The River By Night in Spring

Ah me, the day you left meWas full of weary hours;But the tree 'neath which we partedWas rich with leaves and flowers.And from its fragrant branchesI plucked a tiny spray,And hid it in my bosomIn memory of that day.I know the endless distanceMust shut you from my view,But the flower's gentle fragranceBrings sweetest thoughts of you.And, though it's but a trifle,Which none would prize for gain,It oft renews our parting,With all the love and pain.

Ah me, the day you left meWas full of weary hours;But the tree 'neath which we partedWas rich with leaves and flowers.

And from its fragrant branchesI plucked a tiny spray,And hid it in my bosomIn memory of that day.

I know the endless distanceMust shut you from my view,But the flower's gentle fragranceBrings sweetest thoughts of you.

And, though it's but a trifle,Which none would prize for gain,It oft renews our parting,With all the love and pain.

BY CHANG POH-HSÜ

In Spring the flooded river meets the tideWhich from the ocean surges to the land;The moon across the rolling water shinesFrom wave to wave to reach the distant strand.And when the heaving sea and river meet,The latter turns and floods the fragrant fields;While in the moon's pale light as shimmering sleetAlike seem sandy shores and wooded wealds.For sky and river in one colour blend,Without a spot of dust to mar the scene;While in the heavens above the full-orbed moonIn white and lustrous beauty hangs serene.And men and women, as the fleeting years,Are born into this world and pass away;And still the river flows, the moon shines fair,And will their courses surely run for ay.But who was he who first stood here and gazedUpon the river and the heavenly light?And when did moon and river first beholdThe solitary watcher in the night?The maples sigh upon the river's bank,A white cloud drifts across the azure dome;In yonder boat some traveller sails to-nightBeneath the moon which links his thoughts with home.Above the home it seems to hover long,And peep through chinks within her chamber blind;The moon-borne message she cannot escape,Alas, the husband tarries far behind!She looks across the gulf but hears no voice,Until her heart with longing leaps apace,And fain would she the silvery moonbeams followUntil they shine upon her loved one's face.'Last night,' she murmured sadly to herself,'I dreamt of falling flowers by shady ponds;My Spring, ah me! half through its course has sped,But you return not to your wedded bonds.'For ever onward flows the mighty stream;The Spring, half gone, is gliding to its rest;While on the river and the silent poolsThe moonbeams fall obliquely from the west.And now the moon descending to the vergeHas disappeared beneath the sea-borne dew;While stretch the waters of the 'Siao and Siang',[1]And rocks and cliffs, in never-ending view.How many wanderers by to-night's pale moonHave met with those from whom so long apart:—As on the shore midst flowerless trees I standThoughts old and new surge through my throbbing heart!

In Spring the flooded river meets the tideWhich from the ocean surges to the land;The moon across the rolling water shinesFrom wave to wave to reach the distant strand.

And when the heaving sea and river meet,The latter turns and floods the fragrant fields;While in the moon's pale light as shimmering sleetAlike seem sandy shores and wooded wealds.

For sky and river in one colour blend,Without a spot of dust to mar the scene;While in the heavens above the full-orbed moonIn white and lustrous beauty hangs serene.

And men and women, as the fleeting years,Are born into this world and pass away;And still the river flows, the moon shines fair,And will their courses surely run for ay.

But who was he who first stood here and gazedUpon the river and the heavenly light?And when did moon and river first beholdThe solitary watcher in the night?

The maples sigh upon the river's bank,A white cloud drifts across the azure dome;In yonder boat some traveller sails to-nightBeneath the moon which links his thoughts with home.

Above the home it seems to hover long,And peep through chinks within her chamber blind;The moon-borne message she cannot escape,Alas, the husband tarries far behind!

She looks across the gulf but hears no voice,Until her heart with longing leaps apace,And fain would she the silvery moonbeams followUntil they shine upon her loved one's face.

'Last night,' she murmured sadly to herself,'I dreamt of falling flowers by shady ponds;My Spring, ah me! half through its course has sped,But you return not to your wedded bonds.'

For ever onward flows the mighty stream;The Spring, half gone, is gliding to its rest;While on the river and the silent poolsThe moonbeams fall obliquely from the west.

And now the moon descending to the vergeHas disappeared beneath the sea-borne dew;While stretch the waters of the 'Siao and Siang',[1]And rocks and cliffs, in never-ending view.

