The lamp had almost spent its light: shadows filled the room,The night I heard that Lo-t‘ien was banished to Kiu-kiang.And I that had lain sick to death sat up suddenly in bed;A dark wind blowing rain entered at the cold window.
The lamp had almost spent its light: shadows filled the room,The night I heard that Lo-t‘ien was banished to Kiu-kiang.And I that had lain sick to death sat up suddenly in bed;A dark wind blowing rain entered at the cold window.
If even strangers’ hearts are touched by these lines, much more must mine be; so that to this day I cannot recite them without pain. Of this matter I will say no more, but tell you briefly what has passed of late.
It is more than three years since I came to Kiu-kiang. All this time my body has been strong and my heart much at peace. There has been no sickness in my household, even among the servants. Last summer my elder brother arrived from Hsü-chou, leading by the hand six or seven little brothers and sisters, orphans of various households. So that I have under my eyes all those who at present demand my care. They share with me cold and heat, hunger and satiety. This is my first consolation.
The climate of the River Province is somewhat cool, so that fevers and epidemics are rare. And while snakes and mosquitoes are few, the fish in the Pēn are remarkably fat, the River wine is exceedingly good, and indeed for the most part the food is like that of the North Country. Although the mouths within my doors are many and the salary of a Sub-Prefect is small, by a thrifty application of my means, I am yet able to provide for my household without seeking any man’s assistance to clothe their backs or fill their bellies. This is my second consolation.
In the autumn of last year I visited Lu Shan[6]for the first time. Reaching a point between the Eastern Forest and Western Forest Temples, beneath the Incense-Burner Peak, I was enamoured by the unequalled prospect ofcloud-girt waters and spray-clad rocks. Unable to leave this place, I built a cottage here. Before it stand ten tall pines and a thousand tapering bamboos. With green creepers I fenced my garden; with white stones I made bridge and path. Flowing waters encircle my home; flying spray falls between the eaves. Red pomegranate and white lotus cluster on the steps of the pond. All is after this pattern, though I cannot here name each delight. Whenever I come here alone, I am moved to prolong my stay to ten days; for of the things that have all my life most pleased me, not one is missing. So that not only do I forget to go back, but would gladly end my days here. This is my third consolation.
Remembering that not having had news of me for so long, you might be in some anxiety with regard to me, I have hastened to set your mind at rest by recording these three consolations. What else I have to tell shall be set out in due order, as follows....[7]
Wei-chih, Wei-chih! The night I wrote this letter I was sitting at the mountain-window of my thatched hut. I let my brush run as my hand willed and wrote at hazard as my thoughts came. When I folded it and addressed it, I found that dawn had come. I raised my head and saw only a few mountain-priests, some sitting, some sleeping. I heard the mournful cries of mountain apes and the sad twitterings of valley birds. O friend of all my life, parted from me by a thousand leagues, at such times as this “dim thoughts of the World”[8]creep upon me for a while; so,following my ancient custom, I send you these three couplets:
I remember how once I wrote you a letter sitting in the Palace at night,At the back of the Hall of Golden Bells, when dawn was coming in the sky.This night I fold your letter—in what place?Sitting in a cottage on Lu Shan, by the light of a late lamp.The caged bird and fettered ape are neither of them dead yet;In the world of men face to face will they ever meet again?
I remember how once I wrote you a letter sitting in the Palace at night,At the back of the Hall of Golden Bells, when dawn was coming in the sky.This night I fold your letter—in what place?Sitting in a cottage on Lu Shan, by the light of a late lamp.The caged bird and fettered ape are neither of them dead yet;In the world of men face to face will they ever meet again?
O Wei-chih, Wei-chih! This night, this heart—do you know them or not? Lo-t‘ien bows his head.
[1]Other name of Po Chü-i.
[1]Other name of Po Chü-i.
[2]Other name of Yüan Chēn.
[2]Other name of Yüan Chēn.
[3]The extreme North and South of China.
[3]The extreme North and South of China.
[4]A poet, several of whose short poems are well-known.
[4]A poet, several of whose short poems are well-known.
[5]The son of Po Chü-i‘s uncle Po Ch‘i-k‘ang.
[5]The son of Po Chü-i‘s uncle Po Ch‘i-k‘ang.
[6]A famous mountain near Kiu-kiang.
[6]A famous mountain near Kiu-kiang.
[7]What followed is omitted in the printed text.
[7]What followed is omitted in the printed text.
[8]This expression is used by Yüan Chēn in a poem addressed to Po Chü-i. By “the World,” he means their life together at Court.
[8]This expression is used by Yüan Chēn in a poem addressed to Po Chü-i. By “the World,” he means their life together at Court.
