~On the Misgovernment of the State~
A fruit, small as the garden peach,May still be used for food.A State, though poor as ours, might thrive,If but its rule were good.Our rule is bad, our State is sad,With mournful heart I grieve.All can from instrument and voiceMy mood of mind perceive.Who know me not, with scornful thought,Deem me a scholar proud."Those men are right," they fiercely say,"What mean your words so loud?"Deep in my heart my sorrows lie,And none the cause may know.How should they know who never tryTo learn whence comes our woe?
The garden jujube, although small,May still be used for food.A State, though poor as ours, might thrive,If but its rule were good.Our rule is bad, our State is sad,With mournful heart I grieve.Methinks I'll wander through the land,My misery to relieve.Who know me not, with scornful thought,Deem that wild views I hold."Those men are right," they fiercely say,"What mean your words so bold?"
Deep in my heart my sorrows lie,And none the cause may know.How can they know, who never tryTo learn whence comes our woe?
~The Mean Husband~
Thin cloth of dolichos supplies the shoes,In which some have to brave the frost and cold.A bride, when poor, her tender hands must use,Her dress to make, and the sharp needle hold.This man is wealthy, yet he makes his brideCollars and waistbands for his robes provide.
Conscious of wealth, he moves with easy mien;Politely on the left he takes his place;The ivory pin is at his girdle seen:—His dress and gait show gentlemanly grace.Why do we brand him in our satire here?'Tis this—-his niggard soul provokes the sneer.
~A Young Soldier on Service~
To the top of that tree-clad hill I go,And towards my father I gaze,Till with my mind's eye his form I espy,And my mind's ear hears how he says:—"Alas for my son on service abroad!He rests not from morning till eve.May he careful be and come back to me!While he is away, how I grieve!"
To the top of that barren hill I climb,And towards my mother I gaze,Till with my mind's eye her form I espy,And my mind's ear hears how she says:—"Alas for my child on service abroad!He never in sleep shuts an eye.May he careful be, and come back to me!In the wild may his body not lie!"
Up the lofty ridge I, toiling, ascend,And towards my brother I gaze,Till with my mind's eye his form I espy,And my mind's ear hears how he says:—"Alas! my young brother, serving abroad,All day with his comrades must roam.May he careful be, and come back to me,And die not away from his home."
~The King Goes to War~
The wild geese fly the bushy oaks around,With clamor loud.Suh-suhtheir wings resound,As for their feet poor resting-place is found.The King's affairs admit of no delay.Our millet still unsown, we haste away.No food is left our parents to supply;When we are gone, on whom can they rely?O azure Heaven, that shinest there afar,When shall our homes receive us from the war?
The wild geese on the bushy jujube-treesAttempt to settle and are ill at ease;—Suh-suhtheir wings go flapping in the breeze.The King's affairs admit of no delay;Our millet still unsown, we haste away.How shall our parents their requirements get?How in our absence shall their wants be met?O azure Heaven, that shinest there afar,When shall our homes receive us from the war?
The bushy mulberry-trees the geese in rowsSeek eager and to rest around them close—With rustling loud, as disappointment grows.The King's affairs admit of no delay;To plant our rice and maize we cannot stay.How shall our parents find their wonted food?When we are gone, who will to them be good?O azure Heaven, that shinest there afar,When shall our homes receive us from the war?
~Lament of a Bereaved Person~
A russet pear-tree rises all alone,But rich the growth of leaves upon it shown!I walk alone, without one brother left,And thus of natural aid am I bereft.Plenty of people there are all around,But none like my own father's sons are found.Ye travellers, who forever hurry by,Why on me turn the unsympathizing eye?No brother lives with whom my cause to plead;—Why not perform for me the helping deed?
A russet pear-tree rises all alone,But rich with verdant foliage o'ergrown.I walk alone, without one brother's care,To whom I might, amid my straits repair.Plenty of people there are all around,But none like those of my own name are found.Ye travellers, who forever hurry by,Why on me turn the unsympathizing eye?No brother lives with whom my cause to plead;—Why not perform for me the helping deed?
~The Drawbacks of Poverty~
On the left of the way, a russet pear-treeStands there all alone—a fit image of me.There is that princely man! O that he would come,And in my poor dwelling with me be at home!In the core of my heart do I love him, but say,Whence shall I procure him the wants of the day?
At the bend in the way a russet pear-treeStands there all alone—a fit image of me.There is that princely man! O that he would come,And rambling with me be himself here at home!In the core of my heart I love him, but say,Whence shall I procure him the wants of the day?
~A Wife Mourns for Her Husband~
The dolichos grows and covers the thorn,O'er the waste is the dragon-plant creeping.The man of my heart is away and I mourn—What home have I, lonely and weeping?
Covering the jujubes the dolichos grows,The graves many dragon-plants cover;But where is the man on whose breast I'd repose?No home have I, having no lover!
Fair to see was the pillow of horn,And fair the bed-chamber's adorning;But the man of my heart is not here, and I mournAll alone, and wait for the morning.
While the long days of summer pass over my head,And long winter nights leave their traces,I'm alone! Till a hundred of years shall have fled,And then I shall meet his embraces.
Through the long winter nights I am burdened with fears,Through the long summer days I am lonely;But when time shall have counted its hundreds of yearsI then shall be his—and his only!