How many wanderers by to-night's pale moonHave met with those from whom so long apart:—As on the shore midst flowerless trees I standThoughts old and new surge through my throbbing heart!

[1]Two streams flowing into the Yangtze River.

BY PAO-CHAO

A thousand miles across the Dragon MountainsThe North Wind blows the whirling flakes of snow,Until they gather on my terraced garden,And drift before the gate in furrowed row.Unlike the coloured plum and fragrant peach trees,Whose buds stretch forth to greet the warm Spring days,At dawn the snow lies in unsullied whiteness,But flees to shelter from the sun's bright rays.The peach flower and the plum flower have a beauty,Which flourish in the warmth of sun and shower;The snow's brief charm is purity and brightness,It does not claim the sun tints of the flower.

A thousand miles across the Dragon MountainsThe North Wind blows the whirling flakes of snow,Until they gather on my terraced garden,And drift before the gate in furrowed row.

Unlike the coloured plum and fragrant peach trees,Whose buds stretch forth to greet the warm Spring days,At dawn the snow lies in unsullied whiteness,But flees to shelter from the sun's bright rays.

The peach flower and the plum flower have a beauty,Which flourish in the warmth of sun and shower;The snow's brief charm is purity and brightness,It does not claim the sun tints of the flower.

T'sin Dynasty,a.d.265-419

The plum-tree's flower awakensThoughts of my lover now,And I would pluck some blossomsAnd send to far Si-chow.But such a distant regionThe flowers might never reach,While if I go in person,How great the joy to each!I'll brush my glossy tresses,More dark than raven's plume;I'll wear my plum silk mantle,And banish tears and gloom.But where, alack, is Si-chow?Far in the North, I know;Oh, when I've crossed the riverI'll ask which way to go!Ah me, the sun is setting,Si-chow is far away;The birds are homeward turning,I cannot start to-day.I'll keep an evening vigilBeneath the cedar-treeThat stands outside the porch-way;My love may come to me!The jewels my hair adorningAre glistening with the dew;But still my lover tarries;—What keeps him from my view?A gentle breeze is blowing,The night is bright as day;I'll go and gather lilies,And meet him on the way.In the early Autumn seasonThe lotus lilies redAre in the south pool growing,And reach above my head.My thoughts on old times musing,I stoop to pluck some seeds,In their shimmering greennessAs water 'mongst the reeds.I put some in my bosom,For the core is red as blood,As the heart of a true lover,When love is at the flood.Pressed to my bosom closely—No safer place, I wot,For tokens of betrothal;And yet my love comes not!Above my head in batchesThe wild geese northward hie,And they will pass o'er Si-chow!Oh, would that I could fly!I'll mount the northern turret;Perhaps from that lofty heightI'll see my lover coming,The herald of the light.Although the tower is lofty,I cannot see afarTo where my love is dwelling,Beneath the Northern Star.From morn until the evening—How long the hours do seem!—I've paced around the turret,As in a weary dream.Once more I'll raise the curtain,And show my lamp's pale light;My love may miss the pathway,And wander in the night.How lofty are the heavens!How vast the heaving sea!Ah, life is sad and drearyWhen love comes not to me!But though my heart is weary,I trust my lover's vow;The south wind knows my longingsAnd will bear them to Si-chow.And though the seas divide usOur hearts are one for ay,And in sweet dreams will mingleUntil the meeting day.

The plum-tree's flower awakensThoughts of my lover now,And I would pluck some blossomsAnd send to far Si-chow.

But such a distant regionThe flowers might never reach,While if I go in person,How great the joy to each!

I'll brush my glossy tresses,More dark than raven's plume;I'll wear my plum silk mantle,And banish tears and gloom.

But where, alack, is Si-chow?Far in the North, I know;Oh, when I've crossed the riverI'll ask which way to go!

Ah me, the sun is setting,Si-chow is far away;The birds are homeward turning,I cannot start to-day.

I'll keep an evening vigilBeneath the cedar-treeThat stands outside the porch-way;My love may come to me!

The jewels my hair adorningAre glistening with the dew;But still my lover tarries;—What keeps him from my view?

A gentle breeze is blowing,The night is bright as day;I'll go and gather lilies,And meet him on the way.

In the early Autumn seasonThe lotus lilies redAre in the south pool growing,And reach above my head.

My thoughts on old times musing,I stoop to pluck some seeds,In their shimmering greennessAs water 'mongst the reeds.

I put some in my bosom,For the core is red as blood,As the heart of a true lover,When love is at the flood.