When the sun rose I was still lying in bed;An early oriole sang on the roof of my house.For a moment I thought of the Royal Park at dawnWhen the Birds of Spring greeted their Lord from his trees.I remembered the days when I served before the ThronePencil in hand, on duty at the Ch‘ēng-ming;[1]At the height of spring, when I paused an instant from work,Morning and evening, wasthisthe voice I heard?Now in my exile the oriole sings againIn the dreary stillness of Hsün-yang town ...The bird’s note cannot really have changed;All the difference lies in the listener’s heart.If he could but forget that he lives at the World’s end,The bird would sing as it sang in the Palace of old.
When the sun rose I was still lying in bed;An early oriole sang on the roof of my house.For a moment I thought of the Royal Park at dawnWhen the Birds of Spring greeted their Lord from his trees.I remembered the days when I served before the ThronePencil in hand, on duty at the Ch‘ēng-ming;[1]At the height of spring, when I paused an instant from work,Morning and evening, wasthisthe voice I heard?Now in my exile the oriole sings againIn the dreary stillness of Hsün-yang town ...The bird’s note cannot really have changed;All the difference lies in the listener’s heart.If he could but forget that he lives at the World’s end,The bird would sing as it sang in the Palace of old.
[1]Name of a palace at Ch‘ang-an.
[1]Name of a palace at Ch‘ang-an.
At night I dreamt I was back in Ch‘ang-an;I saw again the faces of old friends.And in my dreams, under an April sky,They led me by the hand to wander in the spring winds.Together we came to the village of Peace and Quiet;We stopped our horses at the gate of Yüan Chēn.Yüan Chēn was sitting all alone;When he saw me coming, a smile came to his face.He pointed back at the flowers in the western court;Then opened wine in the northern summer-house.He seemed to be saying that neither of us had changed;He seemed to be regretting that joy will not stay;That our souls had met only for a little while,To part again with hardly time for greeting.I woke up and thought him still at my side;I put out my hand; there was nothing there at all.
At night I dreamt I was back in Ch‘ang-an;I saw again the faces of old friends.And in my dreams, under an April sky,They led me by the hand to wander in the spring winds.Together we came to the village of Peace and Quiet;We stopped our horses at the gate of Yüan Chēn.Yüan Chēn was sitting all alone;When he saw me coming, a smile came to his face.He pointed back at the flowers in the western court;Then opened wine in the northern summer-house.He seemed to be saying that neither of us had changed;He seemed to be regretting that joy will not stay;That our souls had met only for a little while,To part again with hardly time for greeting.I woke up and thought him still at my side;I put out my hand; there was nothing there at all.
My long poem, the “Eternal Grief,”[1]is a beautiful and moving work;My ten “Songs of Shensi” are models of tunefulness.I cannot prevent Old Yüan from stealing my best rhymes;But I earnestly beg Little Li to respect my ballads and songs.While I am alive riches and honour will never fall to my lot;But well I know that after I am dead the fame of my books will live.This random talk and foolish boasting forgive me, for to-dayI have added Volume Fifteen to the row that stands to my name.
My long poem, the “Eternal Grief,”[1]is a beautiful and moving work;My ten “Songs of Shensi” are models of tunefulness.I cannot prevent Old Yüan from stealing my best rhymes;But I earnestly beg Little Li to respect my ballads and songs.While I am alive riches and honour will never fall to my lot;But well I know that after I am dead the fame of my books will live.This random talk and foolish boasting forgive me, for to-dayI have added Volume Fifteen to the row that stands to my name.
[1]See Giles, “Chinese Literature,” p. 169.
[1]See Giles, “Chinese Literature,” p. 169.
Within the Gorges there is no lack of men;They are people one meets, not people one cares for.At my front door guests also arrive;They are people one sits with, not people one knows.When I look up, there are only clouds and trees;When I look down—only my wife and child.I sleep, eat, get up or sit still;Apart from that, nothing happens at all.But beyond the city Hsiao the hermit dwells;And withhimat least I find myself at ease.Forhecan drink a full flagon of wineAnd is good at reciting long-line poems.Some afternoon, when the clerks have all gone home,At a season when the path by the river bank is dry,I beg you, take up your staff of bamboo-woodAnd find your way to the parlour of the Government House.
Within the Gorges there is no lack of men;They are people one meets, not people one cares for.At my front door guests also arrive;They are people one sits with, not people one knows.When I look up, there are only clouds and trees;When I look down—only my wife and child.I sleep, eat, get up or sit still;Apart from that, nothing happens at all.But beyond the city Hsiao the hermit dwells;And withhimat least I find myself at ease.Forhecan drink a full flagon of wineAnd is good at reciting long-line poems.Some afternoon, when the clerks have all gone home,At a season when the path by the river bank is dry,I beg you, take up your staff of bamboo-woodAnd find your way to the parlour of the Government House.
