lashed your boughs,Your sweet fragrance could not have lasted long.Though in the autumn your leaves patter to the ground,When spring comes, your gay bloom returns.But in men’s lives when their bright youth is spentJoy and love never come back again.”
By Ch’ēng Hsiao (circaA.D.250)
By Ch’ēng Hsiao (circaA.D.250)
When I was young, throughout the hot seasonThere were no carriages driving about the roads.People shut their doors and lay down in the cool:Or if they went out, it was not to pay calls.Nowadays—ill-bred, ignorant fellows,When they feel the heat, make for a friend’s house.The unfortunate host, when he hears someone comingScowls and frowns, but can think of no escape.“There’s nothing for it but to rise and go to the door,”And in his comfortable seat he groans and sighs.The conversation does not end quickly:Prattling and babbling, what a lot he says!Only when one is almost dead with fatigueHe asks at last if one isn’t finding him tiring.(One’s arm is almost in half with continual fanning:The sweat is pouring down one’s neck in streams.)Do not say that this is a small matter:I consider the practice a blot on our social life.I therefore caution all wise menThat August visitors should not be admitted.
When I was young, throughout the hot seasonThere were no carriages driving about the roads.People shut their doors and lay down in the cool:Or if they went out, it was not to pay calls.Nowadays—ill-bred, ignorant fellows,When they feel the heat, make for a friend’s house.The unfortunate host, when he hears someone comingScowls and frowns, but can think of no escape.“There’s nothing for it but to rise and go to the door,”And in his comfortable seat he groans and sighs.
The conversation does not end quickly:Prattling and babbling, what a lot he says!Only when one is almost dead with fatigueHe asks at last if one isn’t finding him tiring.(One’s arm is almost in half with continual fanning:The sweat is pouring down one’s neck in streams.)Do not say that this is a small matter:I consider the practice a blot on our social life.I therefore caution all wise menThat August visitors should not be admitted.
By Wei Wēn-ti, son of Ts’ao Ts’ao, who founded the dynasty of Wei, and died inA.D.220. (The poem has been wrongly attributed to Han Wēn-ti, died 157B.C.)
By Wei Wēn-ti, son of Ts’ao Ts’ao, who founded the dynasty of Wei, and died inA.D.220. (The poem has been wrongly attributed to Han Wēn-ti, died 157B.C.)
I look up and see / his curtains and bed:I look down and examine / his table and mat.The things are there / just as before.But the man they belonged to / is not there.His spirit suddenly / has taken flightAnd left me behind / far away.To whom shall I look / on whom rely?My tears flow / in an endless stream.“Yu, yu” / cry the wandering deerAs they carry fodder / to their young in the wood.Flap, flap / fly the birdsAs they carry their little ones / back to the nest.I alone / am desolateDreading the days / of our long parting:My grieving heart’s / settled painNo one else / can understand.There is a saying / among people“Sorrow makes us / grow old.”Alas, alas / for my white hairs!All too early / they have come!Long wailing, / long sighingMy thoughts are fixed on my sage parent.They say the good / live long:Then why was he / not spared?
I look up and see / his curtains and bed:I look down and examine / his table and mat.The things are there / just as before.But the man they belonged to / is not there.His spirit suddenly / has taken flightAnd left me behind / far away.To whom shall I look / on whom rely?My tears flow / in an endless stream.“Yu, yu” / cry the wandering deerAs they carry fodder / to their young in the wood.Flap, flap / fly the birdsAs they carry their little ones / back to the nest.I alone / am desolateDreading the days / of our long parting:My grieving heart’s / settled painNo one else / can understand.There is a saying / among people“Sorrow makes us / grow old.”Alas, alas / for my white hairs!All too early / they have come!Long wailing, / long sighingMy thoughts are fixed on my sage parent.They say the good / live long:Then why was he / not spared?