Pressed to my bosom closely—No safer place, I wot,For tokens of betrothal;And yet my love comes not!

Above my head in batchesThe wild geese northward hie,And they will pass o'er Si-chow!Oh, would that I could fly!

I'll mount the northern turret;Perhaps from that lofty heightI'll see my lover coming,The herald of the light.

Although the tower is lofty,I cannot see afarTo where my love is dwelling,Beneath the Northern Star.

From morn until the evening—How long the hours do seem!—I've paced around the turret,As in a weary dream.

Once more I'll raise the curtain,And show my lamp's pale light;My love may miss the pathway,And wander in the night.

How lofty are the heavens!How vast the heaving sea!Ah, life is sad and drearyWhen love comes not to me!

But though my heart is weary,I trust my lover's vow;The south wind knows my longingsAnd will bear them to Si-chow.

And though the seas divide usOur hearts are one for ay,And in sweet dreams will mingleUntil the meeting day.

BY LI TAI-PEH

T'ang Dynasty

The Tien-shan peaks still glistenIn robes of spotless white;To songs of Spring I listen,But see no flowers around.The ground is bare and dreary,No voice of Spring I hear,Save the 'Willow Song',[2]so eerie,I play upon my flute.At morn the fight will followThe sound of bugle call;Each man, in sleep, the hollow[3]Across his saddle clasps.And by his side unrusted,His sword is closely laid,With which he long has trustedThe tyrant foe[4]to slay.On noble chargers riding,And fleeter than the wind,All fears and risks deriding,They cross the river Wei.Their bows are tautened tightly,Their quivers full of shafts,They face the danger lightly,And charge the haughty foe.As rocks by lightning rivenTheir ranks are rent apart;As clouds by tempest drivenThey break and flee away.Then on the sand, blood-streaming,The weary victors sleep,Their swords with hoar-frost gleaming,Their bows dark shadows cast.The Pass has been defended,The foes are scattered far,The soldiers' wives untendedMay seek their homes again.

The Tien-shan peaks still glistenIn robes of spotless white;To songs of Spring I listen,But see no flowers around.

The ground is bare and dreary,No voice of Spring I hear,Save the 'Willow Song',[2]so eerie,I play upon my flute.

At morn the fight will followThe sound of bugle call;Each man, in sleep, the hollow[3]Across his saddle clasps.

And by his side unrusted,His sword is closely laid,With which he long has trustedThe tyrant foe[4]to slay.

On noble chargers riding,And fleeter than the wind,All fears and risks deriding,They cross the river Wei.

Their bows are tautened tightly,Their quivers full of shafts,They face the danger lightly,And charge the haughty foe.

As rocks by lightning rivenTheir ranks are rent apart;As clouds by tempest drivenThey break and flee away.

Then on the sand, blood-streaming,The weary victors sleep,Their swords with hoar-frost gleaming,Their bows dark shadows cast.

The Pass has been defended,The foes are scattered far,The soldiers' wives untendedMay seek their homes again.

[2]The name of a tune.

[3]The Chinese saddle is curved upwards both in front and at the back, leaving a deep hollow in the centre where the rider sits.

[4]Tartar tribes beyond the frontiers.

BY LUH-KI

Brightly shines the Starry RiverFlowing down the Heavenly glade;From the north-west comes the 'Herd-Boy',From the south-east looks the 'Maid'.Quickly waves a white hand shapely,Sadly smiles her beauteous face,When she sees her faithful loverFar across the glittering space.Arms stretched out towards each other—With impulsive feet they stand;Eyes with sorrow's tears bedewèd—On the Star-Stream's shining strand.But, alas, that bridgeless RiverIs the cause of all their pain,Dooming 'Spinning-Maid' and 'Herd-Boy'Nevermore to meet again.

Brightly shines the Starry RiverFlowing down the Heavenly glade;From the north-west comes the 'Herd-Boy',From the south-east looks the 'Maid'.

Quickly waves a white hand shapely,Sadly smiles her beauteous face,When she sees her faithful loverFar across the glittering space.

Arms stretched out towards each other—With impulsive feet they stand;Eyes with sorrow's tears bedewèd—On the Star-Stream's shining strand.

But, alas, that bridgeless RiverIs the cause of all their pain,Dooming 'Spinning-Maid' and 'Herd-Boy'Nevermore to meet again.