~Celebrating the Opulence of the Lords of Ts'in~
Our ruler to the hunt proceeds;And black as iron are his steedsThat heed the charioteer's command,Who holds the six reins in his hand.His favorites follow to the chase,Rejoicing in his special grace.
The season's males, alarmed, arise—The season's males, of wondrous size.Driven by the beaters, forth they spring,Soon caught within the hunters' ring."Drive on their left," the ruler cries;And to its mark his arrow flies.
The hunting done, northward he goes;And in the park the driver showsThe horses' points, and his own skillThat rules and guides them at his will.Light cars whose teams small bells display,The long-and short-mouthed dogs convey.
~A Complaint~
He lodged us in a spacious house,And plenteous was our fare.But now at every frugal mealThere's not a scrap to spare.Alas! alas that this good manCould not go on as he began!
~A Wife's Grief Because of Her Husband's Absence~
The falcon swiftly seeks the north,And forest gloom that sent it forth.Since I no more my husband see,My heart from grief is never free.O how is it, I long to know,That he, my lord, forgets me so?
Bushy oaks on the mountain grow,And six elms where the ground is low.But I, my husband seen no more,My sad and joyless fate deplore.O how is it, I long to know,That he, my lord, forgets me so?
The hills the bushy wild plums show,And pear-trees grace the ground below.But, with my husband from me gone,As drunk with grief, I dwell alone.O how is it, I long to know,That he, my lord, forgets me so?
~Lament for Three Brothers~
They flit about, the yellow birds,And rest upon the jujubes find.Who buried were in duke Muh's grave,Alive to awful death consigned?
'Mong brothers three, who met that fate,'Twas sad the first, Yen-seih to see.He stood alone; a hundred menCould show no other such as he.When to the yawning grave he came,Terror unnerved and shook his frame.
Why thus destroy our noblest men,To thee we cry, O azure Heaven!To save Yen-seih from death, we wouldA hundred lives have freely given.
They flit about, the yellow birds,And on the mulberry-trees rest find.Who buried were in duke Muh's grave,Alive to awful death consigned?
'Mong brothers three, who met that fate,'Twas sad the next, Chung-hang to see.When on him pressed a hundred men,A match for all of them was he.When to the yawning grave he came,Terror unnerved and shook his frame.
Why thus destroy our noblest men,To thee we cry, O azure Heaven!To save Chung-hang from death, we wouldA hundred lives have freely given.
They flit about, the yellow birds,And rest upon the thorn-trees find.Who buried were in duke Muh's grave,Alive to awful death consigned?
'Mong brothers three, who met that fate,'Twas sad the third, K'Žen-foo, to see.A hundred men in desperate fightSuccessfully withstand could he.When to the yawning grave he came,Terror unnerved and shook his frame.
Why thus destroy our noblest men,To thee we cry, O azure Heaven!To save K'Žen-foo from death, we wouldA hundred lives have freely given.
[NOTE.—The incident related in this poem occurred in the year B.C. 620, when the duke of Muh died after playing an important part in the affairs of Northwest China. Muh required the three officers here celebrated, to be buried with him, and according to the "Historical Records" this barbarous practice began with duke Ching, Muh's predecessor. In all, 170 individuals were buried with Muh. The death of the last distinguished man of the Ts'in dynasty, the Emperor I, was subsequently celebrated by the entombment with him of all the inmates of his harem.]
~In Praise of a Ruler of Ts'in~
What trees grow on the Chung-nan hill?The white fir and the plum.In fur of fox, 'neath 'broidered robe,Thither our prince is come.His face glows with vermilion hue.O may he prove a ruler true!
What find we on the Chung-nan hill?Deep nook and open glade.Our prince shows there the doubleKeOn lower robe displayed.His pendant holds each tinkling gem,Long life be his, and deathless fame!
~The Generous Nephew~
I escorted my uncle to Tsin,Till the Wei we crossed on the way.Then I gave as I leftFor his carriage a giftFour steeds, and each steed was a bay.
I escorted my uncle to Tsin,And I thought of him much in my heart.Pendent stones, and with themOf fine jasper a gem,I gave, and then saw him depart.
~The Contentment of a Poor Recluse~
My only door some pieces of crossed wood,Within it I can rest enjoy.I drink the water wimpling from the spring;Nor hunger can my peace destroy.
Purged from ambition's aims I say, "For fish.We need not bream caught in the Ho;Nor, to possess the sweets of love, requireTo Ts'e, to find a Keang, to go.
"The man contented with his lot, a mealOf fish without Ho carp can make;Nor needs, to rest in his domestic joy,A Tsze of Sung as wife to take."
~The Disappointed Lover~
Where grow the willows near the eastern gate,And 'neath their leafy shade we could recline,She said at evening she would me await,And brightly now I see the day-star shine!
Here where the willows near the eastern gateGrow, and their dense leaves make a shady gloom,She said at evening she would me await.See now the morning star the sky illume!
~A Love-Song~
The moon comes forth, bright in the sky;A lovelier sight to draw my eyeIs she, that lady fair.She round my heart has fixed love's chain,But all my longings are in vain.'Tis hard the grief to bear.
The moon comes forth, a splendid sight;More winning far that lady bright,Object of my desire!Deep-seated is my anxious grief;In vain I seek to find relief;While glows the secret fire.