[1]Nos. 37, 38, 39, and 40 were written when the poet was Governor of a remote part of Ssechuan,—in the extreme west of China.
[1]Nos. 37, 38, 39, and 40 were written when the poet was Governor of a remote part of Ssechuan,—in the extreme west of China.
The province I govern is humble and remote;Yet our festivals follow the Courtly Calendar.At rise of day we sacrificed to the Wind God,When darkly, darkly, dawn glimmered in the sky.Officers followed, horsemen led the way;They brought us out to the wastes beyond the town,Where river mists fall heavier than rain,And the fires on the hill leap higher than the stars.Suddenly I remembered the early levees at CourtWhen you and I galloped to the Purple Yard.As we walked our horses up Dragon Tail StreetWe turned our heads and gazed at the Southern Hills.Since we parted, both of us have been growing old;And our minds have been vexed by many anxious cares.Yet even now I fancy my ears are fullOf the sound of jade tinkling on your bridle-straps.
The province I govern is humble and remote;Yet our festivals follow the Courtly Calendar.At rise of day we sacrificed to the Wind God,When darkly, darkly, dawn glimmered in the sky.Officers followed, horsemen led the way;They brought us out to the wastes beyond the town,Where river mists fall heavier than rain,And the fires on the hill leap higher than the stars.
Suddenly I remembered the early levees at CourtWhen you and I galloped to the Purple Yard.As we walked our horses up Dragon Tail StreetWe turned our heads and gazed at the Southern Hills.Since we parted, both of us have been growing old;And our minds have been vexed by many anxious cares.Yet even now I fancy my ears are fullOf the sound of jade tinkling on your bridle-straps.
Heat and cold, dusk and dawn have crowded one upon the other;Suddenly I find it is two years since I came to Chung-chou.Through my closed doors I hear nothing but the morning and evening drum;From my upper windows all I see is the ships that come and go.[1]In vain the orioles tempt me with their song to stray beneath the flowering trees;In vain the grasses lure me by their colour to sit beside the pond.There is one thing and one alone I never tire of watching—The spring river as it trickles over the stones and babbles past the rocks.
Heat and cold, dusk and dawn have crowded one upon the other;Suddenly I find it is two years since I came to Chung-chou.Through my closed doors I hear nothing but the morning and evening drum;From my upper windows all I see is the ships that come and go.[1]In vain the orioles tempt me with their song to stray beneath the flowering trees;In vain the grasses lure me by their colour to sit beside the pond.There is one thing and one alone I never tire of watching—The spring river as it trickles over the stones and babbles past the rocks.
[1]“The Emperor Saga of Japan [reigneda.d.810-23] one day quoted to his Minister, Ono no Takamura, the couplet:‘Through my closed doors I hear nothing but the morning and evening drum;From my upper windows in the distance I see ships that come and go.’Takamura, thinking these were the Emperor’s own verses, said: ‘If I may venture to criticize an august composition, I would suggest that the phrase “in the distance” be altered.’ The Emperor was delighted, for he had purposely changed ‘all I see’ to ‘in the distance I see.’ At that time there was only one copy of Po Chü-i’s poems in Japan and the Emperor, to whom it belonged, had allowed no one to see it.”—From theKōdanshō[twelfth century].
[1]“The Emperor Saga of Japan [reigneda.d.810-23] one day quoted to his Minister, Ono no Takamura, the couplet:
‘Through my closed doors I hear nothing but the morning and evening drum;From my upper windows in the distance I see ships that come and go.’
‘Through my closed doors I hear nothing but the morning and evening drum;From my upper windows in the distance I see ships that come and go.’
Takamura, thinking these were the Emperor’s own verses, said: ‘If I may venture to criticize an august composition, I would suggest that the phrase “in the distance” be altered.’ The Emperor was delighted, for he had purposely changed ‘all I see’ to ‘in the distance I see.’ At that time there was only one copy of Po Chü-i’s poems in Japan and the Emperor, to whom it belonged, had allowed no one to see it.”—From theKōdanshō[twelfth century].
From my high castle I look at the town belowWhere the natives of Pa cluster like a swarm of flies.How can I govern these people and lead them aright?I cannot even understand what they say.But at least I am glad, now that the taxes are in,To learn that in my province there is no discontent.I fear its prosperity is not due to meAnd was only caused by the year’s abundant crops,The papers that lie on my desk are simple and few;My house by the moat is leisurely and still.In the autumn rain the berries fall from the eaves;At the evening bell the birds return to the wood.A broken sunlight quavers over the southern porchWhere I lie on my couch abandoned to idleness.