[5]According to a Chinese legend the stars K'ien-Niu (Cowherd) and Chih-Nü (Spinning-Maid) are two lovers, doomed by the gods to live on opposite sides of the 'River of Stars' (Milky Way). As there is no bridge over this river, the two lovers can only stand afar and gaze at each other. (See note to 'The Swallow's Song'.)

An Ancient Poem: Poet unknown

I was but fifteen when I left my friendsFor distant climes to fight our Country's foe,And now I'm eighty—back for the first timeTo see the home I left so long ago.Where is the house? I should be near it now,Yet possibly I may have gone astray;Long years abroad have blurred the youthful brain,I'll ask this countryman to point the way.'The house is yonder—midst those grassy mounds,Beneath the shade of fir and cypress trees,And there lie buried all the kith and kinOf former tillers of these fallow leas.'The veteran sighed and wandered to the house,And found it overgrown and desolate;A startled hare fled through the kennel's hole,And pheasants flew from ceiling beams ornate.Exhausted by the journey and his grief,The old man plucked some grain from patches wild,And mallows from around the courtyard well,As in the days when but a little child.But when the homely fare was cooked and spread,And not a friend to cheer the lonely place,He rose, and going out to eastward gazed,While tears flowed down his worn and furrowed face.

I was but fifteen when I left my friendsFor distant climes to fight our Country's foe,And now I'm eighty—back for the first timeTo see the home I left so long ago.

Where is the house? I should be near it now,Yet possibly I may have gone astray;Long years abroad have blurred the youthful brain,I'll ask this countryman to point the way.

'The house is yonder—midst those grassy mounds,Beneath the shade of fir and cypress trees,And there lie buried all the kith and kinOf former tillers of these fallow leas.'

The veteran sighed and wandered to the house,And found it overgrown and desolate;A startled hare fled through the kennel's hole,And pheasants flew from ceiling beams ornate.

Exhausted by the journey and his grief,The old man plucked some grain from patches wild,And mallows from around the courtyard well,As in the days when but a little child.

But when the homely fare was cooked and spread,And not a friend to cheer the lonely place,He rose, and going out to eastward gazed,While tears flowed down his worn and furrowed face.

BY CH'ANG KIEN.

T'ang Dynasty (Ancient Style)

Here at the foot-hills of the Western MountainsMy boat rides idly on the current's trail,And in the lengthening radiance of the sunsetIt seems to chase its own reflected sail.While in the rarer light that heralds eveningThe forms of all things clearer seem to grow;The forests and the glades and mountain rangesCatch added beauty from the afterglow.The graceful minarets in cloudland floatingFrom jadestone green take on a sombre hue,But still flush rose tints in the darkness falling,Although the sun has disappeared from view.The shadows of the islands and the isletsStretch far across the surface of the lake;The evening mists that float above the watersAre bright as rain-clouds after showers break.In the distance Tsu's[6]abounding forestsReveal their sombre outlines in the gloom;While on the farther shore the gates of King-chowWithin the growing darkness faintly loom.The atmosphere with nightfall groweth clearer,A north wind blows with shrill voice through the land;While on the sandy stretches by the watersThe swan and stork in dreamy silence stand.The waters now have ceased from restless heaving,My little boat is screened by rushes green;The moon emerging from the lake's horizonA soft light sheds upon the silent scene.Amid the silence and the ghostly beautyI touch my lute to plaintive songs of old,And soon the pleasant strains and long-drawn cadenceHave seized my senses in their subtle hold.Thus in such ecstasy the hours pass quickly,And midnight comes with undetected speed;But now the heavy dew upon me fallingRecalls my senses to the body's need.Ah me! my body's but a fragile vesselUpon the ever-moving sea of life,Where light and shade and fitful joys and sorrowsControl me in their everchanging strife.

Here at the foot-hills of the Western MountainsMy boat rides idly on the current's trail,And in the lengthening radiance of the sunsetIt seems to chase its own reflected sail.

While in the rarer light that heralds eveningThe forms of all things clearer seem to grow;The forests and the glades and mountain rangesCatch added beauty from the afterglow.

The graceful minarets in cloudland floatingFrom jadestone green take on a sombre hue,But still flush rose tints in the darkness falling,Although the sun has disappeared from view.

The shadows of the islands and the isletsStretch far across the surface of the lake;The evening mists that float above the watersAre bright as rain-clouds after showers break.

In the distance Tsu's[6]abounding forestsReveal their sombre outlines in the gloom;While on the farther shore the gates of King-chowWithin the growing darkness faintly loom.