The rising moon shines mild and fair;More bright is she, whose beauty rareMy heart with longing fills.With eager wish I pine in vain;O for relief from constant pain,Which through my bosom thrills!
~The Lament of a Lover~
There where its shores the marsh surround,Rushes and lotus plants abound.Their loveliness brings to my mindThe lovelier one that I would find.In vain I try to ease the smartOf wounded love that wrings my heart.In waking thought and nightly dreams,From every pore the water streams.
All round the marsh's shores are seenValerian flowers and rushes green.But lovelier is that Beauty rare,Handsome and large, and tall and fair,I wish and long to call her mine,Doomed with the longing still to pine.Nor day nor night e'er brings relief;My inmost heart is full of grief.
Around the marsh, in rich display,Grow rush and lotus flowers, all gay.But not with her do they compare,So tall and large, majestic, fair.Both day and night, I nothing speed;Still clings to me the aching need.On side, on back, on face, I lie,But vain each change of posture.
~The Wish of an Unhappy Man~
Where the grounds are wet and low,There the trees of goat-peach grow,With their branches small and smooth,Glossy in their tender youth.Joy it were to me, O tree,Consciousness to want like thee.
Where the grounds are wet and low,There the trees of goat-peach grow.Soft and fragrant are their flowers,Glossy from the vernal showers.Joy it were to me, O tree,Ties of home to want like thee.
Where the grounds are wet and low,There the trees of goat-peach grow,What delicious fruits they bear,Glossy, soft, of beauty rare!Joy it were to me, O tree,Household cares to want like thee.
~Against Frivolous Pursuits~
Like splendid robes appear the wingsOf the ephemeral fly;And such the pomp of those great men,Which soon in death shall lie!I grieve! Would they but come to me!To teach them I should try.
The wings of the ephemeral flyAre robes of colors gay;And such the glory of those men,Soon crumbling to decay!I grieve! Would they but rest with me,They'd learn a better way!
The ephemeral fly bursts from its hole,With gauzy wings like snow;So quick the rise, so quick the fall,Of those great men we know!I grieve! Would they but lodge with me,Forth they would wiser go.
~The Duke of Chow Tells of His Soldiers~
To the hills of the east we went,And long had we there to remain.When the word of recall was sent,Thick and fast came the drizzling rain.When told our return we should take,Our hearts in the West were and sore;But there did they clothes for us make:—They knew our hard service was o'er.On the mulberry grounds in our sightThe large caterpillars were creeping;Lonely and still we passed the night,All under our carriages sleeping.
To the hills of the East we went,And long had we there to remain.When the word of recall was sent,Thick and fast came the drizzling rain.The heavenly gourds rise to the eye,With their fruit hanging under the eave.In our chambers the sow-bug we spy;Their webs on our doors spiders weave.Our paddocks seem crowded with deer,With the glow-worm's light all about.Such thoughts, while they filled us with fear,We tried, but in vain, to keep out.
To the hills of the East we went,And long had we there to remain.When the word of recall was sent,Thick and fast came the drizzling rain.
On ant-hills screamed cranes with delight;In their rooms were our wives sighing sore.Our homes they had swept and made tight:—All at once we arrived at the door.The bitter gourds hanging are seen,From branches of chestnut-trees high.Three years of toil away we had been,Since such a sight greeted the eye.
To the hills of the East we went,And long had we there to remain.When the word of recall was sent,Thick and fast came the drizzling rain.With its wings now here, and now there,Is the oriole sporting in flight.Those brides to their husbands repair,Their steeds red and bay, flecked with white.Each mother has fitted each sash;Their equipments are full and complete;But fresh unions, whatever their dash,Can ne'er with reunions compete.
~There is a Proper Way for Doing Everything~
In hewing an axe-shaft, how must you act?Another axe take, or you'll never succeed.In taking a wife, be sure 'tis a fact,That with no go-between you never can speed.
In hewing an axe-shaft, hewing a shaft,For a copy you have the axe in your hand.
In choosing a wife, you follow the craft,And forthwith on the mats the feast-vessels stand.
~A Festal Ode~
With sounds of happiness the deerBrowse on the celery of the meads.A nobler feast is furnished here,With guests renowned for noble deeds.The lutes are struck; the organ blows,Till all its tongues in movement heave.Each basket loaded stands, and showsThe precious gifts the guests receive.They love me and my mind will teach,How duty's highest aim to reach.
With sounds of happiness the deerThe southern-wood crop in the meads,What noble guests surround me here,Distinguished for their worthy deeds!From them my people learn to flyWhate'er is mean; to chiefs they giveA model and a pattern high;—They show the life they ought to live.Then fill their cups with spirits rare,Till each the banquet's joy shall share.
With sounds of happiness the deerThe salsola crop in the fields.What noble guests surround me here!Each lute for them its music yields.Sound, sound the lutes, or great or small.The joy harmonious to prolong;—
And with my spirits rich crown allThe cups to cheer the festive throng.Let each retire with gladdened heart,In his own sphere to play his part.
~A Festal Ode Complimenting an Officer~
On dashed my four steeds, without halt, without stay,Though toilsome and winding from Chow was the way.I wished to return—but the monarch's commandForbade that his business be done with slack hand;And my heart was with sadness oppressed.