From my high castle I look at the town belowWhere the natives of Pa cluster like a swarm of flies.How can I govern these people and lead them aright?I cannot even understand what they say.But at least I am glad, now that the taxes are in,To learn that in my province there is no discontent.I fear its prosperity is not due to meAnd was only caused by the year’s abundant crops,The papers that lie on my desk are simple and few;My house by the moat is leisurely and still.In the autumn rain the berries fall from the eaves;At the evening bell the birds return to the wood.A broken sunlight quavers over the southern porchWhere I lie on my couch abandoned to idleness.
Men’s hearts love gold and jade;Men’s mouths covet wine and flesh.Not so the old man of the stream;He drinks from his gourd and asks nothing more.South of the stream he cuts firewood and grass;North of the stream he has built wall and roof.Yearly he sows a single acre of land;In spring he drives two yellow calves.In these things he finds great repose;Beyond these he has no wish or care.By chance I met him walking by the water-side;He took me home and lodged me in his thatched hut.When I parted from him, to seek market and Court,This old man asked my rank and pay.Doubting my tale, he laughed loud and long:“Privy Councillors do not sleep in barns.”
Men’s hearts love gold and jade;Men’s mouths covet wine and flesh.Not so the old man of the stream;He drinks from his gourd and asks nothing more.South of the stream he cuts firewood and grass;North of the stream he has built wall and roof.Yearly he sows a single acre of land;In spring he drives two yellow calves.In these things he finds great repose;Beyond these he has no wish or care.By chance I met him walking by the water-side;He took me home and lodged me in his thatched hut.When I parted from him, to seek market and Court,This old man asked my rank and pay.Doubting my tale, he laughed loud and long:“Privy Councillors do not sleep in barns.”
Can the single cup of wineWe drank this morning have made my heart so glad?This is a joy that comes only from within,Which those who witness will never understand.I have but two brothersAnd bitterly grieved that both were far away;This Spring, back through the Gorges of Pa,I have come to them safely, ten thousand leagues.Two sisters I hadWho had put up their hair, but not twined the sash;[1]Yesterday both were married and taken awayBy good husbands in whom I may well trust.I am freed at last from the thoughts that made me grieve,As though a sword had cut a rope from my neck.And limbs grow light when the heart sheds its care:Suddenly I seem to be flying up to the sky!Hsing-chien, drink your cup of wineThen set it down and listen to what I say.Do not sigh that your home is far away;Do not mind if your salary is small.Only pray that as long as life lasts,You and I may never be forced to part.
Can the single cup of wineWe drank this morning have made my heart so glad?This is a joy that comes only from within,Which those who witness will never understand.I have but two brothersAnd bitterly grieved that both were far away;This Spring, back through the Gorges of Pa,I have come to them safely, ten thousand leagues.Two sisters I hadWho had put up their hair, but not twined the sash;[1]Yesterday both were married and taken awayBy good husbands in whom I may well trust.I am freed at last from the thoughts that made me grieve,As though a sword had cut a rope from my neck.And limbs grow light when the heart sheds its care:Suddenly I seem to be flying up to the sky!
Hsing-chien, drink your cup of wineThen set it down and listen to what I say.Do not sigh that your home is far away;Do not mind if your salary is small.Only pray that as long as life lasts,You and I may never be forced to part.
[1]I.e., got married.
[1]I.e., got married.
Below the hallThe pine-trees grow in front of the steps,Irregularly scattered,—not in ordered lines.Some are tall and some are low:The tallest of them is six roods high;The lowest but ten feet.They are like wild thingsAnd no one knows who planted them.They touch the walls of my blue-tiled house;Their roots are sunk in the terrace of white sand.Morning and evening they are visited by the wind and moon;Rain or fine,—they are free from dust and mud.In the gales of autumn they whisper a vague tune;From the suns of summer they yield a cool shade.At the height of spring the fine evening rainFills their leaves with a load of hanging pearls.At the year’s end the time of great snowStamps their branches with a fret of glittering jade.Of the Four Seasons each has its own mood;Among all the trees none is like another.Last year, when they heard I had bought this house,Neighbours mocked and the World called me mad—That a whole family of twice ten soulsShould move house for the sake of a few pines!Now that I have come to them, what have they given me?They have only loosened the buckles of my care.Yet even so, they are “profitable friends,”[1]And fill my need of “converse with wise men.”Yet when I consider how, still a man of the world,In belt and cap I scurry through dirt and dust,From time to time my heart twinges with shameThat I am not fit to be master of my pines!