The atmosphere with nightfall groweth clearer,A north wind blows with shrill voice through the land;While on the sandy stretches by the watersThe swan and stork in dreamy silence stand.

The waters now have ceased from restless heaving,My little boat is screened by rushes green;The moon emerging from the lake's horizonA soft light sheds upon the silent scene.

Amid the silence and the ghostly beautyI touch my lute to plaintive songs of old,And soon the pleasant strains and long-drawn cadenceHave seized my senses in their subtle hold.

Thus in such ecstasy the hours pass quickly,And midnight comes with undetected speed;But now the heavy dew upon me fallingRecalls my senses to the body's need.

Ah me! my body's but a fragile vesselUpon the ever-moving sea of life,Where light and shade and fitful joys and sorrowsControl me in their everchanging strife.

[6]The name of a large feudal State in the Cheu Dynasty; it included Hupeh and Hunan and parts of Honan and Kiangsu. King-chow on the Yangtze was the capital.

BY CHU KWANG-HI

T'ang Dynasty

I've a hundred mulberry treesAnd thirty 'mow' of grain,With sufficient food and clothes,And friends my wine to drain.The fragrant grain of 'Ku-mi' seedProvides our Summer fare;Our Autumn brew of aster wineIs rich beyond compare.My goodwife comes with smiling faceTo welcome all our guests;My children run with willing feetTo carry my behests.When work is done and evening come,We saunter to the park,And there, 'neath elm and willow treesWe're blithe as soaring lark.With wine and song the hours fly byTill each in cloudland roams,And then, content with all the world,We wander to our homes.Through lattice-window steals a breeze,As on my couch I lie,While overhead the 'Silver Stream'Flows through a splendid sky.And as I gaze it comes to mind—A dozen jars at leastOf the aster-scented wine remainTo grace to-morrow's feast.

I've a hundred mulberry treesAnd thirty 'mow' of grain,With sufficient food and clothes,And friends my wine to drain.

The fragrant grain of 'Ku-mi' seedProvides our Summer fare;Our Autumn brew of aster wineIs rich beyond compare.

My goodwife comes with smiling faceTo welcome all our guests;My children run with willing feetTo carry my behests.

When work is done and evening come,We saunter to the park,And there, 'neath elm and willow treesWe're blithe as soaring lark.

With wine and song the hours fly byTill each in cloudland roams,And then, content with all the world,We wander to our homes.

Through lattice-window steals a breeze,As on my couch I lie,While overhead the 'Silver Stream'Flows through a splendid sky.

And as I gaze it comes to mind—A dozen jars at leastOf the aster-scented wine remainTo grace to-morrow's feast.

BY TU FU

T'ang Dynasty

The roof of my house has been blown awayBy the fiercest of Autumn winds to-day;It was merely of grass and branches built—Yet my only shelter save a wadded quilt.Across the river it scurried and whirled,In tangled tufts, by the hurricane hurled,Ascending in gusts till caught by the trees,Or falling in ponds and on furrowed leas.In great delight the village urchins shout,And say I'm old and cannot run about;And now before my face the rogues beginTo steal things, and then run away and grin.At last I drive them off and hobble backTo find my home is shelterless, alack!My lips are parched, my tongue is stiff and dry;My strength is gone, I can but rest and sigh.The wind has slackened but dark clouds affright,And wintry is the fast approaching night;My bed is worn and hard, my clothing spare,I cannot sleep for pain and anxious care.The rain still drizzles through the rafters high,'Tween which I see the drifting stormy sky,And everything is damp and comfortless:What can be done to lighten such distress?Oh, would there were a mansion of delight,A hundred million rooms both fair and bright,To shelter all the poor beneath the skies,And give the joy which lasting peace supplies.Could I but see this mansion rise sublimeBefore my eyes at this, or any time;My house and life to lose I'd be content,Could such great blessing to the world be sent.

The roof of my house has been blown awayBy the fiercest of Autumn winds to-day;It was merely of grass and branches built—Yet my only shelter save a wadded quilt.

Across the river it scurried and whirled,In tangled tufts, by the hurricane hurled,Ascending in gusts till caught by the trees,Or falling in ponds and on furrowed leas.

In great delight the village urchins shout,And say I'm old and cannot run about;And now before my face the rogues beginTo steal things, and then run away and grin.