On dashed my four steeds; I ne'er slackened the reins.They snorted and panted—all white, with black manes.I wished to return, but our sovereign's commandForbade that his business be done with slack hand;—And I dared not to pause or to rest.
Unresting the Filial doves speed in their flight,Ascending, then sweeping swift down from the height,Now grouped on the oaks. The king's high commandForbade that his business be done with slack hand;—And my father I left, sore distressed.
Unresting the Filial doves speed in their flight,Now fanning the air and anon they alightOn the medlars thick grouped. But our monarch's commandForbade that his business be done with slack hand;—Of my mother I thought with sad breast.
My four steeds I harnessed, all white and black-maned,Which straight on their way, fleet and emulous strained.I wished to return; and now venture in songThe wish to express, and announce how I longFor my mother my care to attest.
[NOTE.—Both Maou and Choo agree that this ode was composed in honor of the officer who narrates the story in it, although they say it was not written by the officer himself, but was put into his mouth, as it were, to express the sympathy of his entertainer with him, and the appreciation of his devotion to duty.]
~The Value of Friendship~
The woodmen's blows responsive ring,As on the trees they fall;And when the birds their sweet notes sing,They to each other call.From the dark valley comes a bird,And seeks the lofty tree.Yinggoes its voice, and thus it cries,"Companion, come to me."The bird, although a creature small,Upon its mate depends;And shall we men, who rank o'er all,Not seek to have our friends?All spirits love the friendly man,And hearken to his prayer.What harmony and peace they canBestow, his lot shall share.
Hoo-hoothe woodmen all uniteTo shout, as trees they fell.They do their work with all their might;—What I have done I'll tell.I've strained and made my spirits clear,The fatted lambs I've killed.With friends who my own surname bear,My hall I've largely filled.Some may be absent, casually,And leave a broken line;But better this than absence byAn oversight of mine.My court I've sprinkled and swept clean,Viands in order set.Eight dishes loaded stand with grain;There's store of fatted meat.My mother's kith and kin I'm sureI've widely called by name.That some be hindered better isThan ~I~ give cause for blame.
On the hill-side the trees they fell,All working with good-willI labor too, with equal zeal.And the host's part fulfil.Spirits I've set in order meet,The dishes stand in rows.The guests are here; no vacant seatA brother absent shows.The loss of kindly feeling oftFrom slightest things shall grow,Where all the fare is dry and spare,Resentments fierce may glow.My store of spirits is well strained,If short prove the supply,My messengers I straightway send,And what is needed buy.I beat the drums, and in the danceLead joyously the train.Oh! good it is, when falls the chanceThe sparkling cup to drain.
~The Response to a Festal Ode~
Heaven shields and sets thee fast.It round thee fair has castThy virtue pure.Thus richest joy is thine;—Increase of corn and wine,And every gift divine,Abundant, sure.
Heaven shields and sets thee fast.From it thou goodness hast;Right are thy ways.Its choicest gifts 'twill pour,That last for evermore,Nor time exhaust the storeThrough endless days.
Heaven shields and sets thee fast,Makes thine endeavor lastAnd prosper well.Like hills and mountains high,Whose masses touch the sky;Like streams aye surging by;Thine increase swell!
With rite and auspice fair,Thine offerings thou dost bear,And son-like give,The season's round from spring,To olden duke and king,Whose words to thee we bring:—"Forever live,"
The spirits of thy deadPour blessings on thy head,Unnumbered sweet.Thy subjects, simple, good,Enjoy their drink and food.Our tribes of every bloodFollow thy feet.
Like moons that wax in light;Or suns that scale the height;Or ageless hill;Nor change, nor autumn know;As pine and cypress grow;The sons that from thee flowBe lasting still!
~An Ode of Congratulation~
The russet pear-tree stands there all alone;How bright the growth of fruit upon it shown!The King's affairs no stinting hands require,And days prolonged still mock our fond desire.But time has brought the tenth month of the year;My woman's heart is torn with wound severe.Surely my warrior lord might now appear!
The russet pear-tree stands there all alone;How dense the leafy shade all o'er it thrown!The King's affairs require no slackening hand,And our sad hearts their feelings can't command.The plants and trees in beauty shine; 'tis spring.From off my heart its gloom I fain would fling.This season well my warrior home may bring!
I climbed that northern hill, and medlars sought;The spring nigh o'er, to ripeness they were brought."The King's affairs cannot be slackly done";—'Tis thus our parents mourn their absent son.But now his sandal car must broken be;I seem his powerful steeds worn out to see.Relief has gone! He can't be far from me!
Alas! they can't have marched; they don't arrive!More hard it grows with my distress to strive.The time is passed, and still he is not here!My sorrows multiply; great is my fear.But lo! by reeds and shell I have divined,That he is near, they both assure my mind;—Soon at my side my warrior I shall find!
~An Ode on the Return of the Troops~
Forth from the city in our cars we drove,Until we halted at the pasture ground.The general came, and there with ardor stroveA note of zeal throughout the host to sound."Direct from court I come, by orders boundThe march to hasten";—it was thus he spake.Then with the carriage-officers around,He strictly charged them quick despatch to make:—"Urgent the King's affairs, forthwith the field we take."
While there we stopped, the second corps appeared,And 'twixt Us and the city took its place.The guiding standard was on high upreared,Where twining snakes the tortoises embrace,While oxtails, crest-like, did the staff's top grace.We watched the sheet unfolding grandly wave;Each flag around showed falcons on its face.