Below the hallThe pine-trees grow in front of the steps,Irregularly scattered,—not in ordered lines.Some are tall and some are low:The tallest of them is six roods high;The lowest but ten feet.They are like wild thingsAnd no one knows who planted them.They touch the walls of my blue-tiled house;Their roots are sunk in the terrace of white sand.Morning and evening they are visited by the wind and moon;Rain or fine,—they are free from dust and mud.In the gales of autumn they whisper a vague tune;From the suns of summer they yield a cool shade.At the height of spring the fine evening rainFills their leaves with a load of hanging pearls.At the year’s end the time of great snowStamps their branches with a fret of glittering jade.Of the Four Seasons each has its own mood;Among all the trees none is like another.Last year, when they heard I had bought this house,Neighbours mocked and the World called me mad—That a whole family of twice ten soulsShould move house for the sake of a few pines!Now that I have come to them, what have they given me?They have only loosened the buckles of my care.Yet even so, they are “profitable friends,”[1]And fill my need of “converse with wise men.”Yet when I consider how, still a man of the world,In belt and cap I scurry through dirt and dust,From time to time my heart twinges with shameThat I am not fit to be master of my pines!
[1]See “Analects of Confucius” 4 and 5, where three kinds of “profitable friends” and three kinds of “profitable pleasures” are described; the third of the latter being “plenty of intelligent companions.”
[1]See “Analects of Confucius” 4 and 5, where three kinds of “profitable friends” and three kinds of “profitable pleasures” are described; the third of the latter being “plenty of intelligent companions.”
We had rode long and were still far from the inn;My eyes grew dim; for a moment I fell asleep.Under my right arm the whip still dangled;In my left hand the reins for an instant slackened.Suddenly I woke and turned to question my groom:“We have gone a hundred paces since you fell asleep.”Body and spirit for a while had exchanged place;Swift and slow had turned to their contraries.For these few steps that my horse had carried meHad taken in my dream countless aeons of time!True indeed is that saying of Wise Men“A hundred years are but a moment of sleep.”
We had rode long and were still far from the inn;My eyes grew dim; for a moment I fell asleep.Under my right arm the whip still dangled;In my left hand the reins for an instant slackened.Suddenly I woke and turned to question my groom:“We have gone a hundred paces since you fell asleep.”Body and spirit for a while had exchanged place;Swift and slow had turned to their contraries.For these few steps that my horse had carried meHad taken in my dream countless aeons of time!True indeed is that saying of Wise Men“A hundred years are but a moment of sleep.”
On the fifth day after the rise of Spring,Everywhere the season’s gracious altitudes!The white sun gradually lengthening its course,The blue-grey clouds hanging as though they would fall;The last icicle breaking into splinters of jade;The new stems marshalling red sprouts.The things I meet are all full of gladness;It is not onlyIwho love the Spring.To welcome the flowers I stand in the back garden;To enjoy the sunlight I sit under the front eaves.Yet still in my heart there lingers one regret;Soon I shall part with the flame of my red stove!
On the fifth day after the rise of Spring,Everywhere the season’s gracious altitudes!The white sun gradually lengthening its course,The blue-grey clouds hanging as though they would fall;The last icicle breaking into splinters of jade;The new stems marshalling red sprouts.The things I meet are all full of gladness;It is not onlyIwho love the Spring.To welcome the flowers I stand in the back garden;To enjoy the sunlight I sit under the front eaves.Yet still in my heart there lingers one regret;Soon I shall part with the flame of my red stove!
Elders and officers line the returning road;Wine and soup load the parting table.I have not ruled you with the wisdom of Shao Kung;[1]What is the reason your tears should fall so fast?My taxes were heavy, though many of the people were poor;The farmers were hungry, for often their fields were dry.All I did was to dam the water of the Lake[2]And help a little in a year when things were bad.
Elders and officers line the returning road;Wine and soup load the parting table.I have not ruled you with the wisdom of Shao Kung;[1]What is the reason your tears should fall so fast?My taxes were heavy, though many of the people were poor;The farmers were hungry, for often their fields were dry.All I did was to dam the water of the Lake[2]And help a little in a year when things were bad.
[1]A legendary ruler who dispensed justice sitting under a wild pear-tree.
[1]A legendary ruler who dispensed justice sitting under a wild pear-tree.
[2]Po Chü-i built the dam on the Western Lake which is still known as “Po’s dam.”
[2]Po Chü-i built the dam on the Western Lake which is still known as “Po’s dam.”
A Government building, not my own home.A Government garden, not my own trees.But at Lo-yang I have a small houseAnd on Wei River I have built a thatched hut.I am free from the ties of marrying and giving in marriage;If I choose to retire, I have somewhere to end my days.And though I have lingered long beyond my time,To retire now would be better than not at all!