At last I drive them off and hobble backTo find my home is shelterless, alack!My lips are parched, my tongue is stiff and dry;My strength is gone, I can but rest and sigh.

The wind has slackened but dark clouds affright,And wintry is the fast approaching night;My bed is worn and hard, my clothing spare,I cannot sleep for pain and anxious care.

The rain still drizzles through the rafters high,'Tween which I see the drifting stormy sky,And everything is damp and comfortless:What can be done to lighten such distress?

Oh, would there were a mansion of delight,A hundred million rooms both fair and bright,To shelter all the poor beneath the skies,And give the joy which lasting peace supplies.

Could I but see this mansion rise sublimeBefore my eyes at this, or any time;My house and life to lose I'd be content,Could such great blessing to the world be sent.

BY YUEN I-SHAN

The rose and orchid deck the fragrant isles,And white clouds fly towards the Northern strand;But though a thousand autumns pass away,Our 'Lord' will not return to mortal's land.The clouds are drifting to and fro in vain,Across the river blows the autumn breeze,And o'er the water floats a fine, white mist,While moonlight falls on stream and wooded leas.Upon the lofty 'Kiu-e'[8]mountain rangeThroughout the night the gibbons wail and call,And from the voiceless boughs of tall bamboosThe tears so long retained in dewdrops fall.

The rose and orchid deck the fragrant isles,And white clouds fly towards the Northern strand;But though a thousand autumns pass away,Our 'Lord' will not return to mortal's land.

The clouds are drifting to and fro in vain,Across the river blows the autumn breeze,And o'er the water floats a fine, white mist,While moonlight falls on stream and wooded leas.

Upon the lofty 'Kiu-e'[8]mountain rangeThroughout the night the gibbons wail and call,And from the voiceless boughs of tall bamboosThe tears so long retained in dewdrops fall.

[7]According to a Chinese legend the Ladies of the Siang River are Nü-Ying and Ngo-Hwang, the two wives of the Emperor Shun, and this poem describes their lament for his death.

[8]According to another legend the Emperor Shun was buried in the Kiu-i Mountains.

BY TU FU

T'ang Dynasty

Two friends whose love of wonders led them oftTo leave the haunts and scenes of every day,Invited me to join them in a voyageAcross the waters of the dread Mei-Pei![9]Where nature in her changeful moods is seen,In grandeur and in terror side by side;Where mighty forces alter heaven and earth,And puny human strength and life deride.Will countless billows of the wide expanseIn ceaseless motion mount and roll afar?Through fluid piles of seeming crystal rocksWill our boat sail beyond the sheltering bar?Delightful is the venture that we take,And yet dire fears will gather in our throat,The gavial huge may come in search of prey,The monster whales may overturn our boat!Fierce winds may rise and billows roll and break!But our brave friends unloose the flowing sail,And through the scattering flocks of duck and ternThe boat glides on—the white foam in our trail.The pure and bracing air inflates our lungs—Afar from towns where dust with cleanness vies;The boatmen chant gay ditties as they work,While sounds of lutes rise to the azure skies.As fresh as dew on early morning flowersThe leaves of water-lilies float around,Upon the surface of the water clear,Through which we peer in vain to find the ground.Then yielding to the current, broad and strong,Toward the central flood we quickly forge;The waters pure as those of Puh and Hsiai,[10]Yet darkly deep as in the Chong-Nan gorge.[11]The mountain heights whose base abuts the lakeAre mirrored clearly in the southern end;The Great Peace Temple, which in cloudland hangs,Reflects its image in the eastern bend.The moon has risen, and its silver beamsAcross the Lan-Tien Pass[12]in beauty glow,While we sit idly on the vessel's sideAnd watch the nodding peaks in depths below.And as we view the mirage of the heightsWhich tower in mighty strength above our heads,The swift Li-Long[13]in prodigal displayA shower of pearls upon the water spreads.The Ruler of the Rivers[14]beats his drum,And dragons haste the summons to obey;The Consorts[15]of the ancient king descend,Led by the Maiden of the Star-lit Way.[16]To branchèd instruments of beaten gold,Adorned with pendants of sapphire and jade,They sing, and dance, midst lights of many hues,Which flash in splendour, then in darkness fade.In ecstasy we watch the wondrous scene,But awe and joy are mingled in our mind,For now far off we hear the thunder peal,And lowering clouds with lurid lights are lined.The waters heave with burdensome unrest,The air is full of shadows of the dead;The Spirits of the Universe are near,And we cannot divine their portents dread.And such is life—an hour of changing scenesOf fitful joy and quickly following grief;An hour of buoyant youth in rapid flight,And then old age to end life—sad and brief!