With anxious care looked on our leader brave;Watchful the carriage-officers appeared and grave.
Nan Chung, our chief, had heard the royal callTo go where inroad by Heen-yuns was made,And 'cross the frontier build a barrier wall.Numerous his chariots, splendidly arrayed!The standards—this where dragons were displayed,And that where snakes round tortoises were coiled—Terrific flew. "Northward our host," he said,"Heaven's son sends forth to tame the Heen-yun wild."Soon by this awful chief would all their tribes be foiled.
When first we took the field, and northward went,The millet was in flower;—a prospect sweet.Now when our weary steps are homeward bent,The snow falls fast, the mire impedes our feet.Many the hardships we were called to meet,Ere the King's orders we had all fulfilled.No rest we had; often our friends to greetThe longing came; but vain regrets we stilled;By tablets stern our hearts with fresh resolve were thrilled.
"Incessant chirp the insects in the grass;All round about the nimble hoppers spring.From them our thoughts quick to our husbands pass?Although those thoughts our hearts with anguish wring.Oh! could we see them, what relief 'twould bring!Our hearts, rejoiced, at once would feel at rest."Thus did our wives, their case deploring, sing;The while our leader farther on had pressed,And smitten with his power the wild Jung of the west.
The spring days now are lengthening out their light;The plants and trees are dressed in living green;The orioles resting sing, or wing their flight;Our wives amid the southern-wood are seen,Which white they bring, to feed their silkworms keen.Our host, returned, sweeps onwards to the hall,Where chiefs are questioned, shown the captives meanNan Chung, majestic, draws the gaze of all,Proud o'er the barbarous foe his victories to recall.
~An Ode Appropriate to a Festivity~
The dew lies heavy all around,Nor, till the sun shines, leaves the ground.Far into night we feasting sit;We drink, and none his place may quit.
The dew lies heavy, and its gemsStud the luxuriant, grassy stems.The happy night with wassail rings;So feasted here the former kings.
The jujube and the willow-treeAll fretted with the dew we see.Each guest's a prince of noble line,In whom the virtues all combine.
Thet'ungandetheir fruits display,Pendant from every graceful spray.My guests are joyous and serene,No haggard eye, no ruffled mien.
~Celebrating a Hunting Expedition~
Our chariots were well-built and firm,Well-matched our steeds, and fleet and strong.Four, sleek and large, each chariot drew,And eastward thus we drove along.
Our hunting cars were light and good,Each with its team of noble steeds.Still further east we took the wayTo Foo-mere's grassy plains that leads.
Loud-voiced, the masters of the chaseArranged the huntsmen, high and low.While banners streamed, and ox-tails flew,We sought the prey on distant Gaou.
Each with full team, the princes came,A lengthened train in bright array.In gold-wrought slippers, knee-caps red,They looked as on an audience day.
Each right thumb wore the metal guard;On the left arm its shield was bound.In unison the arrows flew;The game lay piled upon the ground.
The leaders of the tawny teamsSped on their course, direct and true.The drivers perfect skill displayed;Like blow well aimed each arrow flew.
Neighing and pleased, the steeds returned;The bannered lines back slowly came.No jostling rude disgraced the crowd;The king declined large share of game.
So did this famous hunt proceed!So free it was from clamorous sound!Well does our King become his place,And high the deeds his reign have crowned!
~The King's Anxiety for His Morning Levťe~
How goes the night? For heavy morning sleepIll suits the king who men would loyal keep.The courtyard, ruddy with the torch's light,Proclaims unspent the deepest hour of night.Already near the gate my lords appear;Their tinkling bells salute my wakeful ear.
How goes the night? I may not slumber on.Although not yet the night is wholly gone,The paling torch-light in the court belowGives token that the hours swift-footed go.Already at the gate my lords appear;Their tinkling bells with measured sound draw near.
How goes the night? I may not slumber now.The darkness smiles with morning on its brow.The courtyard torch no more gives forth its ray,But heralds with its smoke the coming day.My princes pass the gate, and gather there;I see their banners floating in the air.
~Moral Lessons from Natural Facts~
All true words fly, as from yon reedy marshThe crane rings o'er the wild its screaming harsh.Vainly you try reason in chains to keep;—Freely it moves as fish sweeps through the deep.
Hate follows love, as 'neath those sandal-treesThe withered leaves the eager searcher sees.The hurtful ne'er without some good was born;—The stones that mar the hill will grind the corn.
All true words spread, as from the marsh's eyeThe crane's sonorous note ascends the sky.Goodness throughout the widest sphere abides,As fish round isle and through the ocean glides.And lesser good near greater you shall see,As grows the paper shrub 'neath sandal-tree.And good emerges from what man condemns;—Those stones that mar the hill will polish gems.
~On the Completion of a Royal Palace~
On yonder banks a palace, lo! upshoots,The tender blue of southern hill behind;Firm-founded, like the bamboo's clamping roots;Its roof made pine-like, to a point defined.Fraternal love here bears its precious fruits,And unfraternal schemes be ne'er designed!
Ancestral sway is his. The walls they rear,Five thousand cubits long; and south and westThe doors are placed. Here will the king appear,Here laugh, here talk, here sit him down and rest.