A Government building, not my own home.A Government garden, not my own trees.But at Lo-yang I have a small houseAnd on Wei River I have built a thatched hut.I am free from the ties of marrying and giving in marriage;If I choose to retire, I have somewhere to end my days.And though I have lingered long beyond my time,To retire now would be better than not at all!
The early light of the rising sun shines on the beams of my house;The first banging of opened doors echoes like the roll of a drum.The dog lies curled on the stone step, for the earth is wet with dew;The birds come near to the window and chatter, telling that the day is fine.With the lingering fumes of yesterday’s wine my head is still heavy;With new doffing of winter clothes my body has grown light.
The early light of the rising sun shines on the beams of my house;The first banging of opened doors echoes like the roll of a drum.The dog lies curled on the stone step, for the earth is wet with dew;The birds come near to the window and chatter, telling that the day is fine.With the lingering fumes of yesterday’s wine my head is still heavy;With new doffing of winter clothes my body has grown light.
Around my garden the little wall is low;In the bailiff’s lodge the lists are seldom checked.I am ashamed to think we were not always kind;I regret your labours, that will never be repaid.The caged bird owes no allegiance;The wind-tossed flower does not cling to the tree.Where to-night she lies none can give us news;Nor any knows, save the bright watching moon.
Around my garden the little wall is low;In the bailiff’s lodge the lists are seldom checked.I am ashamed to think we were not always kind;I regret your labours, that will never be repaid.The caged bird owes no allegiance;The wind-tossed flower does not cling to the tree.
Where to-night she lies none can give us news;Nor any knows, save the bright watching moon.
By woods and water, whose houses are theseWith high gates and wide-stretching lands?From their blue gables gilded fishes hang;By their red pillars carven coursers run.Their spring arbours, warm with caged mist;Their autumn yards with locked moonlight cold.To the stem of the pine-tree amber beads cling;The bamboo-branches ooze ruby-drops.Of lake and terrace who may the masters be?Staff-officers, Councillors-of-State.All their lives they have never come to see,But know their houses only from the bailiff’s map!
By woods and water, whose houses are theseWith high gates and wide-stretching lands?From their blue gables gilded fishes hang;By their red pillars carven coursers run.Their spring arbours, warm with caged mist;Their autumn yards with locked moonlight cold.To the stem of the pine-tree amber beads cling;The bamboo-branches ooze ruby-drops.Of lake and terrace who may the masters be?Staff-officers, Councillors-of-State.All their lives they have never come to see,But know their houses only from the bailiff’s map!
The western wind has blown but a few days;Yet the first leaf already flies from the bough.On the drying paths I walk in my thin shoes;In the first cold I have donned my quilted coat.Through shallow ditches the floods are clearing away;Through sparse bamboos trickles a slanting light.In the early dusk, down an alley of green moss,The garden-boy is leading the cranes home.
The western wind has blown but a few days;Yet the first leaf already flies from the bough.On the drying paths I walk in my thin shoes;In the first cold I have donned my quilted coat.Through shallow ditches the floods are clearing away;Through sparse bamboos trickles a slanting light.In the early dusk, down an alley of green moss,The garden-boy is leading the cranes home.
At dawn I sighed to see my hairs fall;At dusk I sighed to see my hairs fall.For I dreaded the time when the last lock should go ...They are all gone and I do not mind at all!I have done with that cumbrous washing and getting dry;My tiresome comb for ever is laid aside.Best of all, when the weather is hot and wet,To have no top-knot weighing down on one’s head!I put aside my dusty conical cap;And loose my collar-fringe.In a silver jar I have stored a cold stream;On my bald pate I trickle a ladle-full.Like one baptized with the Water of Buddha’s Law,I sit and receive this cool, cleansing joy.NowI know why the priest who seeks ReposeFrees his heart by first shaving his head.
At dawn I sighed to see my hairs fall;At dusk I sighed to see my hairs fall.For I dreaded the time when the last lock should go ...They are all gone and I do not mind at all!I have done with that cumbrous washing and getting dry;My tiresome comb for ever is laid aside.Best of all, when the weather is hot and wet,To have no top-knot weighing down on one’s head!I put aside my dusty conical cap;And loose my collar-fringe.In a silver jar I have stored a cold stream;On my bald pate I trickle a ladle-full.Like one baptized with the Water of Buddha’s Law,I sit and receive this cool, cleansing joy.NowI know why the priest who seeks ReposeFrees his heart by first shaving his head.