Two friends whose love of wonders led them oftTo leave the haunts and scenes of every day,Invited me to join them in a voyageAcross the waters of the dread Mei-Pei![9]

Where nature in her changeful moods is seen,In grandeur and in terror side by side;Where mighty forces alter heaven and earth,And puny human strength and life deride.

Will countless billows of the wide expanseIn ceaseless motion mount and roll afar?Through fluid piles of seeming crystal rocksWill our boat sail beyond the sheltering bar?

Delightful is the venture that we take,And yet dire fears will gather in our throat,The gavial huge may come in search of prey,The monster whales may overturn our boat!

Fierce winds may rise and billows roll and break!But our brave friends unloose the flowing sail,And through the scattering flocks of duck and ternThe boat glides on—the white foam in our trail.

The pure and bracing air inflates our lungs—Afar from towns where dust with cleanness vies;The boatmen chant gay ditties as they work,While sounds of lutes rise to the azure skies.

As fresh as dew on early morning flowersThe leaves of water-lilies float around,Upon the surface of the water clear,Through which we peer in vain to find the ground.

Then yielding to the current, broad and strong,Toward the central flood we quickly forge;The waters pure as those of Puh and Hsiai,[10]Yet darkly deep as in the Chong-Nan gorge.[11]

The mountain heights whose base abuts the lakeAre mirrored clearly in the southern end;The Great Peace Temple, which in cloudland hangs,Reflects its image in the eastern bend.

The moon has risen, and its silver beamsAcross the Lan-Tien Pass[12]in beauty glow,While we sit idly on the vessel's sideAnd watch the nodding peaks in depths below.

And as we view the mirage of the heightsWhich tower in mighty strength above our heads,The swift Li-Long[13]in prodigal displayA shower of pearls upon the water spreads.

The Ruler of the Rivers[14]beats his drum,And dragons haste the summons to obey;The Consorts[15]of the ancient king descend,Led by the Maiden of the Star-lit Way.[16]

To branchèd instruments of beaten gold,Adorned with pendants of sapphire and jade,They sing, and dance, midst lights of many hues,Which flash in splendour, then in darkness fade.

In ecstasy we watch the wondrous scene,But awe and joy are mingled in our mind,For now far off we hear the thunder peal,And lowering clouds with lurid lights are lined.

The waters heave with burdensome unrest,The air is full of shadows of the dead;The Spirits of the Universe are near,And we cannot divine their portents dread.

And such is life—an hour of changing scenesOf fitful joy and quickly following grief;An hour of buoyant youth in rapid flight,And then old age to end life—sad and brief!

[9]A vast body of water in some wild and remote part of the Empire, probably in the north-west; but the exact locality is disputed.

[10]The names of two rivers, or the two words combined may mean the clear water of a deep cove or inlet.

[11]A deep gorge in the Chong-nan Mountains in Shen-si.

[12]A famous Pass near Si-ngan, the provincial capital of Shen-si.

[13]A fabulous Dragon whose mythological ancestry and habitat I am unable to trace.

[14]Ping-i, name of the Chinese God of Waters.

[15]Nü-Ying and Ngo-Hwang, daughters of the Emperor Yao, and wives of the Emperor Shun (2288b.c.?).

[16]The Spinning-Maid. See legend of Cowherd and Spinning-Maid.

BY EMPEROR WEN

Of the Wei Dynasty(a.d.220-264)

The autumn winds are blowing,The air is cool and drear,The forest leaves are falling,The grass is scant and sear.The dew to hoar-frost changes,And swallows southward fly;While from the North in batchesThe wild swan cloud the sky.And I such signs discerningThink of you, husband dear,And long for your home-comingFrom marches long and drear.Why do you longer tarryIn such a distant place?Think of my lonely vigils,Sad thoughts and tear-stained face!The harp I often finger,And try to sing a song;But soon I sigh and falter,And for your coming long.The Moon's pure light is shiningUpon my lonely bed;The 'Star-Stream's'[18]westward flowing,The night is not far sped.The Cowherd and the Spinning-Girl[19]Lament the doom that barsThe meeting of true lovers,Across the Stream of Stars.What folly did they ponderTo meet so dire a fate?I wonder if we alsoAre doomed to trial as great!