To mould the walls, the frames they firmly tie;The toiling builders beat the earth and lime.The walls shall vermin, storm, and bird defy;—Fit dwelling is it for his lordly prime.
Grand is the hall the noble lord ascends;—In height, like human form most reverent, grand;And straight, as flies the shaft when bow unbends;Its tints, like hues when pheasant's wings expand.
High pillars rise the level court around;The pleasant light the open chamber steeps;And deep recesses, wide alcoves, are found,Where our good king in perfect quiet sleeps.
Laid is the bamboo mat on rush mat square;—Here shall he sleep, and, waking, say, "DivineWhat dreams are good? For bear and grizzly bear,And snakes and cobras, haunt this couch of mine."
Then shall the chief diviner glad reply,"The bears foreshow that Heaven will send you sons.The snakes and cobras daughters prophesy.These auguries are all auspicious ones.
"Sons shall be his—on couches lulled to rest.The little ones, enrobed, with sceptres play;Their infant cries are loud as stern behest;Their knees the vermeil covers shall display.As king hereafter one shall be addressed;The rest, our princes, all the States shall sway.
"And daughters also to him shall be born.They shall be placed upon the ground to sleep;Their playthings tiles, their dress the simplest worn;Their part alike from good and ill to keep,And ne'er their parents' hearts to cause to mourn;To cook the food, and spirit-malt to steep."
~The Condition of King Seuen's Flocks~
Who dares to say your sheep are few?The flocks are all three hundred strong.Who dares despise your cattle too?There ninety, black-lipped, press along.Though horned the sheep, yet peaceful each appears;The cattle come with moist and flapping ears.
These climb the heights, those drink the pool;Some lie at rest, while others roam.With rain-coats, and thin splint hats cool,And bearing food, your herdsmen come.In thirties, ranged by hues, the creatures stand;Fit victims they will yield at your command.
Your herdsmen twigs and fagots bring,With prey of birds and beasts for food.Your sheep, untouched by evil thing,Approach, their health and vigor good.The herdsman's waving hand they all behold,And docile come, and pass into the fold.
Your herdsmen dream;—fish take the placeOf men; on banners falcons fly,Displacing snakes and tortoises.The augur tells his prophecy:—"The first betoken plenteous years; the changeOf banners shows of homes a widening range."
~A Eunuch Complains of His Fate~
A few fine lines, at random drawn,Like the shell-pattern wrought in lawnTo hasty glance will seem.My trivial faults base slander's slimeDistorted into foulest crime,And men me worthless deem.
A few small points, pricked down on wood,May be made out a picture goodOf the bright Southern Sieve.Who planned, and helped those slanderers vile,My name with base lies to defile?Unpitied, here I grieve.
With babbling tongues you go about,And only scheme how to make outThe lies you scatter round.Hear me—Be careful what you say;People ere long your words will weigh,And liars you'll be found.
Clever you are with changeful schemes!How else could all your evil dreamsAnd slanders work their way?Men now believe you; by and by,The truth found out, each vicious lieWill ill for ill repay.
The proud rejoice; the sufferer weeps.O azure Heaven, from out thy deepsWhy look in silence down?Behold those proud men and rebuke;With pity on the sufferers look,And on the evil frown.
Those slanderers I would gladly take,With all who help their schemes to make,And to the tigers throw.If wolves and tigers such should spare,Td hurl them 'midst the freezing air,Where the keen north winds blow.And should the North compassion feelI'd fling them to great Heaven, to dealOn them its direst woe.
As on the sacred heights you dwell,My place is in the willow dell,One is the other near.Before you, officers, I spreadThese lines by me, poor eunuch, made.Think not Mang-tsze severe.
~An Officer Deplores the Misery of the Time~
In the fourth month summer shines;In the sixth the heat declines.Nature thus grants men relief;Tyranny gives only grief.Were not my forefathers men?Can my suffering 'scape their ken?
In the cold of autumn daysEach plant shrivels and decays.Nature then is hard and stern;Living things sad lessons learn.Friends dispersed, all order gone,Place of refuge have I none.
Winter days are wild and fierce;Rapid gusts each crevice pierce.Such is my unhappy lot,Unbefriended and forgot!Others all can happy be;I from misery ne'er am free.
On the mountains are fine trees;Chestnuts, plum-trees, there one sees.All the year their forms they show;Stately more and more they grow.Noble turned to ravening thief!What the cause? This stirs my grief.
Waters from that spring appearSometimes foul, and sometimes clear,Changing oft as falls the rain,Or the sky grows bright again.New misfortunes every dayStill befall me, misery's prey.
Aid from mighty streams obtained,Southern States are shaped and drained.Thus the Keang and Han are thanked,And as benefactors ranked.Weary toil my vigor drains;All unnoticed it remains!
Hawks and eagles mount the sky;Sturgeons in deep waters lie.Out of reach, they safely get,Arrow fear not, nor the net.Hiding-place for me there's none;Here I stay, and make my moan.
Ferns upon the hills abound;Keandein marshy ground.Each can boast its proper place,Where it grows for use or grace.I can only sing the woe,Which, ill-starred, I undergo.
~On the Alienation of a Friend~
Gently and soft the east wind blows,And then there falls the pelting rain.When anxious fears pressed round you close,Then linked together were we twain.Now happy, and your mind at rest,You turn and cast me from your breast.
Gently and soft the east wind blows,And then there comes the whirlwind wild.When anxious fears pressed round you close,Your bosom held me as a child.Now happy, and in peaceful state,You throw me off and quite forget.
Gently and soft the east wind blows,Then round the rocky height it storms.Each plant its leaves all dying shows;The trees display their withered forms.My virtues great forgotten all,You keep in mind my faults, though small.
~A Picture of Husbandry~
Various the toils which fields so large demand!We choose the seed; we take our tools in hand.In winter for our work we thus prepare;Then in the spring, bearing the sharpened 'share,We to the acres go that south incline,And to the earth the different seeds consign.Soon, straight and large, upward each plant aspires;—All happens as our noble lord desires.
The plants will ear; within their sheath confined,The grains will harden, and be good in kind.Nor darnel these, nor wolf's-tail grass infests;From core and leaf we pick the insect pests,And pick we those that eat the joints and roots:—So do we guard from harm the growing fruits.May the great Spirit, whom each farmer names,Those insects take, and cast them to the flames!
The clouds o'erspread the sky in masses dense,And gentle rain down to the earth dispense.First may the public fields the blessing get,And then with it our private fields we wet!Patches of unripe grain the reaper leaves;And here and there ungathered are the sheaves.Handfuls besides we drop upon the ground,And ears untouched in numbers lie around;—
These by the poor and widows shall be found.When wives and children to the toilers come,Bringing provisions from each separate home,Our lord of long descent shall oft appear;The Inspector also, glad the men to cheer.They too shall thank the Spirits of the air,With sacrifices pure for all their care;Now red, now black, the victims that they slay,As North or South the sacrifice they pay;While millet bright the altars always show;—And we shall thus still greater blessings know.
~The Complaint of an Officer~
O Heaven above, before whose lightRevealed is every deed and thought,To thee I cry.Hither on toilsome service brought,In this wild K'ew I watch time's flight,And sadly sigh.The second month had just begun,When from the east we took our way.Through summer hotWe passed, and many a wintry day.Summer again its course has run.O bitter lot!There are my compeers, gay at court,While here the tears my face begrime.I'd fain return—But there is that dread net for crime!The fear of it the wish cuts short.In vain I burn!
Ere we the royal city left,The sun and moon renewed the year.We marched in hope.Now to its close this year is near.Return deferred, of hope bereft,All mourn and mope.My lonesome state haunts aye my breast,While duties grow, and cares increase,Too hard to bear.
Toils that oppress me never cease;Not for a moment dare I rest,Nigh to despair.I think with fond regard of those,Who in their posts at court remain,My friends of old.Fain would I be with them again,But fierce reproof return would cause.This post I hold.
When for the West I left my home,The sun and moon both mildly shone,Our hearts to cheer.We'd soon be back, our service done!Alas! affairs more urgent come,And fix us here.The year is hastening to expire.We gather now the southern-wood,The beans we reap;—That for its fragrance, these for food.Such things that constant care requireMe anxious keep.Thinking of friends still at their posts,I rise and pass the night outside,So vexed my mind.But soon what changes may betide?I here will stay, whate'er it costs,And be resigned.
My honored friends, O do not deemYour rest which seems secure from illWill ever last!Your duties quietly fulfil,And hold the upright in esteem,With friendship fast.So shall the Spirits hear your cry,You virtuous make, and good supply,In measure vast.
My honored friends, O do not deemRepose that seems secure from illWill lasting prove.Your duties quietly fulfil,And hold the upright in esteem,With earnest love.So shall the Spirits hear your prayer,And on you happiness confer,Your hopes above.
~The Rejoicings of a Bridegroom~
With axle creaking, all on fire I went,To fetch my young and lovely bride.No thirst or hunger pangs my bosom rent—I only longed to have her by my side.I feast with her, whose virtue fame had told,Nor need we friends our rapture to behold.
The long-tailed pheasants surest covert find,Amid the forest on the plain.Here from my virtuous bride, of noble mind,And person tall, I wisdom gain.I praise her while we feast, and to her say,"The love I bear you ne'er will know decay.
"Poor we may be; spirits and viands fineMy humble means will not afford.But what we have, we'll taste and not repine;From us will come no grumbling word.And though to you no virtue I can add,Yet we will sing and dance, in spirit glad.
"I oft ascend that lofty ridge with toil,And hew large branches from the oaks;Then of their leafy glory them I spoil,And fagots form with vigorous strokes.Returning tired, your matchless grace I see,And my whole soul dissolves in ecstasy.
"To the high hills I looked, and urged each steed;The great road next was smooth and plain.
Up hill, o'er dale, I never slackened speed;Like lute-string sounded every rein.I knew, my journey ended, I should comeTo you, sweet bride, the comfort of my home."
~Against Listening to Slanderers~
Like the blueflies buzzing round,And on the fences lighting,Are the sons of slander found,Who never cease their biting.O thou happy, courteous king,To the winds their slanders fling.
Buzzing round the blueflies hear,About the jujubes flocking!So the slanderers appear,Whose calumnies are shocking.By no law or order bound,All the kingdom they confound.
How they buzz, those odious flies,Upon the hazels clust'ring!And as odious are the liesOf those slanderers blust'ring.Hatred stirred between us twoShows the evil they can do.
~In Praise of By-gone Simplicity~
In the old capital they stood,With yellow fox-furs plain,Their manners all correct and good,Speech free from vulgar stain.Could we go back to Chow's old days,All would look up to them with praise.
In the old capital they woreT'aehats and black caps small;And ladies, who famed surnames bore,Their own thick hair let fall.Such simple ways are seen no more,And the changed manners I deplore.
Ear-rings, made of plainest gold,In the old days were worn.Each lady of a noble lineA Yin or Keih seemed born.Such officers and ladies nowI see not and my sorrows grow.
With graceful sweep their girdles fell,Then in the days of old.The ladies' side-hair, with a swell,Like scorpion's tail, rose bold.Such, if I saw them in these days,I'd follow with admiring gaze.
So hung their girdles, not for show;—To their own length 'twas due.'Twas not by art their hair curled so;—By nature so it grew.I seek such manners now in vain,And pine for them with longing pain.
[NOTE.—Yin and Keih were clan names of great families, the ladies of which would be leaders of fashion in the capital.]
~A Wife Bemoans Her Husband's Absence~
So full am I of anxious thought,Though all the morn king-grass I've sought,To fill my arms I fail.Like wisp all-tangled is my hair!To wash it let me home repair.My lord soon may I hail!
Though 'mong the indigo I've wroughtThe morning long; through anxious thoughtMy skirt's filled but in part.Within five days he was to appear;The sixth has come and he's not here.Oh! how this racks my heart!
When here we dwelt in union sweet,If the hunt called his eager feet,His bow I cased for him.Or if to fish he went away,And would be absent all the day,His line I put in trim.
What in his angling did he catch?Well worth the time it was to watchHow bream and tench he took.Men thronged upon the banks and gazed;At bream and tench they looked amazed,The triumphs of his hook.
~The Earl of Shaou's Work~
As the young millet, by the genial rainEnriched, shoots up luxuriant and tall,So, when we southward marched with toil and pain,The Earl of Shaou cheered and inspired us all.
We pushed our barrows, and our burdens bore;We drove our wagons, and our oxen led."The work once done, our labor there is o'er,And home we travel," to ourselves we said.
Close kept our footmen round the chariot track;Our eager host in close battalions sped."When once our work is done, then we go back,Our labor over," to themselves they said.
Hard was the work we had at Seay to do,But Shaou's great earl the city soon upreared.The host its service gave with ardor true;—Such power in all the earl's commands appeared!
We did on plains and low lands what was meet;We cleared the springs and streams, the land to drain.The Earl of Shaou announced his work complete,And the King's heart reposed, at rest again.
~The Plaint of King Yew's Forsaken Wife~
The fibres of the white-flowered rushAre with the white grass bound.So do the two together go,In closest union found.And thus should man and wife abide,The twain combined in one;But this bad man sends me away,And bids me dwell alone.
Both rush and grass from the bright cloudsThe genial dew partake.
Kind and impartial, nature's lawsNo odious difference make.But providence appears unkind;Events are often hard.This man, to principle untrue,Denies me his regard.
Northward the pools their waters send,To flood each paddy field;So get the fields the sap they need,Their store of rice to yield.But that great man no deed of graceDeigns to bestow on me.My songs are sighs. At thought of himMy heart aches wearily.
The mulberry branches they collect,And use their food to cook;But I must use a furnace small,That pot nor pan will brook.So me that great man badly treats,Nor uses as his wife,Degrades me from my proper place,And fills with grief my life.
The bells and drums inside the courtMen stand without and hear;So should the feelings in my breast,To him distinct appear.All-sorrowful, I think of him,Longing to move his love;But he vouchsafes no kind response;His thoughts far from me rove.
The marabow stands on the dam,And to repletion feeds;The crane deep in the forest cries,Nor finds the food it needs.So in my room the concubineBy the great man is placed;While I with cruel banishmentAm cast out and disgraced.
The yellow ducks sit on the dam,With left wing gathered low;So on each other do they lean,And their attachment show.And love should thus the man and wifeIn closest concord bind;But that man turns away from me,And shows a fickle mind.
When one stands on a slab of stone,No higher than the ground,Nothing is added to his height;—Low with the stone he's found.So does the favorite's mean estateRender that great man mean,While I by him, to distance sent,Am pierced with sorrow keen.
~Hospitality~
A few gourd leaves that waved aboutCut down and boiled;—the feast how spare!But the good host his spirits takes,Pours out a cup, and proves them rare.
A single rabbit on the mat,Or baked, or roast:—how small the feast!But the good host his spirits takes,And fills the cup of every guest.
A single rabbit on the mat,Roasted or broiled:—how poor the meal!But the guests from the spirit vaseFill their host's cup, and drink his weal.
A single rabbit on the mat,Roasted or baked:—no feast we think!But from the spirit vase they take,Both host and guests, and joyous drink.
~On the Misery of Soldiers~
Yellow now is all the grass;All the days in marching pass.On the move is every man;Hard work, far and near, they plan.
Black is every plant become;Every man is torn from home.Kept on foot, our state is sad;—As if we no feelings had!
Not rhinoceroses we!Tigers do we care to be?Fields like these so desolateAre to us a hateful fate.
Long-tailed foxes pleased may hide'Mong the grass, where they abide.We, in box carts slowly borne,On the great roads plod and mourn.