In an idle hour I thought of former days;And former friends seemed to be standing in the room.And then I wondered “Where are they now?”Like fallen leaves they have tumbled to the Nether Springs.Han Yü[1]swallowed his sulphur pills,Yet a single illness carried him straight to the grave.Yüan Chēn smelted autumn stone[2]But before he was old, his strength crumbled away.Master Tu possessed the “Secret of Health”:All day long he fasted from meat and spice.The Lord Ts‘ui, trusting a strong drug,Through the whole winter wore his summer coat.Yet some by illness and some by sudden death ...All vanished ere their middle years were passed.Only I, who have never dieted myselfHave thus protracted a tedious span of age,I who in young daysYielded lightly to every lust and greed;Whose palate craved only for the richest meatAnd knew nothing of bismuth or calomel.When hunger came, I gulped steaming food;When thirst came, I drank from the frozen stream.With verse I served the spirits of my Five Guts;[3]With wine I watered the three Vital Spots.Day by day joining the broken clodI have lived till now almost sound and whole.There is no gap in my two rows of teeth;Limbs and body still serve me well.Already I have opened the seventh book of years;Yet I eat my fill and sleep quietly;I drink, while I may, the wine that lies in my cup,And all else commit to Heaven’s care.
In an idle hour I thought of former days;And former friends seemed to be standing in the room.And then I wondered “Where are they now?”Like fallen leaves they have tumbled to the Nether Springs.Han Yü[1]swallowed his sulphur pills,Yet a single illness carried him straight to the grave.Yüan Chēn smelted autumn stone[2]But before he was old, his strength crumbled away.Master Tu possessed the “Secret of Health”:All day long he fasted from meat and spice.The Lord Ts‘ui, trusting a strong drug,Through the whole winter wore his summer coat.Yet some by illness and some by sudden death ...All vanished ere their middle years were passed.
Only I, who have never dieted myselfHave thus protracted a tedious span of age,I who in young daysYielded lightly to every lust and greed;Whose palate craved only for the richest meatAnd knew nothing of bismuth or calomel.When hunger came, I gulped steaming food;When thirst came, I drank from the frozen stream.With verse I served the spirits of my Five Guts;[3]With wine I watered the three Vital Spots.Day by day joining the broken clodI have lived till now almost sound and whole.There is no gap in my two rows of teeth;Limbs and body still serve me well.Already I have opened the seventh book of years;Yet I eat my fill and sleep quietly;I drink, while I may, the wine that lies in my cup,And all else commit to Heaven’s care.
[1]The famous poet, d. 824a.d.
[1]The famous poet, d. 824a.d.
[2]Carbamide crystals.
[2]Carbamide crystals.
[3]Heart, liver, stomach, lungs and kidney.
[3]Heart, liver, stomach, lungs and kidney.
The World cheats those who cannot read;I, happily, have mastered script and pen.The World cheats those who hold no office;Iam blessed with high official rank.The old are often ill;I, at this day have not an ache or pain.They are often burdened with ties;ButIhave finished with marriage and giving in marriage.No changes happen to disturb the quiet of my mind;No business comes to impair the vigour of my limbs.Hence it is that now for ten yearsBody and soul have rested in hermit peace.And all the more, in the last lingering yearsWhat I shall need are very few things.A single rug to warm me through the winter;One meal to last me the whole day.It does not matter that my house is rather small;One cannot sleep in more than one room!It does not matter that I have not many horses;One cannot ride in two coaches at once!As fortunate as me among the people of the worldPossibly one would find seven out of ten.As contented as me among a hundred menLook as you may, you will not find one.In the affairs of others even fools are wise;In their own business even sages err.To no one else would I dare to speak my heart,So my wild words are addressed to my nephews and nieces.
The World cheats those who cannot read;I, happily, have mastered script and pen.The World cheats those who hold no office;Iam blessed with high official rank.The old are often ill;I, at this day have not an ache or pain.They are often burdened with ties;ButIhave finished with marriage and giving in marriage.No changes happen to disturb the quiet of my mind;No business comes to impair the vigour of my limbs.Hence it is that now for ten yearsBody and soul have rested in hermit peace.And all the more, in the last lingering yearsWhat I shall need are very few things.A single rug to warm me through the winter;One meal to last me the whole day.It does not matter that my house is rather small;One cannot sleep in more than one room!It does not matter that I have not many horses;One cannot ride in two coaches at once!As fortunate as me among the people of the worldPossibly one would find seven out of ten.As contented as me among a hundred menLook as you may, you will not find one.In the affairs of others even fools are wise;In their own business even sages err.To no one else would I dare to speak my heart,So my wild words are addressed to my nephews and nieces.
We are growing old together, you and I,Let us ask ourselves, what is age like?The dull eye is closed ere night comes;The idle head, still uncombed at noon.Propped on a staff, sometimes a walk abroad;Or all day sitting with closed doors.One dares not look in the mirror’s polished face;One cannot read small-letter books.Deeper and deeper, one’s love of old friends;Fewer and fewer, one’s dealings with young men.One thing only, the pleasure of idle talk,Is great as ever, when you and I meet.