The autumn winds are blowing,The air is cool and drear,The forest leaves are falling,The grass is scant and sear.

The dew to hoar-frost changes,And swallows southward fly;While from the North in batchesThe wild swan cloud the sky.

And I such signs discerningThink of you, husband dear,And long for your home-comingFrom marches long and drear.

Why do you longer tarryIn such a distant place?Think of my lonely vigils,Sad thoughts and tear-stained face!

The harp I often finger,And try to sing a song;But soon I sigh and falter,And for your coming long.

The Moon's pure light is shiningUpon my lonely bed;The 'Star-Stream's'[18]westward flowing,The night is not far sped.

The Cowherd and the Spinning-Girl[19]Lament the doom that barsThe meeting of true lovers,Across the Stream of Stars.

What folly did they ponderTo meet so dire a fate?I wonder if we alsoAre doomed to trial as great!

[17]In this poem the thoughts of a woman, whose husband is engaged in the wars beyond the frontier, are described by the poet.

[18]The Milky Way.

[19]K'ien-Niu (Cowherd) and Chih-Nü (Spinning-Girl) are the names of two stars and, according to a Chinese legend, these two stars are lovers doomed to gaze at each other across the wide 'River of Stars'; i.e. the Milky Way, but never meet. According to one version of the legend, however, the lovers are allowed to meet once a year, on the seventh night of the Seventh Month, when birds form a bridge over the 'River of Stars' to enable the Spinning-Girl to meet her lover.

BY CHEN KIA-CHOW

T'ang Dynasty

Cold gusts from Arctic regions sweep the ground,And snowflakes countless fly through the wintry sky,Covering with spotless robe the earth around,While snow flowers frail on twigs and branches lie.As when a genial breeze in early SpringShakes open all the pear-trees' blossoms white,And sombre-looking trees with leafless boughsAre decked with radiance in a single night.Through crevices and slits in bamboo blinds,Which shield the entrance to our hempen tent,Snow-whirls and keen winds blow and chill the blood,In spite of furs and wadded garments blent.Cold so intense is felt by all alike—The General cannot stretch his horn-tipped bow,In coats of mail the Captains stiffly move,While soldiers growl or mutter curses low.Far off the desert stretches as a sea,In frozen ridges like to driven clouds,Alas, the multitudes of warriors braveThe pathless waste of cruel sand enshrouds!But now our happy comrade homeward turns,We'll drink his health to sound of viol and flute,And see him safely on his journey start;Another cup, and then the old salute!Falls thick the snow around the fortress walls,The red flag frozen stirs not in the air,As forth we ride from out the Eastern gate,—In jostling groups, or quietly pair by pair.Nearing the Tien-shan[20]road we draw in rein,To bid our comrade there a last farewell,And watch him upward climb the mountain pathTo peaks that touch the clouds where genii dwell.[21]But soon the winding path conceals from viewThe fading horsemen as they upward wend;All we now see are footprints in the snow,As 'ih-lu fuh-sing'[22]we towards them send.

Cold gusts from Arctic regions sweep the ground,And snowflakes countless fly through the wintry sky,Covering with spotless robe the earth around,While snow flowers frail on twigs and branches lie.

As when a genial breeze in early SpringShakes open all the pear-trees' blossoms white,And sombre-looking trees with leafless boughsAre decked with radiance in a single night.

Through crevices and slits in bamboo blinds,Which shield the entrance to our hempen tent,Snow-whirls and keen winds blow and chill the blood,In spite of furs and wadded garments blent.

Cold so intense is felt by all alike—The General cannot stretch his horn-tipped bow,In coats of mail the Captains stiffly move,While soldiers growl or mutter curses low.

Far off the desert stretches as a sea,In frozen ridges like to driven clouds,Alas, the multitudes of warriors braveThe pathless waste of cruel sand enshrouds!

But now our happy comrade homeward turns,We'll drink his health to sound of viol and flute,And see him safely on his journey start;Another cup, and then the old salute!

Falls thick the snow around the fortress walls,The red flag frozen stirs not in the air,As forth we ride from out the Eastern gate,—In jostling groups, or quietly pair by pair.

Nearing the Tien-shan[20]road we draw in rein,To bid our comrade there a last farewell,And watch him upward climb the mountain pathTo peaks that touch the clouds where genii dwell.[21]

But soon the winding path conceals from viewThe fading horsemen as they upward wend;All we now see are footprints in the snow,As 'ih-lu fuh-sing'[22]we towards them send.

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