We are growing old together, you and I,Let us ask ourselves, what is age like?The dull eye is closed ere night comes;The idle head, still uncombed at noon.Propped on a staff, sometimes a walk abroad;Or all day sitting with closed doors.One dares not look in the mirror’s polished face;One cannot read small-letter books.Deeper and deeper, one’s love of old friends;Fewer and fewer, one’s dealings with young men.One thing only, the pleasure of idle talk,Is great as ever, when you and I meet.
The town visitor’s easy talk flows in an endless stream;The country host’s quiet thoughts ramble timidly on.“I beg you, Sir, do not tell me about things at Ch‘ang-an;For you entered just when my harp was tuned and lying balanced on my knees.”
The town visitor’s easy talk flows in an endless stream;The country host’s quiet thoughts ramble timidly on.“I beg you, Sir, do not tell me about things at Ch‘ang-an;For you entered just when my harp was tuned and lying balanced on my knees.”
In length of days and soundness of limb you and I are one;Our eyes are not wholly blind, nor our ears quite deaf.Deep drinking we lie together, fellows of a spring day;Or gay-hearted boldly break into gatherings of young men.When, seeking flowers, we borrowed his horse, the river-keeper was vexed;When, to play on the water, we stole his boat, the Duke Ling was sore.I hear it said that in Lo-yang, people are all shocked,And call us by the name of “Liu and Po, those two mad old men.”
In length of days and soundness of limb you and I are one;Our eyes are not wholly blind, nor our ears quite deaf.Deep drinking we lie together, fellows of a spring day;Or gay-hearted boldly break into gatherings of young men.When, seeking flowers, we borrowed his horse, the river-keeper was vexed;When, to play on the water, we stole his boat, the Duke Ling was sore.I hear it said that in Lo-yang, people are all shocked,And call us by the name of “Liu and Po, those two mad old men.”
My servant wakes me: “Master, it is broad day.Rise from bed; I bring you bowl and comb.Winter comes and the morning air is chill;To-day your Honour must not venture abroad.”When I stay at home, no one comes to call;What must I do with the long, idle hours?Setting my chair where a faint sunshine fallsI have warmed wine and opened my poetry-books.
My servant wakes me: “Master, it is broad day.Rise from bed; I bring you bowl and comb.Winter comes and the morning air is chill;To-day your Honour must not venture abroad.”When I stay at home, no one comes to call;What must I do with the long, idle hours?Setting my chair where a faint sunshine fallsI have warmed wine and opened my poetry-books.
Since I lay ill, how long has passed?Almost a hundred heavy-hanging days.The maids have learnt to gather my medicine-herbs;The dog no longer barks when the doctor comes.The jars in my cellar are plastered deep with mould;My singer’s carpets are half crumbled to dust.How can I bear, when the Earth renews her light,To watch from a pillow the beauty of Spring unfold?
Since I lay ill, how long has passed?Almost a hundred heavy-hanging days.The maids have learnt to gather my medicine-herbs;The dog no longer barks when the doctor comes.The jars in my cellar are plastered deep with mould;My singer’s carpets are half crumbled to dust.How can I bear, when the Earth renews her light,To watch from a pillow the beauty of Spring unfold?
When Lo-t‘ien[1] was old, he fell ill of a palsy. So he made a list of his possessions and examined his expenses, that he might reject whatever had become superfluous. He had in his employ a girl about twenty years old called Fan Su, whose postures delighted him when she sang or danced. But above all she excelled in singing the “Willow-Branch,” so that many called her by the name of this song, and she was well known by this name in the town of Lo-yang. But she was on the list of unnecessary expenses and was to be sent away.
He had too a white horse with black mane, sturdy and sure-footed, which he had ridden for many years. It stood on the list of things which could be dispensed with, and was to be sold. When the groom led the horse through the gate, it tossed its head and looked back, neighing once with a sound in its voice that seemed to say: “I know I am leaving you and long to stay.” Su, when she heard the horse neigh, rose timidly, bowed before me and spoke sweetly, as shall hereafter be shown. When she had done speaking her tears fell.
When first I heard Su’s words, I was too sad to speak and could not answer her. But in a little while I ordered the bridle to be turned and the sleeve reversed.[1]Then I gave her wine and drank a cup myself, and in my happiness sang a few score notes. And these notes turned into a poem, a poem without fixed measure, for the measure followed my irregular tune. In all there were 255 words.
Alas! I am no Sage. I could neither forget past feelings nor show such sensibility as this beast reputed incapable of feeling! Things that happen lay hold of my heart, and when my heart is moved, I cannot control it. Therefore, smiling at myself, I called this song “A Song of Past Feelings Unforgotten.”
The Song says: