1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983
984
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992
993
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000
1001
1002
1003
1004
1005
1006
1007
1008
1009
1010
1011
1012
1013
1014
1015
1016
1017
1018
1019
1020
1021
1022
1023
1024
1025
1026
1027
1028
1029
1030
1031
1032
1033
1034
1035
1036
1037
1038
1039
1040
1041
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046
1047
1048
1049
1050
1051
1052
1053
1054
1055
1056
1057
1058
1059
1060
1061
1062
1063
1064
1065
1066
1067
1068
1069
1070
1071
1072
1073
1074
1075
1076
1077
1078
1079
1080
1081
1082
1083
1084
1085
1086
1087
1088
1089
1090
1091
1092
1093
1094
1095
1096
1097
1098
1099
1100
1101
1102
1103
1104
1105
1106
1107
1108
1109
1110
1111
1112
1113
1114
1115
1116
1117
1118
1119
1120
1121
1122
1123
1124
1125
1126
1127
1128
1129
1130
1131
1132
1133
1134
1135
1136
1137
1138
1139
1140
1141
1142
1143
1144
1145
1146
1147
1148
1149
1150
1151
1152
1153
1154
1155
1156
1157
1158
1159
1160
1161
1162
1163
1164
1165
1166
1167
1168
1169
1170
1171
1172
1173
1174
1175
1176
1177
1178
1179
1180
1181
1182
1183
1184
1185
1186
1187
1188
1189
1190
1191
1192
1193
1194
1195
1196
1197
1198
1199
1200
1201
1202
1203
1204
1205
1206
1207
1208
1209
1210
1211
1212
1213
1214
1215
1216
1217
1218
1219
1220
1221
1222
1223
1224
1225
1226
1227
1228
1229
1230
1231
1232
1233
1234
1235
1236
1237
1238
1239
1240
1241
1242
1243
1244
1245
1246
1247
1248
1249
1250
1251
1252
1253
1254
1255
1256
1257
1258
1259
1260
1261
1262
1263
1264
1265
1266
1267
1268
1269
1270
1271
1272
1273
1274
1275
1276
1277
1278
1279
1280
1281
1282
1283
1284
1285
1286
1287
1288
1289
1290
1291
1292
1293
1294
1295
1296
1297
1298
1299
1300
1301
1302
1303
1304
1305
1306
1307
1308
1309
1310
1311
1312
1313
1314
1315
1316
1317
1318
1319
1320
1321
1322
1323
1324
1325
1326
1327
1328
1329
1330
1331
1332
1333
1334
1335
1336
1337
1338
1339
1340
1341
1342
1343
1344
1345
1346
1347
1348
1349
1350
1351
1352
1353
1354
1355
1356
1357
1358
1359
1360
1361
1362
1363
1364
1365
1366
1367
1368
1369
1370
1371
1372
1373
1374
1375
1376
1377
1378
1379
1380
1381
1382
1383
1384
1385
1386
1387
1388
1389
1390
1391
1392
1393
1394
1395
1396
1397
1398
1399
1400
1401
1402
1403
1404
1405
1406
1407
1408
1409
1410
1411
1412
1413
1414
1415
1416
1417
1418
1419
1420
1421
1422
1423
1424
1425
1426
1427
1428
1429
1430
1431
1432
1433
1434
1435
1436
1437
1438
1439
1440
1441
1442
1443
1444
1445
1446
1447
1448
1449
1450
1451
1452
1453
1454
1455
1456
1457
1458
1459
1460
1461
1462
1463
1464
1465
1466
1467
1468
1469
1470
1471
1472
1473
1474
1475
1476
1477
1478
1479
1480
1481
1482
1483
1484
1485
1486
1487
1488
1489
1490
1491
1492
1493
1494
1495
1496
1497
1498
1499
1500
1501
1502
1503
1504
1505
1506
1507
1508
1509
1510
1511
1512
1513
1514
1515
1516
1517
1518
1519
1520
1521
1522
1523
1524
1525
1526
1527
1528
1529
1530
1531
1532
1533
1534
1535
1536
1537
1538
1539
1540
1541
1542
1543
1544
1545
1546
1547
1548
1549
1550
1551
1552
1553
1554
1555
1556
1557
1558
1559
1560
1561
1562
1563
1564
1565
1566
1567
1568
1569
1570
1571
1572
1573
1574
1575
1576
1577
1578
1579
1580
1581
1582
1583
1584
1585
1586
1587
1588
1589
1590
1591
1592
1593
1594
1595
1596
1597
1598
1599
1600
1601
1602
1603
1604
1605
1606
1607
1608
1609
1610
1611
1612
1613
1614
1615
1616
1617
1618
1619
1620
1621
1622
1623
1624
1625
1626
1627
1628
1629
1630
1631
1632
1633
1634
1635
1636
1637
1638
1639
1640
1641
1642
1643
1644
1645
1646
1647
1648
1649
1650
1651
1652
1653
1654
1655
1656
1657
1658
1659
1660
1661
1662
1663
1664
1665
1666
1667
1668
1669
1670
1671
1672
1673
1674
1675
1676
1677
1678
1679
1680
1681
1682
1683
1684
1685
1686
1687
1688
1689
1690
1691
1692
1693
1694
1695
1696
1697
1698
1699
1700
1701
1702
1703
1704
1705
1706
1707
1708
1709
1710
1711
1712
1713
1714
1715
1716
1717
1718
1719
1720
1721
1722
1723
1724
1725
1726
1727
1728
1729
1730
1731
1732
1733
1734
1735
1736
1737
1738
1739
1740
1741
1742
1743
1744
1745
1746
1747
1748
1749
1750
1751
1752
1753
1754
1755
1756
1757
1758
1759
1760
1761
1762
1763
1764
1765
1766
1767
1768
1769
1770
1771
1772
1773
1774
1775
1776
1777
1778
1779
1780
1781
1782
1783
1784
1785
1786
1787
1788
1789
1790
1791
1792
1793
1794
1795
1796
1797
1798
1799
1800
1801
1802
1803
1804
1805
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
1834
1835
1836
1837
1838
1839
1840
1841
1842
1843
1844
1845
1846
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
1858
1859
1860
1861
1862
1863
1864
1865
1866
1867
1868
1869
1870
1871
1872
1873
1874
1875
1876
1877
1878
1879
1880
1881
1882
1883
1884
1885
1886
1887
1888
1889
1890
1891
1892
1893
1894
1895
1896
1897
1898
1899
1900
1901
1902
1903
1904
1905
1906
1907
1908
1909
1910
1911
1912
1913
1914
1915
1916
1917
1918
1919
1920
1921
1922
1923
1924
1925
1926
1927
1928
1929
1930
1931
1932
1933
1934
1935
1936
1937
1938
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
1947
1948
1949
1950
1951
1952
1953
1954
1955
1956
1957
1958
1959
1960
1961
1962
1963
1964
1965
1966
1967
1968
1969
1970
1971
1972
1973
1974
1975
1976
1977
1978
1979
1980
1981
1982
1983
1984
1985
1986
1987
1988
1989
1990
1991
1992
1993
1994
1995
1996
1997
1998
1999
2000
2001
2002
2003
2004
2005
2006
2007
2008
2009
2010
2011
2012
2013
2014
2015
2016
2017
2018
2019
2020
2021
2022
2023
2024
2025
2026
2027
2028
2029
2030
2031
2032
2033
2034
2035
2036
2037
2038
2039
2040
2041
2042
2043
2044
2045
2046
2047
2048
2049
2050
2051
2052
2053
2054
2055
2056
2057
2058
2059
2060
2061
2062
2063
2064
2065
2066
2067
2068
2069
2070
2071
2072
2073
2074
2075
2076
2077
2078
2079
2080
2081
2082
2083
2084
2085
2086
2087
2088
2089
2090
2091
2092
2093
2094
2095
2096
2097
2098
2099
2100
2101
2102
2103
2104
2105
2106
2107
2108
2109
2110
2111
2112
2113
2114
2115
2116
2117
2118
2119
2120
2121
2122
2123
2124
2125
2126
2127
2128
2129
2130
2131
2132
2133
2134
2135
2136
2137
2138
2139
2140
2141
2142
2143
2144
2145
2146
2147
2148
2149
2150
2151
2152
2153
2154
2155
2156
2157
2158
2159
2160
2161
2162
2163
2164
2165
2166
2167
2168
2169
2170
2171
2172
2173
2174
2175
2176
2177
2178
2179
2180
2181
2182
2183
2184
2185
2186
2187
2188
2189
2190
2191
2192
2193
2194
2195
2196
2197
2198
2199
2200
2201
2202
2203
2204
2205
2206
2207
2208
2209
2210
2211
2212
2213
2214
2215
2216
2217
2218
2219
2220
2221
2222
2223
2224
2225
2226
2227
2228
2229
2230
2231
2232
2233
2234
2235
2236
2237
2238
2239
2240
2241
2242
2243
2244
2245
2246
2247
2248
2249
2250
2251
2252
2253
2254
2255
2256
2257
2258
2259
2260
2261
2262
2263
2264
2265
2266
2267
2268
2269
2270
2271
2272
2273
2274
2275
2276
2277
2278
2279
2280
2281
2282
2283
2284
2285
2286
2287
2288
2289
2290
2291
2292
2293
2294
2295
2296
2297
2298
2299
2300
2301
2302
2303
2304
2305
2306
2307
2308
2309
2310
2311
2312
2313
2314
2315
2316
2317
2318
2319
2320
2321
2322
2323
2324
2325
2326
2327
2328
2329
2330
2331
2332
2333
2334
2335
2336
2337
2338
2339
2340
2341
2342
2343
2344
2345
2346
2347
2348
2349
2350
2351
2352
2353
2354
2355
2356
2357
2358
2359
2360
2361
2362
2363
2364
2365
2366
2367
2368
2369
2370
2371
2372
2373
2374
2375
2376
2377
2378
2379
2380
2381
2382
2383
2384
2385
2386
2387
2388
2389
2390
2391
2392
2393
2394
2395
2396
2397
2398
2399
2400
2401
2402
2403
2404
2405
2406
2407
2408
2409
2410
2411
2412
2413
2414
2415
2416
2417
2418
2419
2420
2421
2422
2423
2424
2425
2426
2427
2428
2429
2430
2431
2432
2433
2434
2435
2436
2437
2438
2439
2440
2441
2442
2443
2444
2445
2446
2447
2448
2449
2450
2451
2452
2453
2454
2455
2456
2457
2458
2459
2460
2461
2462
2463
2464
2465
2466
2467
2468
2469
2470
2471
2472
2473
2474
2475
2476
2477
2478
2479
2480
2481
2482
2483
2484
2485
2486
2487
2488
2489
2490
2491
2492
2493
2494
2495
2496
2497
2498
2499
2500
2501
2502
2503
2504
2505
2506
2507
2508
2509
2510
2511
2512
2513
2514
2515
2516
2517
2518
2519
2520
2521
2522
2523
2524
2525
2526
2527
2528
2529
2530
2531
2532
2533
2534
2535
2536
2537
2538
2539
2540
2541
2542
2543
2544
2545
2546
2547
2548
2549
2550
2551
2552
2553
2554
2555
2556
2557
2558
2559
2560
2561
2562
2563
2564
2565
2566
2567
2568
2569
2570
2571
2572
2573
2574
2575
2576
2577
2578
2579
2580
2581
2582
2583
2584
2585
2586
2587
2588
2589
2590
2591
2592
2593
2594
2595
2596
2597
2598
2599
2600
2601
2602
2603
2604
2605
2606
2607
2608
2609
2610
2611
2612
2613
2614
2615
2616
2617
2618
2619
2620
2621
2622
2623
2624
2625
2626
2627
2628
2629
2630
2631
2632
2633
2634
2635
2636
2637
2638
2639
2640
2641
2642
2643
2644
2645
2646
2647
2648
2649
2650
2651
2652
2653
2654
2655
2656
2657
2658
2659
2660
2661
2662
2663
2664
2665
2666
2667
2668
2669
2670
2671
2672
2673
2674
2675
2676
2677
2678
2679
2680
2681
2682
2683
2684
2685
2686
2687
2688
2689
2690
2691
2692
2693
2694
2695
2696
2697
2698
2699
2700
2701
2702
2703
2704
2705
2706
2707
2708
2709
2710
2711
2712
2713
2714
2715
2716
2717
2718
2719
2720
2721
2722
2723
2724
2725
2726
2727
2728
2729
2730
2731
2732
2733
2734
2735
2736
2737
2738
2739
2740
2741
2742
2743
2744
2745
2746
2747
2748
2749
2750
2751
2752
2753
2754
2755
2756
2757
2758
2759
2760
2761
2762
2763
2764
2765
2766
2767
2768
2769
2770
2771
2772
2773
2774
2775
2776
2777
2778
2779
2780
2781
2782
2783
2784
2785
2786
2787
2788
2789
2790
2791
2792
2793
2794
2795
2796
2797
2798
2799
2800
2801
2802
2803
2804
2805
2806
2807
2808
2809
2810
2811
2812
2813
2814
2815
2816
2817
2818
2819
2820
2821
2822
2823
2824
2825
2826
2827
2828
2829
2830
2831
2832
2833
2834
2835
2836
2837
2838
2839
2840
2841
2842
2843
2844
2845
2846
2847
2848
2849
2850
2851
2852
2853
2854
2855
2856
2857
2858
2859
2860
2861
2862
2863
2864
2865
2866
2867
2868
2869
2870
2871
2872
2873
2874
2875
2876
2877
2878
2879
2880
2881
2882
2883
2884
2885
2886
2887
2888
2889
2890
2891
2892
2893
2894
2895
2896
2897
2898
2899
2900
2901
2902
2903
2904
2905
2906
2907
2908
2909
2910
2911
2912
2913
2914
2915
2916
2917
2918
2919
2920
2921
2922
2923
2924
2925
2926
2927
2928
2929
2930
2931
2932
2933
2934
2935
2936
2937
2938
2939
2940
2941
2942
2943
2944
2945
2946
2947
2948
2949
2950
2951
2952
2953
2954
2955
2956
2957
2958
2959
2960
2961
2962
2963
2964
2965
2966
2967
2968
2969
2970
2971
2972
2973
2974
2975
2976
2977
2978
2979
2980
2981
2982
2983
2984
2985
2986
2987
2988
2989
2990
2991
2992
2993
2994
2995
2996
2997
2998
2999
3000
3001
3002
3003
3004
3005
3006
3007
3008
3009
3010
3011
3012
3013
3014
3015
3016
3017
3018
3019
3020
3021
3022
3023
3024
3025
3026
3027
3028
3029
3030
3031
3032
3033
3034
3035
3036
3037
3038
3039
3040
3041
3042
3043
3044
3045
3046
3047
3048
3049
3050
3051
3052
3053
3054
3055
3056
3057
3058
3059
3060
3061
3062
3063
3064
3065
3066
3067
3068
3069
3070
3071
3072
3073
3074
3075
3076
3077
3078
3079
3080
3081
3082
3083
3084
3085
3086
3087
3088
3089
3090
3091
3092
3093
3094
3095
3096
3097
3098
3099
3100
3101
3102
3103
3104
3105
3106
3107
3108
3109
3110
3111
3112
3113
3114
3115
3116
3117
3118
3119
3120
3121
3122
3123
3124
3125
3126
3127
3128
3129
3130
3131
3132
3133
3134
3135
3136
3137
3138
3139
3140
3141
3142
3143
3144
3145
3146
3147
3148
3149
3150
3151
3152
3153
3154
3155
3156
3157
3158
3159
3160
3161
3162
3163
3164
3165
3166
3167
3168
3169
3170
3171
3172
3173
3174
3175
3176
3177
3178
3179
3180
3181
3182
3183
3184
3185
3186
3187
3188
3189
3190
3191
3192
3193
3194
3195
3196
3197
3198
3199
3200
3201
3202
3203
3204
3205
3206
3207
3208
3209
3210
3211
3212
3213
3214
3215
3216
3217
3218
3219
3220
3221
3222
3223
3224
3225
3226
3227
3228
3229
3230
3231
3232
3233
3234
3235
3236
3237
3238
3239
3240
3241
3242
3243
3244
3245
3246
3247
3248
3249
3250
3251
3252
3253
3254
3255
3256
3257
3258
3259
3260
3261
3262
3263
3264
3265
3266
3267
3268
3269
3270
3271
3272
3273
3274
3275
3276
3277
3278
3279
3280
3281
3282
3283
3284
3285
3286
3287
3288
3289
3290
3291
3292
3293
3294
3295
3296
3297
3298
3299
3300
3301
3302
3303
3304
3305
3306
3307
3308
3309
3310
3311
3312
3313
3314
3315
3316
3317
3318
3319
3320
3321
3322
3323
3324
3325
3326
3327
3328
3329
3330
3331
3332
3333
3334
3335
3336
3337
3338
3339
3340
3341
3342
3343
3344
3345
3346
3347
3348
3349
3350
3351
3352
3353
3354
3355
3356
3357
3358
3359
3360
3361
3362
3363
3364
3365
3366
3367
3368
3369
3370
3371
3372
3373
3374
3375
3376
3377
3378
3379
3380
3381
3382
3383
3384
3385
3386
3387
3388
3389
3390
3391
3392
3393
3394
3395
3396
3397
3398
3399
3400
3401
3402
3403
3404
3405
3406
3407
3408
3409
3410
3411
3412
3413
3414
3415
3416
3417
3418
3419
3420
3421
3422
3423
3424
3425
3426
3427
3428
3429
3430
3431
3432
3433
3434
3435
3436
3437
3438
3439
3440
3441
3442
3443
3444
3445
3446
3447
3448
3449
3450
3451
3452
3453
3454
3455
3456
3457
3458
3459
3460
3461
3462
3463
3464
3465
3466
3467
3468
3469
3470
3471
3472
3473
3474
3475
3476
3477
3478
3479
3480
3481
3482
3483
3484
3485
3486
3487
3488
3489
3490
3491
3492
3493
3494
3495
3496
3497
3498
3499
3500
3501
3502
3503
3504
3505
3506
3507
3508
3509
3510
3511
3512
3513
3514
3515
3516
3517
3518
3519
3520
3521
3522
3523
3524
3525
3526
3527
3528
3529
3530
3531
3532
3533
3534
3535
3536
3537
3538
3539
3540
3541
3542
3543
3544
3545
3546
3547
3548
3549
3550
3551
3552
3553
3554
3555
3556
3557
3558
3559
3560
3561
3562
3563
3564
3565
3566
3567
3568
3569
3570
3571
3572
3573
3574
3575
3576
3577
3578
3579
3580
3581
3582
3583
3584
3585
3586
3587
3588
3589
3590
3591
3592
3593
3594
3595
3596
3597
3598
3599
3600
3601
3602
3603
3604
3605
3606
3607
3608
3609
3610
3611
3612
3613
3614
3615
3616
3617
3618
3619
3620
3621
3622
3623
3624
3625
3626
3627
3628
3629
3630
3631
3632
3633
3634
3635
3636
3637
3638
3639
3640
3641
3642
3643
3644
3645
3646
3647
3648
3649
3650
3651
3652
3653
3654
3655
3656
3657
3658
3659
3660
3661
3662
3663
3664
3665
3666
3667
3668
3669
3670
3671
3672
3673
3674
3675
3676
3677
3678
3679
3680
3681
3682
3683
3684
3685
3686
3687
3688
3689
3690
3691
3692
3693
3694
3695
3696
3697
3698
3699
3700
3701
3702
3703
3704
3705
3706
3707
3708
3709
3710
3711
3712
3713
3714
3715
3716
3717
3718
3719
3720
3721
3722
3723
3724
3725
3726
3727
3728
3729
3730
3731
3732
3733
3734
3735
3736
3737
3738
3739
3740
3741
3742
3743
3744
3745
3746
3747
3748
3749
3750
3751
3752
3753
3754
3755
3756
3757
3758
3759
3760
3761
3762
3763
3764
3765
3766
3767
3768
3769
3770
3771
3772
3773
3774
3775
3776
3777
3778
3779
3780
3781
3782
3783
3784
3785
3786
3787
3788
3789
3790
3791
3792
3793
3794
3795
3796
3797
3798
3799
3800
3801
3802
3803
3804
3805
3806
3807
3808
3809
3810
3811
3812
3813
3814
3815
3816
3817
3818
3819
3820
3821
3822
3823
3824
3825
3826
3827
3828
3829
3830
3831
3832
3833
3834
3835
3836
3837
3838
3839
3840
3841
3842
3843
3844
3845
3846
3847
3848
3849
3850
3851
3852
3853
3854
3855
3856
3857
3858
3859
3860
3861
3862
3863
3864
3865
3866
3867
3868
3869
3870
3871
3872
3873
3874
3875
3876
3877
3878
3879
3880
3881
3882
3883
3884
3885
3886
3887
3888
3889
3890
3891
3892
3893
3894
3895
3896
3897
3898
3899
3900
3901
3902
3903
3904
3905
3906
3907
3908
3909
3910
3911
3912
3913
3914
3915
3916
3917
3918
3919
3920
3921
3922
3923
3924
3925
3926
3927
3928
3929
3930
3931
3932
3933
3934
3935
3936
3937
3938
3939
3940
3941
3942
3943
3944
3945
3946
3947
3948
3949
3950
3951
3952
3953
3954
3955
3956
3957
3958
3959
3960
3961
3962
3963
3964
3965
3966
3967
3968
3969
3970
3971
3972
3973
3974
3975
3976
3977
3978
3979
3980
3981
3982
3983
3984
3985
3986
3987
3988
3989
3990
3991
3992
3993
3994
3995
3996
3997
3998
3999
4000
4001
4002
4003
4004
4005
4006
4007
4008
4009
4010
4011
4012
4013
4014
4015
4016
4017
4018
4019
4020
4021
4022
4023
4024
4025
4026
4027
4028
4029
4030
4031
4032
4033
4034
4035
4036
4037
4038
4039
4040
4041
4042
4043
4044
4045
4046
4047
4048
4049
4050
4051
4052
4053
4054
4055
4056
4057
4058
4059
4060
4061
4062
4063
4064
4065
4066
4067
4068
4069
4070
4071
4072
4073
4074
4075
4076
4077
4078
4079
4080
4081
4082
4083
4084
4085
4086
4087
4088
4089
4090
4091
4092
4093
4094
4095
4096
4097
4098
4099
4100
4101
4102
4103
4104
4105
4106
4107
4108
4109
4110
4111
4112
4113
4114
4115
4116
4117
4118
4119
4120
4121
4122
4123
4124
4125
4126
4127
4128
4129
4130
4131
4132
4133
4134
4135
4136
4137
4138
4139
4140
4141
4142
4143
4144
4145
4146
4147
4148
4149
4150
4151
4152
4153
4154
4155
4156
4157
4158
4159
4160
4161
4162
4163
4164
4165
4166
4167
4168
4169
4170
4171
4172
4173
4174
4175
4176
4177
4178
4179
4180
4181
4182
4183
4184
4185
4186
4187
4188
4189
4190
4191
4192
4193
4194
4195
4196
4197
4198
4199
4200
4201
4202
4203
4204
4205
4206
4207
4208
4209
4210
4211
4212
4213
4214
4215
4216
4217
4218
4219
4220
4221
4222
4223
4224
4225
4226
4227
4228
4229
4230
4231
4232
4233
4234
4235
4236
4237
4238
4239
4240
4241
4242
4243
4244
4245
4246
4247
4248
4249
4250
4251
4252
4253
4254
4255
4256
4257
4258
4259
4260
4261
4262
4263
4264
4265
4266
4267
4268
4269
4270
4271
4272
4273
4274
4275
4276
4277
4278
4279
4280
4281
4282
4283
4284
4285
4286
4287
4288
4289
4290
4291
4292
4293
4294
4295
4296
4297
4298
4299
4300
4301
4302
4303
4304
4305
4306
4307
4308
4309
4310
4311
4312
4313
4314
4315
4316
4317
4318
4319
4320
4321
4322
4323
4324
4325
4326
4327
4328
4329
4330
4331
4332
4333
4334
4335
4336
4337
4338
4339
4340
4341
4342
4343
4344
4345
4346
4347
4348
4349
4350
4351
4352
4353
4354
4355
4356
4357
4358
4359
4360
4361
4362
4363
4364
4365
4366
4367
4368
4369
4370
4371
4372
4373
4374
4375
4376
4377
4378
4379
4380
4381
4382
4383
4384
4385
4386
4387
4388
4389
4390
4391
4392
4393
4394
4395
4396
4397
4398
4399
4400
4401
4402
4403
4404
4405
4406
4407
4408
4409
4410
4411
4412
4413
4414
4415
4416
4417
4418
4419
4420
4421
4422
4423
4424
4425
4426
4427
4428
4429
4430
4431
4432
4433
4434
4435
4436
4437
4438
4439
4440
4441
4442
4443
4444
4445
4446
4447
4448
4449
4450
4451
4452
4453
4454
4455
4456
4457
4458
4459
4460
4461
4462
4463
4464
4465
4466
4467
4468
4469
4470
4471
4472
4473
4474
4475
4476
4477
4478
4479
4480
4481
4482
4483
4484
4485
4486
4487
4488
4489
4490
4491
4492
4493
4494
4495
4496
4497
4498
4499
4500
4501
4502
4503
4504
4505
4506
4507
4508
4509
4510
4511
4512
4513
4514
4515
4516
4517
4518
4519
4520
4521
4522
4523
4524
4525
4526
4527
4528
4529
4530
4531
4532
4533
4534
4535
4536
4537
4538
4539
4540
4541
4542
4543
4544
4545
4546
4547
4548
4549
4550
4551
4552
4553
4554
4555
4556
4557
4558
4559
4560
4561
4562
4563
4564
4565
4566
4567
4568
4569
4570
4571
4572
4573
4574
4575
4576
4577
4578
4579
4580
4581
4582
4583
4584
4585
4586
4587
4588
4589
4590
4591
4592
4593
4594
4595
4596
4597
4598
4599
4600
4601
4602
4603
4604
4605
4606
4607
4608
4609
4610
4611
4612
4613
4614
4615
4616
4617
4618
4619
4620
4621
4622
4623
4624
4625
4626
4627
4628
4629
4630
4631
4632
4633
4634
4635
4636
4637
4638
4639
4640
4641
4642
4643
4644
4645
4646
4647
4648
4649
4650
4651
4652
4653
4654
4655
4656
4657
4658
4659
4660
4661
4662
4663
4664
4665
4666
4667
4668
4669
4670
4671
4672
4673
4674
4675
4676
4677
4678
4679
4680
4681
4682
4683
4684
4685
4686
4687
4688
4689
4690
4691
4692
4693
4694
4695
4696
4697
4698
4699
4700
4701
4702
4703
4704
4705
4706
4707
4708
4709
4710
4711
4712
4713
4714
4715
4716
4717
4718
4719
4720
4721
4722
4723
4724
4725
4726
4727
4728
4729
4730
4731
4732
4733
4734
4735
4736
4737
4738
4739
4740
4741
4742
4743
4744
4745
4746
4747
4748
4749
4750
4751
4752
4753
4754
4755
4756
4757
4758
4759
4760
4761
4762
4763
4764
4765
4766
4767
4768
4769
4770
4771
4772
4773
4774
4775
4776
4777
4778
4779
4780
4781
4782
4783
4784
4785
4786
4787
4788
4789
4790
4791
4792
4793
4794
4795
4796
4797
4798
4799
4800
4801
4802
4803
4804
4805
4806
4807
4808
4809
4810
4811
4812
4813
4814
4815
4816
4817
4818
4819
4820
4821
4822
4823
4824
4825
4826
4827
4828
4829
4830
4831
4832
4833
4834
4835
4836
4837
4838
4839
4840
4841
4842
4843
4844
4845
4846
4847
4848
4849
4850
4851
4852
4853
4854
4855
4856
4857
4858
4859
4860
4861
4862
4863
4864
4865
4866
4867
4868
4869
4870
4871
4872
4873
4874
4875
4876
4877
4878
4879
4880
4881
4882
4883
4884
4885
4886
4887
4888
4889
4890
4891
4892
4893
4894
4895
4896
4897
4898
4899
4900
4901
4902
4903
4904
4905
4906
4907
4908
4909
4910
4911
4912
4913
4914
4915
4916
4917
4918
4919
4920
4921
4922
4923
4924
4925
4926
4927
4928
4929
4930
4931
4932
4933
4934
4935
4936
4937
4938
4939
4940
4941
4942
4943
4944
4945
4946
4947
4948
4949
4950
4951
4952
4953
4954
4955
4956
4957
4958
4959
4960
4961
4962
4963
4964
4965
4966
4967
4968
4969
4970
4971
4972
4973
4974
4975
4976
4977
4978
4979
4980
4981
4982
4983
4984
4985
4986
4987
4988
4989
4990
4991
4992
4993
4994
4995
4996
4997
4998
4999
5000
5001
5002
5003
5004
5005
5006
5007
5008
5009
5010
5011
5012
5013
5014
5015
5016
5017
5018
5019
5020
5021
5022
5023
5024
5025
5026
5027
5028
5029
5030
5031
5032
5033
5034
5035
5036
5037
5038
5039
5040
5041
5042
5043
5044
5045
5046
5047
5048
5049
5050
5051
5052
5053
5054
5055
5056
5057
5058
5059
5060
5061
5062
5063
5064
5065
5066
5067
5068
5069
5070
5071
5072
5073
5074
5075
5076
5077
5078
5079
5080
5081
5082
5083
5084
5085
5086
5087
5088
5089
5090
5091
5092
5093
5094
5095
5096
5097
5098
5099
5100
5101
5102
5103
5104
5105
5106
5107
5108
5109
5110
5111
5112
5113
5114
5115
5116
5117
5118
5119
5120
5121
5122
5123
5124
5125
5126
5127
5128
5129
5130
5131
5132
5133
5134
5135
5136
5137
5138
5139
5140
5141
5142
5143
5144
5145
5146
5147
5148
5149
5150
5151
5152
5153
5154
5155
5156
5157
5158
5159
5160
5161
5162
5163
5164
5165
5166
5167
5168
5169
5170
5171
5172
5173
5174
5175
5176
5177
5178
5179
5180
5181
5182
5183
5184
5185
5186
5187
5188
5189
5190
5191
5192
5193
5194
5195
5196
5197
5198
5199
5200
5201
5202
5203
5204
5205
5206
5207
5208
5209
5210
5211
5212
5213
5214
5215
5216
5217
5218
5219
5220
5221
5222
5223
5224
5225
5226
5227
5228
5229
5230
5231
5232
5233
5234
5235
5236
5237
5238
5239
5240
5241
5242
5243
5244
5245
5246
5247
5248
5249
5250
5251
5252
5253
5254
5255
5256
5257
5258
5259
5260
5261
5262
5263
5264
5265
5266
5267
5268
5269
5270
5271
5272
5273
5274
5275
5276
5277
5278
5279
5280
5281
5282
5283
5284
5285
5286
5287
5288
5289
5290
5291
5292
5293
5294
5295
5296
5297
5298
5299
5300
5301
5302
5303
5304
5305
5306
5307
5308
5309
5310
5311
5312
5313
5314
5315
5316
5317
5318
5319
5320
5321
5322
5323
5324
5325
5326
5327
5328
5329
5330
5331
5332
5333
5334
5335
5336
5337
5338
5339
5340
5341
5342
5343
5344
5345
5346
5347
5348
5349
5350
5351
5352
5353
5354
5355
5356
5357
5358
5359
5360
5361
5362
5363
5364
5365
5366
5367
5368
5369
5370
5371
5372
5373
5374
5375
5376
5377
5378
5379
5380
5381
5382
5383
5384
5385
5386
5387
5388
5389
5390
5391
5392
5393
5394
5395
5396
5397
5398
5399
5400
5401
5402
5403
5404
5405
5406
5407
5408
5409
5410
5411
5412
5413
5414
5415
5416
5417
5418
5419
5420
5421
5422
5423
5424
5425
5426
5427
5428
5429
5430
5431
5432
5433
5434
5435
5436
5437
5438
5439
5440
5441
5442
5443
5444
5445
5446
5447
5448
5449
5450
5451
5452
5453
5454
5455
5456
5457
5458
5459
5460
5461
5462
5463
5464
5465
5466
5467
5468
5469
5470
5471
5472
5473
5474
5475
5476
5477
5478
5479
5480
5481
5482
5483
5484
5485
5486
5487
5488
5489
5490
5491
5492
5493
5494
5495
5496
5497
5498
5499
5500
5501
5502
5503
5504
5505
5506
5507
5508
5509
5510
5511
5512
5513
5514
5515
5516
5517
5518
5519
5520
5521
5522
5523
5524
5525
5526
5527
5528
5529
5530
5531
5532
5533
5534
5535
5536
5537
5538
5539
5540
5541
5542
5543
5544
5545
5546
5547
5548
5549
5550
5551
5552
5553
5554
5555
5556
5557
5558
5559
5560
5561
5562
5563
5564
5565
5566
5567
5568
5569
5570
5571
5572
5573
5574
5575
5576
5577
5578
5579
5580
5581
5582
5583
5584
5585
5586
5587
5588
5589
5590
5591
5592
5593
5594
5595
5596
5597
5598
5599
5600
5601
5602
5603
5604
5605
5606
5607
5608
5609
5610
5611
5612
5613
5614
5615
5616
5617
5618
5619
5620
5621
5622
5623
5624
5625
5626
5627
5628
5629
5630
5631
5632
5633
5634
5635
5636
5637
5638
5639
5640
5641
5642
5643
5644
5645
5646
5647
5648
5649
5650
5651
5652
5653
5654
5655
5656
5657
5658
5659
5660
5661
5662
5663
5664
5665
5666
5667
5668
5669
5670
5671
5672
5673
5674
5675
5676
5677
5678
5679
5680
5681
5682
5683
5684
5685
5686
5687
5688
5689
5690
5691
5692
5693
5694
5695
5696
5697
5698
5699
5700
5701
5702
5703
5704
5705
5706
5707
5708
5709
5710
5711
5712
5713
5714
5715
5716
5717
5718
5719
5720
5721
5722
5723
5724
5725
5726
5727
5728
5729
5730
5731
5732
5733
5734
5735
5736
5737
5738
5739
5740
5741
5742
5743
5744
5745
5746
5747
5748
5749
5750
5751
5752
5753
5754
5755
5756
5757
5758
5759
5760
5761
5762
5763
5764
5765
5766
5767
5768
5769
5770
5771
5772
5773
5774
5775
5776
5777
5778
5779
5780
5781
5782
5783
5784
5785
5786
5787
5788
5789
5790
5791
5792
5793
5794
5795
5796
5797
5798
5799
5800
5801
5802
5803
5804
5805
5806
5807
5808
5809
5810
5811
5812
5813
5814
5815
5816
5817
5818
5819
5820
5821
5822
5823
5824
5825
5826
5827
5828
5829
5830
5831
5832
5833
5834
5835
5836
5837
5838
5839
5840
5841
5842
5843
5844
5845
5846
5847
5848
5849
5850
5851
5852
5853
5854
5855
5856
5857
5858
5859
5860
5861
5862
5863
5864
5865
5866
5867
5868
5869
5870
5871
5872
5873
5874
5875
5876
5877
5878
5879
5880
5881
5882
5883
5884
5885
5886
5887
5888
5889
5890
5891
5892
5893
5894
5895
5896
5897
5898
5899
5900
5901
5902
5903
5904
5905
5906
5907
5908
5909
5910
5911
5912
5913
5914
5915
5916
5917
5918
5919
5920
5921
5922
5923
5924
5925
5926
5927
5928
5929
5930
5931
5932
5933
5934
5935
5936
5937
5938
5939
5940
5941
5942
5943
5944
5945
5946
5947
5948
5949
5950
5951
5952
5953
5954
5955
5956
5957
5958
5959
5960
5961
5962
5963
5964
5965
5966
5967
5968
5969
5970
5971
5972
5973
5974
5975
5976
5977
5978
5979
5980
5981
5982
5983
5984
5985
5986
5987
5988
5989
5990
5991
5992
5993
5994
5995
5996
5997
5998
5999
6000
6001
6002
6003
6004
6005
6006
6007
6008
6009
6010
6011
6012
6013
6014
6015
6016
6017
6018
6019
6020
6021
6022
6023
6024
6025
6026
6027
6028
6029
6030
6031
6032
6033
6034
6035
6036
6037
6038
6039
6040
6041
6042
6043
6044
6045
6046
6047
6048
6049
6050
6051
6052
6053
6054
6055
6056
6057
6058
6059
6060
6061
6062
6063
6064
6065
6066
6067
6068
6069
6070
6071
6072
6073
6074
6075
6076
6077
6078
6079
6080
6081
6082
6083
6084
6085
6086
6087
6088
6089
6090
6091
6092
6093
6094
6095
6096
6097
6098
6099
6100
6101
6102
6103
6104
6105
6106
6107
6108
6109
6110
6111
6112
6113
6114
6115
6116
6117
6118
6119
6120
6121
6122
6123
6124
6125
6126
6127
6128
6129
6130
6131
6132
6133
6134
6135
6136
6137
6138
6139
6140
6141
6142
6143
6144
6145
6146
6147
6148
6149
6150
6151
6152
6153
6154
6155
6156
6157
6158
6159
6160
6161
6162
6163
6164
6165
6166
6167
6168
6169
6170
6171
6172
6173
6174
6175
6176
6177
|
<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN"
"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd">
<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en">
<head>
<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" />
<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" />
<title>
A Hundred and Seventy Chinese Poems, by Arthur Waley--The Project Gutenberg eBook.
</title>
<style type="text/css">
body {
margin-left: 10%;
margin-right: 10%;
}
h1,h2,h3,h4,h5 {
margin-top: 2em;
text-align: center; /* all headings centered */
clear: both;
}
h2
{
page-break-before: always;
}
p {
margin-top: .51em;
text-align: justify;
margin-bottom: .49em;
}
.p1 {margin-top: 1em;}
.p2 {margin-top: 2em;}
.p4 {margin-top: 4em;}
.big {
font-size: 125%;
}
.small {
font-size: 85%;
}
.toc_page {
text-align: right;
}
.toc_poem {
text-indent: 2em;
}
.title {
page-break-before: always;
}
.comment {
font-size: 85%;
margin-left: 5%;
margin-right: 10%;
}
.direction {
margin-left: 10%;
}
hr {
width: 33%;
margin-top: 2em;
margin-bottom: 2em;
margin-left: auto;
margin-right: auto;
clear: both;
}
hr.tb {width: 25%;}
div.dynasties {
text-align: center;
clear: both;
margin-left: auto;
margin-right: auto;
}
ul.dynasties
{
list-style-type: none;
text-align: left;
}
table {
margin-left: auto;
margin-right: auto;
}
.tdl {text-align: left;}
.pagenum {
position: absolute;
right: 1%;
font-size: x-small;
font-weight: normal;
font-variant: normal;
font-style: normal;
letter-spacing: normal;
text-indent: 0em;
text-align: right;
color: #999999;
background-color: #ffffff;
}
.center {text-align: center;}
.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;}
.lowercase { text-transform:lowercase; }
/* Images */
.figcenter {
margin: auto;
text-align: center;
}
/* Footnotes */
.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;}
.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;}
.fnanchor {
vertical-align: super;
font-size: .8em;
text-decoration:
none;
}
/* Poetry */
.poem {
margin-left:10%;
margin-right:10%;
text-align: left;
}
.poem hr {
margin-left:5em;
width:15%;
}
.poem br {display: none;}
.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;}
/* Transcriber's notes */
.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA;
color: black;
font-size:smaller;
padding:0.5em;
margin-bottom:5em;
font-family:sans-serif, serif; }
.poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
.poem span.i10 {display: block; margin-left: 5em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
.poem span.i12 {display: block; margin-left: 6em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
.poem span.i14 {display: block; margin-left: 7em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
.poem span.i16 {display: block; margin-left: 8em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
.poem span.i18 {display: block; margin-left: 9em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
.poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
.poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
.poem span.i8 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;}
</style>
<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" />
</head>
<body>
<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42290 ***</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_i" id="Page_i">[i]</a></span></p>
<div>
<h1>
A HUNDRED AND SEVENTY
CHINESE POEMS</h1>
<p class="p2 center">TRANSLATED BY<br />
<span class="big">ARTHUR WALEY</span></p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 26px;">
<img src="images/decoration.png" width="26" height="30" alt="decoration" />
</div>
<p class="p4 center">LONDON<br />
CONSTABLE AND COMPANY LTD.<br />
1918
</p></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ii" id="Page_ii">[ii]</a></span></p>
<p class="p2 center">
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN.<br />
CHISWICK PRESS: CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO.<br />
TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.
</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iii" id="Page_iii">[iii]</a></span><br /></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_iv" id="Page_iv">[iv]</a></span><br /></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_v" id="Page_v">[v]</a></span></p>
<h2>PRELIMINARY NOTE</h2>
<p>In making this book I have tried to avoid poems
which have been translated before. A hundred and
forty of those I have chosen have not been translated
by any one else. The remaining thirty odd I have
included in many cases because the previous versions
were full of mistakes; in others, because the works in
which they appeared are no longer procurable. Moreover,
they are mostly in German, a language with
which my readers may not all be acquainted.</p>
<p>With some hesitation I have included literal versions
of six poems (three of the “Seventeen Old Poems,”
“Autumn Wind,” “Li Fu-jēn,” and “On the Death
of his Father”) already skilfully rhymed by Professor
Giles in “Chinese Poetry in English Verse.” They
were too typical to omit; and a comparison of the two
renderings may be of interest. Some of these translations
have appeared in the “Bulletin of the School of
Oriental Studies,” in the “New Statesman,” in the
“Little Review” (Chicago), and in “Poetry”
(Chicago).</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vi" id="Page_vi">[vi]</a><br /><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[vii]</a></span></p>
<h2>CONTENTS</h2>
<h3>PART I</h3>
<div class="center">
<table class="tdl" border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="">
<tr><td> </td><td class="toc_page"><span class="small">PAGE</span></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Introduction</span></td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">The Method of Translation</span></td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_19">19</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Bibliographical Notes</span></td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Chapter I</span>:</td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Battle</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_23">23</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Man-Wind and the Woman-Wind</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Master Tēng-t’u</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Orphan</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_27">27</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Sick Wife</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_29">29</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Cock-Crow Song</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Golden Palace</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_31">31</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">“Old Poem”</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Meeting in the Road</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_32">32</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Fighting South of the Castle</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_33">33</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Eastern Gate</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Old and New</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">South of the Great Sea</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_35">35</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Other Side of the Valley</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_36">36</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Oaths of Friendship</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_37">37</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Burial Songs</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_38">38</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Seventeen Old Poems</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_39">39</a>-<a href="#Page_48">48</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Autumn Wind</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_48">48</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Li Fu-jēn</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_49">49</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[viii]</a></span>Song of Snow-white Heads</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_50">50</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">To his Wife</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_51">51</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Li Ling</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_52">52</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Lament of Hsi-chün</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Ch’in Chia</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Ch’in Chia’s Wife’s Reply</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_54">54</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Song</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_55">55</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Chapter II</span>:</td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Satire on Paying Calls in August</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">On the Death of his Father</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_58">58</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Campaign against Wu</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_59">59</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Ruins of Lo-yang</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_60">60</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Cock-fight</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_61">61</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">A Vision</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_62">62</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Curtain of the Wedding Bed</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Regret</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_63">63</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Taoist Song</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">A Gentle Wind</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_64">64</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Woman</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_65">65</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Day Dreams</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Scholar in the Narrow Street</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_66">66</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Desecration of the Han Tombs</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Bearer’s Song</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_68">68</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Valley Wind</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_69">69</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Chapter III</span>:</td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Poems by T’ao Ch’ien</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_71">71</a>-<a href="#Page_79">79</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Chapter IV</span>:</td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Inviting Guests</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Climbing a Mountain</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_81">81</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Sailing Homeward</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_82">82</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[ix]</a></span>Five “Tzŭ-yeh” Songs</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_83">83</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Little Lady of Ch’ing-hsi</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_84">84</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Plucking the Rushes</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_84">84</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Ballad of the Western Island in the North Country</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_84">84</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Song</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_86">86</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Song of the Men of Chin-ling</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_86">86</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Scholar Recruit</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_87">87</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Red Hills</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_87">87</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Dreaming of a Dead Lady</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_88">88</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Liberator</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_89">89</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Lo-yang</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_89">89</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Winter Night</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Rejected Wife</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_90">90</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">People hide their Love</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Ferry</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Waters of Lung-t’ou</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_92">92</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Flowers and Moonlight on the Spring River</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_92">92</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Tchirek Song</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_93">93</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Chapter V</span>:</td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Business Men</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Tell me now</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_95">95</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">On Going to a Tavern</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Stone Fish Lake</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_96">96</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Civilization</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">A Protest in the Sixth Year of Ch’ien Fu</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_97">97</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">On the Birth of his Son</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_98">98</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Pedlar of Spells</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_98">98</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Boating in Autumn</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_99">99</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Herd-boy</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_99">99</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">How I sailed on the Lake till I came to the Eastern Stream</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">A Seventeenth-century Chinese Poem</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_100">100</a></td></tr>
</table></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[x]</a></span></p>
<h3>PART II</h3>
<div class="center">
<table border="0" class="tdl" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="">
<tr><td> </td><td class="toc_page"><span class="small">PAGE</span></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">Introduction</span></td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_105">105</a></td></tr>
<tr><td><span class="smcap">By Po Chü-i</span>:</td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">An Early Levée</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_115">115</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Being on Duty all night in the Palace and dreaming of the Hsien-yu Temple</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Passing T’ien-mēn Street in Ch’ang-an and seeing a distant View of Chung-nan Mountain</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_116">116</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Letter</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_117">117</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Rejoicing at the Arrival of Ch’ēn Hsiung</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_118">118</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Golden Bells</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_119">119</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Remembering Golden Bells</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Illness</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_120">120</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Dragon of the Black Pool</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_121">121</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Grain-tribute</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_123">123</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The People of Tao-chou</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_123">123</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Old Harp</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Harper of Chao</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_125">125</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Flower Market</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_126">126</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Prisoner</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_127">127</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Chancellor’s Gravel-drive</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_131">131</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Man who Dreamed of Fairies</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_132">132</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Magic</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_134">134</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Two Red Towers</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_135">135</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Charcoal-seller</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_137">137</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Politician</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_138">138</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Old Man with the Broken Arm</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Kept waiting in the Boat at Chiu-k’ou Ten Days by an adverse Wind</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_142">142</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">On Board Ship: Reading Yüan Chēn’s Poems</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_142">142</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Arriving at Hsün-yang</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_143">143</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[xi]</a></span>Madly Singing in the Mountains</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_144">144</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Releasing a migrant “Yen” (wild Goose)</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_145">145</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">To a Portrait Painter who desired him to sit</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_146">146</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Separation</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_147">147</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Having climbed to the topmost Peak of the Incense-burner Mountain</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_148">148</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Eating Bamboo-shoots</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_149">149</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Red Cockatoo</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_149">149</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">After Lunch</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_150">150</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Alarm at first entering the Yang-tze Gorges</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_150">150</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">On being removed from Hsün-yang and sent to Chung-chou</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_151">151</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Planting Flowers on the Eastern Embankment</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_152">152</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Children</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_153">153</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Pruning Trees</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_154">154</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Being visited by a Friend during Illness</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">On the way to Hangchow: Anchored on the River at Night</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_155">155</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Stopping the Night at Jung-yang</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Silver Spoon</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_156">156</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Hat given to the Poet by Li Chien</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_157">157</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Big Rug</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_157">157</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">After getting Drunk, becoming Sober in the Night</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_158">158</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Realizing the Futility of Life</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_158">158</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Rising Late and Playing with A-ts’ui, aged Two</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_159">159</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">On a Box containing his own Works</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_160">160</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">On being Sixty</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Climbing the Terrace of Kuan-yin and looking at the City</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_162">162</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Climbing the Ling Ying Terrace and looking North</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_162">162</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Going to the Mountains with a little Dancing Girl, aged <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[xii]</a></span>Fifteen</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_163">163</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Dreaming of Yüan Chēn</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_163">163</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">A Dream of Mountaineering</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_164">164</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Ease</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_165">165</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">On hearing someone sing a Poem by Yüan Chēn</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_165">165</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">The Philosophers</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_166">166</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Taoism and Buddhism</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_167">167</a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="toc_poem">Last Poem</td><td class="toc_page"><a href="#Page_168">168</a></td></tr>
</table></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span><br /></p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a><br /><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span></p>
<h2>PART I</h2>
<h3>INTRODUCTION</h3>
<div class="dynasties">
<h4><span class="smcap">Principal Chinese Dynasties</span></h4>
<ul class="dynasties"><li>Han, 206 <span class="smcap lowercase">B.C.</span>—<span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 220.</li>
<li>Wei, 220-264.</li>
<li>Chin, 265-419.</li>
<li>(Northern Wei, ruled over the North of China, 386-532.)</li>
<li>Liang, 502-556.</li>
<li>Sui, 589-618.</li>
<li>T’ang, 618-905.</li>
<li>Sung, 960-1278.</li>
<li>Yüan (Mongols), 1260-1341.</li>
<li>Ming, 1368-1640.</li>
<li>Ch’ing (Manchus), 1644-1912.</li></ul>
</div>
<h4>THE LIMITATIONS OF CHINESE LITERATURE</h4>
<p>Those who wish to assure themselves that they will
lose nothing by ignoring Chinese literature, often ask
the question: “Have the Chinese a Homer, an Aeschylus,
a Shakespeare or Tolstoy?” The answer must be that
China has no epic and no dramatic literature of importance.
The novel exists and has merits, but never became the instrument
of great writers.</p>
<p>Her philosophic literature knows no mean between the
traditionalism of Confucius and the nihilism of Chuang-tzŭ.
In mind, as in body, the Chinese were for the most part
torpid mainlanders. Their thoughts set out on no strange
quests and adventures, just as their ships discovered no
new continents. To most Europeans the momentary flash
of Athenian questioning will seem worth more than all the
centuries of Chinese assent.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span></p>
<p>Yet we must recognize that for thousands of years the
Chinese maintained a level of rationality and tolerance that
the West might well envy. They had no Index, no Inquisition,
no Holy Wars. Superstition has indeed played its
part among them; but it has never, as in Europe, been
perpetually dominant. It follows from the limitations of
Chinese thought that the literature of the country should
excel in reflection rather than in speculation. That this is
particularly true of its poetry will be gauged from the
present volume. In the poems of Po Chü-i no close reasoning
or philosophic subtlety will be discovered; but a power
of candid reflection and self-analysis which has not been
rivalled in the West.</p>
<p>Turning from thought to emotion, the most conspicuous
feature of European poetry is its pre-occupation with love.
This is apparent not only in actual “love-poems,” but in
all poetry where the personality of the writer is in any way
obtruded. The poet tends to exhibit himself in a <i>romantic</i>
light; in fact, to recommend himself as a lover.</p>
<p>The Chinese poet has a tendency different but analogous.
He recommends himself not as a lover, but as a friend.
He poses as a person of infinite leisure (which is what we
should most like our friends to possess) and free from
worldly ambitions (which constitute the greatest bars to
friendship). He would have us think of him as a boon
companion, a great drinker of wine, who will not disgrace
a social gathering by quitting it sober.</p>
<p>To the European poet the relation between man and
woman is a thing of supreme importance and mystery. To
the Chinese, it is something commonplace, obvious—a need
of the body, not a satisfaction of the <i>emotions</i>. These he
reserves entirely for friendship.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span></p>
<p>Accordingly we find that while our poets tend to lay stress
on physical courage and other qualities which normal women
admire, Po Chü-i is not ashamed to write such a poem as
“Alarm at entering the Gorges.” Our poets imagine themselves
very much as Art has portrayed them—bare-headed
and wild-eyed, with shirts unbuttoned at the neck as though
they feared that a seizure of emotion might at any minute
suffocate them. The Chinese poet introduces himself as a
timid recluse, “Reading the Book of Changes at the
Northern Window,” playing chess with a Taoist priest,
or practising caligraphy with an occasional visitor. If
“With a Portrait of the Author” had been the rule in the
Chinese book-market, it is in such occupations as these
that he would be shown; a neat and tranquil figure compared
with our lurid frontispieces.</p>
<p>It has been the habit of Europe to idealize love at the
expense of friendship and so to place too heavy a burden
on the relation of man and woman. The Chinese erred in
the opposite direction, regarding their wives and concubines
simply as instruments of procreation. For sympathy and
intellectual companionship they looked only to their friends.
But these friends were bound by no such tie as held women
to their masters; sooner or later they drifted away to
frontier campaigns, remote governorships, or country retirement.
It would not be an exaggeration to say that half
the poems in the Chinese language are poems of parting or
separation.</p>
<p>Readers of these translations may imagine that the culture
represented by Po Chü-i extended over the whole vast
confines of China. This would, I think, be an error. Culture
is essentially a metropolitan product. Chü-i was as
much <i>dépaysé</i> at a provincial town as Charles Lamb would<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span>
have been at Botany Bay. But the system of Chinese
bureaucracy tended constantly to break up the literary
coteries which formed at the capitals, and to drive the
members out of the little corner of Shensi and Honan which
to them was “home.”</p>
<p>It was chiefly economic necessity which forced the poets
of China into the meshes of bureaucracy—backed by the
Confucian insistence on public service. To such as were
landowners there remained the alternative of agricultural
life, arduous and isolated.</p>
<p>The poet, then, usually passed through three stages of
existence. In the first we find him with his friends at the
capital, drinking, writing, and discussing: burdened by his
office probably about as much as Pepys was burdened by his
duties at the Admiralty. Next, having failed to curry favour
with the Court, he is exiled to some provincial post, perhaps
a thousand miles from anyone he cares to talk to. Finally,
having scraped together enough money to buy husbands for
his daughters, he retires to a small estate, collecting round
him the remnants of those with whom he had shared the
“feasts and frolics of old days.”</p>
<p>I have spoken hitherto only of poets. But the poetess
occupies a place of considerable importance in the first four
centuries of our era, though the classical period (T’ang
and Sung) produced no great woman writer. Her theme
varies little; she is almost always a “rejected wife,” cast
adrift by her lord or sent back to her home. Probably her
father would be unable to buy her another husband and
there was no place for unmarried women in the Chinese
social system. The moment, then, which produced such
poems was one of supreme tragedy in a woman’s life.</p>
<p>Love-poetry addressed by a man to a woman ceases after<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span>
the Han dynasty; but a conventional type of love-poem, in
which the poet (of either sex) speaks in the person of a
deserted wife or concubine, continues to be popular. The
theme appears to be almost an obsession with the T’ang
and Sung poets. In a vague way, such poems were felt to
be allegorical. Just as in the Confucian interpretation of
the love-poems in the Odes (see below) the woman typifies
the Minister, and the lover the Prince, so in those classical
poems the poet in a veiled way laments the thwarting of
his own public ambitions. Such tortuous expression of
emotion did not lead to good poetry.</p>
<p>The “figures of speech,” devices such as metaphor,
simile, and play on words, are used by the Chinese with
much more restraint than by us. “Metaphorical epithets”
are occasionally to be met with; waves, for example, might
perhaps be called “angry.” But in general the adjective
does not bear the heavy burden which our poets have laid
upon it. The Chinese would call the sky “blue,” “gray,”
or “cloudy,” according to circumstances; but never “triumphant”
or “terror-scourged.”</p>
<p>The long Homeric simile, introduced for its own sake or
to vary the monotony of narrative, is unknown to Chinese
poetry. Shorter similes are sometimes found, as when the
half-Chinese poet Altun compares the sky over the Mongolian
steppe with the “walls of a tent”; but nothing could
be found analogous to Mr. T. S. Eliot’s comparison of the
sky to a “patient etherized on a table.” Except in popular
poetry, puns are rare; but there are several characters which,
owing to the wideness of their import, are used in a way
almost equivalent to play on words.</p>
<p>Classical allusion, always the vice of Chinese poetry,
finally destroyed it altogether. In the later periods (from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span>
the fourteenth century onwards) the use of elegant synonyms
also prevailed. I have before me a “gradus” of the
kind which the later poet used as an aid to composition.
The moon should be called the “Silver Dish,” “Frozen
Wheel,” or “Golden Ring.” Allusions may in this connection
be made to Yü Liang, who rode to heaven on the
crescent moon; to the hermit T’ang, who controlled the
genius of the New Moon, and kept him in his house as a
candle—or to any other of some thirty stories which are
given. The sun may be called “The Lantern-Dragon,” the
“Crow in Flight,” the “White Colt,” etc.</p>
<p>Such were the artificialities of later Chinese poetry.</p>
<h4>TECHNIQUE</h4>
<p>Certain elements are found, but in varying degree, in all
human speech. It is difficult to conceive of a language in
which rhyme, stress-accent, and tone-accent would not to
some extent occur. In all languages some vowel-sounds
are shorter than others and, in certain cases, two consecutive
words begin with the same sound. Other such
characteristics could be enumerated, but for the purposes
of poetry it is these elements which man has principally
exploited.</p>
<p>English poetry has used chiefly rhyme, stress, and alliteration.
It is doubtful if tone has ever played a part; a conscious
use has sporadically been made of quantity. Poetry
naturally utilizes the most marked and definite characteristics
of the language in which it is written. Such characteristics
are used consciously by the poet; but less
important elements also play their part, often only in a
negative way. Thus the Japanese actually avoid rhyme;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span>
the Greeks did not exploit it, but seem to have tolerated it
when it occurred accidentally.</p>
<p>The expedients consciously used by the Chinese before
the sixth century were rhyme and length of line. A third
element, inherent in the language, was not exploited before
that date, but must always have been a factor in instinctive
considerations of euphony. This element was “tone.”</p>
<p>Chinese prosody distinguishes between two tones, a
“flat” and a “deflected.” In the first the syllable is enunciated
in a level manner: the voice neither rises nor sinks.
In the second, it (1) rises, (2) sinks, (3) is abruptly arrested.
These varieties make up the Four Tones of Classical
Chinese.<a name="FNanchor_1_1" id="FNanchor_1_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_1_1" class="fnanchor">[1]</a></p>
<p>The “deflected” tones are distinctly more emphatic, and
so have a faint analogy to our stressed syllables. They are
also, in an even more remote way, analogous to the long
vowels of Latin prosody. A line ending with a “level” has
consequently to some extent the effect of a “feminine ending.”
Certain causes, which I need not specify here, led to
an increasing importance of “tone” in the Chinese language
from the fifth century onwards. It was natural that this
change should be reflected in Chinese prosody. A certain
Shēn Yo (<span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 441-513) first propounded the laws of tone-succession
in poetry. From that time till the eighth century
the <i>Lü-shih</i> or “strictly regulated poem” gradually
evolved. But poets continued (and continue till to-day),
side by side with their <i>lü-shih</i>, to write in the old metre
which disregards tone, calling such poems <i>Ku shih</i>, “old
poems.” Previous European statements about Chinese<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span>
prosody should be accepted with great caution. Writers
have attempted to define the <i>lü-shih</i> with far too great
precision.</p>
<p>The Chinese themselves are apt to forget that T’ang
poets seldom obeyed the laws designed in later school-books
as essential to classical poetry; or, if they notice that a
verse by Li Po does not conform, they stigmatize it as
“irregular and not to be imitated.”</p>
<p>The reader will infer that the distinction between “old
poems” and irregular <i>lü-shih</i> is often arbitrary. This is
certainly the case; I have found the same poem classified
differently in different native books. But it is possible to
enumerate certain characteristics which distinguish the two
kinds of verse. I will attempt to do so; but not till I have
discussed <i>rhyme</i>, the other main element in Chinese prosody.
It would be equally difficult to define accurately the difference
between the couplets of Pope and those of William
Morris. But it would not be impossible, by pointing out
certain qualities of each, to enable a reader to distinguish
between the two styles.</p>
<p><i>Rhyme.</i>—Most Chinese syllables ended with a vowel or
nasal sound. The Chinese rhyme was in reality a vowel
assonance. Words in different consonants rhymed so long
as the vowel-sound was exactly the same. Thus <i>ywet</i>,
“moon,” rhymed with <i>sek</i>, “beauty.” During the classical
period these consonant endings were gradually weakening,
and to-day, except in the south, they are wholly lost. It is
possible that from very early times final consonants were
lightly pronounced.</p>
<p>The rhymes used in <i>lü-shih</i> were standardized in the
eighth century, and some of them were no longer rhymes
to the ear in the Mandarin dialect. To be counted as a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>
rhyme, two words must have exactly the same vowel-sound.
Some of the distinctions then made are no longer audible
to-day; the sub-divisions therefore seem arbitrary. Absolute
homophony is also counted as rhyme, as in French. It is
as though we should make <i>made</i> rhyme with <i>maid</i>.</p>
<p>I will now attempt to distinguish between <i>Ku-shih</i> (old
style) and <i>Lü-shih</i> (new style).</p>
<p class="p1"><i>Ku-shih (Old Style).</i></p>
<p>(<i>a</i>) According to the investigations of Chu Hua, an eighteenth
century critic, only thirty-four rhymes were used.
They were, indeed, assonances of the roughest kind.</p>
<p>(<i>b</i>) “Deflected” words are used for rhyming as freely as
“flat” words.</p>
<p>(<i>c</i>) Tone-arrangement. The tones were disregarded.
(Lines can be found in pre-T’ang poems in which five deflected
tones occur in succession, an arrangement which
would have been painful to the ear of a T’ang writer and
would probably have been avoided by classical poets even
when using the old style.)</p>
<p class="p1"><i>Lü-shih (New Style).</i></p>
<p>(<i>a</i>) The rhymes used are the “106” of modern dictionaries
(not those of the Odes, as Giles states). Rhymes in the flat
tone are preferred. In a quatrain the lines which do not
rhyme must end on the opposite tone to that of the rhyme.
This law is absolute in <i>Lü-shih</i> and a tendency in this direction
is found even in <i>Ku-shih</i>.</p>
<p>(<i>b</i>) There is a tendency to antithetical arrangement of
tones in the two lines of a couplet, especially in the last
part of the lines.</p>
<p>(<i>c</i>) A tendency for the tones to go in <i>pairs</i>, <i>e.g.</i> (A=flat,
B=deflected): AA BBA or ABB AA, rather than in <i>threes</i>.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span>
Three like tones only come together when divided by a
“cesura,” <i>e.g.</i>, the line BB / AAA would be avoided, but not
the line BBAA / ABB.</p>
<p>(<i>d</i>) Verbal parallelism in the couplet, <i>e.g.</i>:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">After long illness one first realizes that seeking medicines is a mistake;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In one’s decaying years one begins to repent that one’s study of books was deferred.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>This device, used with some discretion in T’ang, becomes
an irritating trick in the hands of the Sung poets.</p><div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_1_1" id="Footnote_1_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_1_1"><span class="label">[1]</span></a> Not to be confused with the Four Tones of the Mandarin dialect,
in which the old names are used to describe quite different enunciations.</p></div>
<h4>THE RISE AND PROGRESS OF
CHINESE POETRY</h4>
<p><i>The Odes.</i>—From the songs current in his day Confucius
(551-479 <span class="smcap">B.C.</span>) chose about three hundred which he regarded
as suitable texts for his ethical and social teaching. Many
of them are eulogies of good rulers or criticisms of bad ones.
Out of the three hundred and five still extant only about
thirty are likely to interest the modern reader. Of these
half deal with war and half with love. Many translations
exist, the best being those of Legge in English and of
Couvreur in French. There is still room for an English
translation displaying more sensitivity to word-rhythm than
that of Legge. It should not, I think, include more than
fifty poems. But the Odes are essentially <i>lyric</i> poetry, and
their beauty lies in effects which cannot be reproduced in
English. For that reason I have excluded them from this
book; nor shall I discuss them further here, for full information
will be found in the works of Legge or Couvreur.</p>
<p><i>Elegies of the Land of Ch’u.</i>—We come next to Ch’ü
Yüan (third century <span class="smcap lowercase">B.C.</span>) whose famous poem “Li Sao,”<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span>
or “Falling into Trouble,” has also been translated by
Legge. It deals, under a love-allegory, with the relation
between the writer and his king. In this poem, sex and
politics are curiously interwoven, as we need not doubt they
were in Chü Yüan’s own mind. He affords a striking example
of the way in which abnormal mentality imposes
itself. We find his followers unsuccessfully attempting to
use the same imagery and rhapsodical verbiage, not realizing
that these were, as De Goncourt would say, the product
of their master’s <i>propre névrosité</i>.</p>
<p>“The Battle,” his one thoroughly intelligible poem, has
hitherto been only very imperfectly translated. A literal
version will be found on p. <a href="#Page_23">23</a>.</p>
<p>His nephew Sung Yü was no servile imitator. In addition
to “elegies” in the style of the Li Sao, he was the author of
many “Fu” or descriptive prose-poems, unrhymed but more
or less metrical.</p>
<p class="p1"><i>The Han Dynasty.</i>—Most of the Han poems in this book
were intended to be sung. Many of them are from the
official song-book of the dynasty and are known as Yo Fu
or Music Bureau poems, as distinct from <i>shih</i>, which were
recited. Ch’in Chia’s poem and his wife’s reply (p. <a href="#Page_54">54</a>) are
both <i>shih</i>; but all the rest might, I think, be counted as
songs.</p>
<p>The Han dynasty is rich in Fu (descriptions), but none
of them could be adequately translated. They are written
in an elaborate and florid style which recalls Apuleius or
Lyly.</p>
<p class="p1"><i>The Chin Dynasty.</i></p>
<p>(1) <i>Popular Songs</i> (Songs of Wu). The popular songs
referred to the Wu (Soochow) district and attributed to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span>
fourth century may many of them have been current at a
much earlier date. They are slight in content and deal with
only one topic. They may, in fact, be called “Love-epigrams.”
They find a close parallel in the <i>coplas</i> of
Spain, <i>cf.</i>:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<i><span class="i0">El candil se esta apagando,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">La alcuza no tiene aceite—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">No te digo que te vayas, ...<br /></span>
<span class="i0">No te digo que te quedes.<br /></span></i>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The brazier is going out,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The lamp has no more oil—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I do not tell you to go, ...<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I do not tell you to stay.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>A Han song, which I will translate quite literally, seems
to be the forerunner of the Wu songs.</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">On two sides of river, wedding made:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Time comes; no boat.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Lusting heart loses hope<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Not seeing what-it-desires.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>(2) <i>The Taoists.</i>—Confucius inculcated the duty of public
service. Those to whom this duty was repulsive found support
in Taoism, a system which denied this obligation. The
third and fourth centuries <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> witnessed a great reaction
against state service. It occurred to the intellectuals of
China that they would be happier growing vegetables in
their gardens than place-hunting at Nanking. They embraced
the theory that “by bringing himself into harmony
with Nature” man can escape every evil. Thus Tao
(Nature’s Way) corresponds to the Nirvana of Buddhism,
and the God of Christian mysticism.</p>
<p>They reduced to the simplest standard their houses,
apparel, and food; and discarded the load of book-learning
which Confucianism imposed on its adherents.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span></p>
<p>The greatest of these recluses was T’ao Ch’ien (<span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span>
365-427), twelve of whose poems will be found on p. <a href="#Page_71">71</a>,
<i>seq.</i> Something of his philosophy may be gathered from
the poem “Substance, Shadow, and Spirit” (p. <a href="#Page_73">73</a>), his
own views being voiced by the last speaker. He was not
an original thinker, but a great poet who reflects in an interesting
way the outlook of his time.</p>
<p class="p1"><i>Liang and Minor Dynasties.</i>—This period is known as
that of the “Northern and Southern Courts.” The north
of China was in the hands of the Tungusie Tartars, who
founded the Northern Wei dynasty—a name particularly
familiar, since it is the habit of European collectors to
attribute to this dynasty any sculpture which they believe
to be earlier than T’ang. Little poetry was produced in the
conquered provinces; the Tartar emperors, though they
patronized Buddhist art, were incapable of promoting literature.
But at Nanking a series of emperors ruled, most of
whom distinguished themselves either in painting or poetry.
The Chinese have always (and rightly) despised the literature
of this period, which is “all flowers and moonlight.” A few
individual writers, such as Pao Chao, stand out as exceptions.
<a id="Yuan-ti"></a>The Emperor Yüan-ti—who hacked his way to the
throne by murdering all other claimants, including his own
brother—is typical of the period both as a man and as a
poet. A specimen of his sentimental poetry will be found
on p. <a href="#Page_90">90</a>. When at last forced to abdicate, he heaped
together 200,000 books and pictures; and, setting fire
to them, exclaimed: “The culture of the Liang dynasty
perishes with me.”</p>
<p class="p1"><i>T’ang.</i>—I have already described the technical developments
of poetry during this dynasty. Form was at this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>
time valued far above content. “Poetry,” says a critic,
“should draw its materials from the Han and Wei dynasties.”
With the exception of a few reformers, writers contented
themselves with clothing old themes in new forms. The
extent to which this is true can of course only be realized
by one thoroughly familiar with the earlier poetry.</p>
<p>In the main, T’ang confines itself to a narrow range of
stock subjects. The <i>mise-en-scène</i> is borrowed from earlier
times. If a battle-poem be written, it deals with the campaigns
of the Han dynasty, not with contemporary events.
The “deserted concubines” of conventional love-poetry
are those of the Han Court. Innumerable poems record
“Reflections on Visiting a Ruin,” or on “The Site of an
Old City,” etc. The details are ingeniously varied, but the
sentiments are in each case identical. Another feature is
the excessive use of historical allusions. This is usually
not apparent in rhymed translations, which evade such
references by the substitution of generalities. Poetry became
the medium not for the expression of a poet’s emotions,
but for the display of his classical attainments. The great
Li Po is no exception to this rule. Often where his translators
would make us suppose he is expressing a fancy of
his own, he is in reality skilfully utilizing some poem by
T’ao Ch’ien or Hsieh Ti’ao. It is for his versification that
he is admired, and with justice. He represents a reaction
against the formal prosody of his immediate predecessors.
It was in the irregular song-metres of his <i>ku-shih</i> that he
excelled. In such poems as the “Ssech’uan Road,” with
its wild profusion of long and short lines, its cataract of
exotic verbiage, he aimed at something nearer akin to
music than to poetry. Tu Fu, his contemporary, occasionally
abandoned the cult of “abstract form.” Both poets<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span>
lived through the most tragic period of Chinese history. In
755 the Emperor’s Turkic favourite, An Lu-shan, revolted
against his master. A civil war followed, in which China
lost thirty million men. The dynasty was permanently enfeebled
and the Empire greatly curtailed by foreign incursions.
So ended the “Golden Age” of Ming Huang. Tu
Fu, stirred by the horror of massacres and conscriptions,
wrote a series of poems in the old style, which Po Chü-i
singles out for praise. One of them, “The Press-gang,” is
familiar in Giles’s translation. Li Po, meanwhile, was
writing complimentary poems on the Emperor’s “Tour in
the West”—a journey which was in reality a precipitate
flight from his enemies.</p>
<p class="p1"><i>Sung.</i>—In regard to content the Sung poets show even
less originality than their predecessors. Their whole energy
was devoted towards inventing formal restrictions. The
“tz’ŭ” developed, a species of song in lines of irregular
length, written in strophes, each of which must conform to
a strict pattern of tones and rhymes. The content of the
“tz’ŭ” is generally wholly conventional. Very few have
been translated; and it is obvious that they are unsuitable
for translation, since their whole merit lies in metrical dexterity.
Examples by the poetess Li I-an will be found in
the second edition of Judith Gautier’s “Livre de Jade.”
The poetry of Su Tung-p’o, the foremost writer of the
period, is in its matter almost wholly a patchwork of earlier
poems. It is for the musical qualities of his verse that he
is valued by his countrymen. He hardly wrote a poem
which does not contain a phrase (sometimes a whole line)
borrowed from Po Chü-i, for whom in his critical writings
he expresses boundless admiration.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span></p>
<p>A word must be said of the Fu (descriptive prose-poems)
of this time. They resemble the <i>vers libres</i> of modern
France, using rhyme occasionally (like Georges Duhamel)
as a means of “sonner, rouler, quand il faut faire donner
les cuivres et la batterie.” Of this nature is the magnificent
“Autumn Dirge” (Giles, “Chinese Lit.,” p. 215) by
Ou-yang Hsiu, whose lyric poetry is of small interest.
The subsequent periods need not much concern us. In the
eighteenth century the garrulous Yüan Mei wrote his
“Anecdotes of Poetry-making”—a book which, while one
of the most charming in the language, probably contains
more bad poetry (chiefly that of his friends) than any in the
world. His own poems are modelled on Po Chü-i and Su
Tung-p’o.</p>
<hr class="tb" />
<p>This introduction is intended for the general reader. I
have therefore stated my views simply and categorically,
and without entering into controversies which are of interest
only to a few specialists.</p>
<p>As an account of the development of Chinese poetry these
notes are necessarily incomplete, but it is hoped that they
answer some of those questions which a reader would be
most likely to ask.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p>
<h3>THE METHOD OF TRANSLATION</h3>
<p>It is commonly asserted that poetry, when literally translated,
ceases to be poetry. This is often true, and I
have for that reason not attempted to translate many poems
which in the original have pleased me quite as much as
those I have selected. But I present the ones I have chosen
in the belief that they still retain the essential characteristics
of poetry.</p>
<p>I have aimed at literal translation, not paraphrase. It
may be perfectly legitimate for a poet to borrow foreign
themes or material, but this should not be called translation.</p>
<p>Above all, considering imagery to be the soul of poetry,
I have avoided either adding images of my own or suppressing
those of the original.</p>
<p>Any literal translation of Chinese poetry is bound to be
to some extent rhythmical, for the rhythm of the original
obtrudes itself. Translating literally, without thinking
about the metre of the version, one finds that about two
lines out of three have a very definite swing similar to that
of the Chinese lines. The remaining lines are just too short
or too long, a circumstance very irritating to the reader,
whose ear expects the rhythm to continue. I have therefore
tried to produce regular rhythmic effects similar to those of
the original. Each character in the Chinese is represented
by a stress in the English; but between the stresses unstressed
syllables are of course interposed. In a few instances
where the English insisted on being shorter than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>
the Chinese, I have preferred to vary the metre of my
version, rather than pad out the line with unnecessary
verbiage.</p>
<p>I have not used rhyme because it is impossible to produce
in English rhyme-effects at all similar to those of the original,
where the same rhyme sometimes runs through a whole
poem. Also, because the restrictions of rhyme necessarily
injure either the vigour of one’s language or the literalness
of one’s version. I do not, at any rate, know of any example
to the contrary. What is generally known as “blank
verse” is the worst medium for translating Chinese poetry,
because the essence of blank verse is that it varies the position
of its pauses, whereas in Chinese the stop always comes
at the end of the couplet.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span></p>
<h3>BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTES</h3>
<p>1. H. A. Giles, “Chinese Poetry in English Verse.” 1896. 212 pp.
Combines rhyme and literalness with wonderful dexterity.</p>
<p>2. Hervey St. Denys, “Poésies des Thang.” 1862. 301 pp. The
choice of poems would have been very different if the author had
selected from the whole range of T’ang poetry, instead of contenting
himself, except in the case of Li Po and Tu Fu, with making extracts
from two late anthologies. This book, the work of a great scholar, is
reliable—except in its information about Chinese prosody.</p>
<p>3. Judith Gautier, “Le Livre de Jade.” 1867 and 1908. It has been
difficult to compare these renderings with the original, for proper
names are throughout distorted or interchanged. For example, part
of a poem by Po Chü-i <i>about</i> Yang T’ai-chēn is here given as a complete
poem and ascribed to “Yan-Ta-Tchen” as author. The poet
Han Yü figures as Heu-Yu; T’ao Han as Sao Nan, etc. Such mistakes
are evidently due to faulty decipherment of someone else’s writing.
Nevertheless, the book is far more readable than that of St. Denys,
and shows a wider acquaintance with Chinese poetry on the part of
whoever chose the poems. Most of the credit for this selection must
certainly be given to Ting Tun-ling, the <i>literatus</i> whom Théophile
Gautier befriended. But the credit for the beauty of these often
erroneous renderings must go to Mademoiselle Gautier herself.</p>
<p>4. Anna von Bernhardi, in “Mitteil d. Seminar f. Orient. Sprachen,”
1912, 1915, and 1916. Two articles on T’ao Ch’ien and one on Li Po.
All valuable, though not free from mistakes.</p>
<p>5. Zottoli, “Cursus Litteraturae Sinicae.” 1886. Chinese text with
Latin translation. Vol. V deals with poetry. None of the poems is
earlier than T’ang. The Latin is seldom intelligible without reference
to the Chinese. Translators have obviously used Zottoli as a text.
Out of eighteen Sung poems in Giles’s book, sixteen will be found in
Zottoli.</p>
<p>6. A. Pfizmaier, two articles (1886 and 1887) on Po Chü-i in
“Denkschr. d. Kais. Ak. in Wien.” So full of mistakes as to be of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span>
very little value, except in so far as they served to call the attention
of the European reader to this poet.</p>
<p>7. L. Woitsch, “Aus den Gedichten Po Chü-i’s.” 1908. 76 pp. A
prose rendering with Chinese text of about forty poems, not very
well selected. The translations, though inaccurate, are a great advance
on Pfizmaier.</p>
<p>8. E. von Zachs, “Lexicographische Beiträge.” Vols. ii and iv.
Re-translation of two poems previously mistranslated by Pfizmaier.</p>
<p>9. S. Imbault-Huart, “La Poésie Chinoise du 14 au 19 siècle.” 1886.
93 pp.</p>
<p>10. S. Imbault-Huart, “Un Poète Chinois du 18 Siècle.” (Yüan Mei.)
Journ. of China Branch, Royal As. Soc., N.S., vol. xix, part 2, 42 pp.</p>
<p>11. S. Imbault-Huart, “Poésies Modernes.” 1892. 46 pp.</p>
<p>12. A. Forke, “Blüthen Chinesischer Dichtung.” 1899. Rhymed
versions of Li Po and pre-T’ang poems.</p>
<p class="p1">A fuller bibliography will be found in Cordier’s “Bibliotheca Sinica.”</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span></p>
<h3>CHAPTER I</h3>
<h4 class="title">BATTLE</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Ch’ü Yüan (332-295 <span class="smcap lowercase">B.C.</span>), author of the famous poem “Li Sao,”
or “Falling into Trouble.” Finding that he could not influence the
conduct of his prince, he drowned himself in the river Mi-lo. The
modern Dragon Boat Festival is supposed to be in his honour.</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“We grasp our battle-spears: we don our breast-plates of hide.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The axles of our chariots touch: our short swords meet.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Standards obscure the sun: the foe roll up like clouds.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Arrows fall thick: the warriors press forward.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They menace our ranks: they break our line.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The left-hand trace-horse is dead: the one on the right is smitten.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The fallen horses block our wheels: they impede the yoke-horses!”<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">They grasp their jade drum-sticks: they beat the sounding drums.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Heaven decrees their fall: the dread Powers are angry.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The warriors are all dead: they lie on the moor-field.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They issued but shall not enter: they went but shall not return.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>
<span class="i0">The plains are flat and wide: the way home is long.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Their swords lie beside them: their black bows, in their hand.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Though their limbs were torn, their hearts could not be repressed.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They were more than brave: they were inspired with the spirit of “Wu.”<a name="FNanchor_2_2" id="FNanchor_2_2"></a><a href="#Footnote_2_2" class="fnanchor">[2]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">Steadfast to the end, they could not be daunted.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their bodies were stricken, but their souls have taken Immortality—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Captains among the ghosts, heroes among the dead.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_2_2" id="Footnote_2_2"></a><a href="#FNanchor_2_2"><span class="label">[2]</span></a> <i>I.e.</i>, military genius.</p></div>
<h4 class="title">THE MAN-WIND AND THE WOMAN-WIND</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>A “fu,” or prose-poem, by Sung Yü (fourth century <span class="smcap lowercase">B.C.</span>), nephew
of Ch’ü Yüan.</p></div>
<p>Hsiang, king of Ch’u, was feasting in the Orchid-tower
Palace, with Sung Yü and Ching Ch’ai to wait upon him.
A gust of wind blew in and the king bared his breast to
meet it, saying: “How pleasant a thing is this wind which
I share with the common people.” Sung Yü answered:
“This is the Great King’s wind. The common people
cannot share it.” The king said: “Wind is a spirit of
Heaven and Earth. It comes wide spread and does not
choose between noble and base or between high and low.
How can you say ‘This is the king’s wind’?” Sung answered:
“I have heard it taught that in the crooked lemon-tree
birds make their nests and to empty spaces winds fly.
But the wind-spirit that comes to different things is not the
same.” The king said: “Where is the wind born?” and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span>
Sung answered: “The wind is born in the ground. It rises
in the extremities of the green p’ing-flower. It pours into
the river-valleys and rages at the mouth of the pass. It
follows the rolling flanks of Mount T’ai and dances beneath
the pine-trees and cypresses. In gusty bouts it whirls. It
rushes in fiery anger. It rumbles low with a noise like
thunder, tearing down rocks and trees, smiting forests and
grasses.</p>
<p>“But at last abating, it spreads abroad, seeks empty
places and crosses the threshold of rooms. And so growing
gentler and clearer, it changes and is dispersed and dies.</p>
<p>“It is this cool clear Man-Wind that, freeing itself, falls
and rises till it climbs the high walls of the Castle and enters
the gardens of the Inner Palace. It bends the flowers and
leaves with its breath. It wanders among the osmanthus
and pepper-trees. It lingers over the fretted face of the
pond, to steal the soul of the hibiscus. It touches the willow
leaves and scatters the fragrant herbs. Then it pauses in
the courtyard and turning to the North goes up to the Jade
Hall, shakes the hanging curtains and lightly passes into
the inner room.</p>
<p>“And so it becomes the Great King’s wind.</p>
<p>“Now such a wind is fresh and sweet to breathe and its
gentle murmuring cures the diseases of men, blows away
the stupor of wine, sharpens sight and hearing and refreshes
the body. This is what is called the Great King’s wind.”</p>
<p>The king said: “You have well described it. Now tell
me of the common people’s wind.” Sung said: “The common
people’s wind rises from narrow lanes and streets,
carrying clouds of dust. Rushing to empty spaces it attacks
the gateway, scatters the dust-heap, sends the cinders flying,
pokes among foul and rotting things, till at last it enters<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span>
the tiled windows and reaches the rooms of the cottage.
Now this wind is heavy and turgid, oppressing man’s heart.
It brings fever to his body, ulcers to his lips and dimness
to his eyes. It shakes him with coughing; it kills him
before his time.</p>
<p>“Such is the Woman-wind of the common people.”</p>
<p class="p2">The following is a sample of Sung Yü’s prose:</p>
<h4 class="title">MASTER TĒNG-T’U</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Sung Yü (third century <span class="smcap lowercase">B.C.</span>)</p></div>
<p>One day when the Chamberlain, master Tēng-t’u, was in
attendance at the Palace he warned the King against Sung
Yü, saying: “Yü is a man of handsome features and calm
bearing and his tongue is prompt with subtle sentences.
Moreover, his character is licentious. I would submit that
your Majesty is ill-advised in allowing him to follow you
into the Queen’s apartments.” The King repeated Tēng-t’u’s
words to Sung Yü. Yü replied: “My beauty of face
and calmness of bearing were given me by Heaven.
Subtlety of speech I learnt from my teachers. As for my
character, I deny that it is licentious.” The King said:
“Can you substantiate your statement that you are not
licentious? If you cannot, you must leave the Court.” Sung
Yü said: “Of all the women in the world, the most beautiful
are the women of the land of Ch’u. And in all the land of
Ch’u there are none like the women of my own village.
And in my village there are none that can be compared
with the girl next door.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span></p>
<p>“The girl next door would be too tall if an inch were added
to her height, and too short if an inch were taken away.
Another grain of powder would make her too pale; another
touch of rouge would make her too red. Her eyebrows are
like the plumage of the kingfisher, her flesh is like snow.
Her waist is like a roll of new silk, her teeth are like little
shells. A single one of her smiles would perturb the whole city
of Yang and derange the suburb of Hsia-ts’ai.<a name="FNanchor_3_3" id="FNanchor_3_3"></a><a href="#Footnote_3_3" class="fnanchor">[3]</a> For three
years this lady has been climbing the garden wall and
peeping at me, yet I have never succumbed.</p>
<p>“How different is the behaviour of master Tēng-t’u! His
wife has a wooly head and misshapen ears; projecting teeth
irregularly set; a crook in her back and a halt in her gait.
Moreover, she has running sores in front and behind.</p>
<p>“Yet Tēng-t’u fell in love with her and caused her to bear
him five children.</p>
<p>“I would have your Majesty consider which of us is the
debauchee.”</p>
<p>Sung Yü was not dismissed from court.</p>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_3_3" id="Footnote_3_3"></a><a href="#FNanchor_3_3"><span class="label">[3]</span></a> Fashionable quarters in the capital of Ch’u state.</p></div>
<h4 class="title">THE ORPHAN</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>Anon. (first century <span class="smcap lowercase">B.C.</span>)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">To be an orphan,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To be fated to be an orphan.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How bitter is this lot!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When my father and mother were alive<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I used to ride in a carriage<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span>
<span class="i0">With four fine horses.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i4">But when they both died,<br /></span>
<span class="i4">My brother and sister-in-law<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Sent me out to be a merchant.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the south I travelled to the “Nine Rivers”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And in the east as far as Ch’i and Lu.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At the end of the year when I came home<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I dared not tell them what I had suffered—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of the lice and vermin in my head,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of the dust in my face and eyes.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My brother told me to get ready the dinner.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My sister-in-law told me to see after the horses.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I was always going up into the hall<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And running down again to the parlour.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My tears fell like rain.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">In the morning they sent me to draw water,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I didn’t get back till night-fall.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My hands were all sore<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And I had no shoes.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I walked the cold earth<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Treading on thorns and brambles.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As I stopped to pull out the thorns,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How bitter my heart was!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My tears fell and fell<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And I went on sobbing and sobbing.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In winter I have no great-coat;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Nor in summer, thin clothes.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It is no pleasure to be alive.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I had rather quickly leave the earth<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>
<span class="i0">And go beneath the Yellow Springs.<a name="FNanchor_4_4" id="FNanchor_4_4"></a><a href="#Footnote_4_4" class="fnanchor">[4]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">The April winds blow<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the grass is growing green.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the third month—silkworms and mulberries,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the sixth month—the melon-harvest.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I went out with the melon-cart<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And just as I was coming home<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The melon-cart turned over.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The people who came to help me were few,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But the people who ate the melons were many,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">All they left me was the stalks—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To take home as fast as I could.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My brother and sister-in-law were harsh,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They asked me all sorts of awful questions.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Why does everyone in the village hate me?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I want to write a letter and send it<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To my mother and father under the earth,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And tell them I can’t go on any longer<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Living with my brother and sister-in-law.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_4_4" id="Footnote_4_4"></a><a href="#FNanchor_4_4"><span class="label">[4]</span></a> Hades.</p></div>
<h4 class="title">THE SICK WIFE</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">She had been ill for years and years;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She sent for me to say something.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She couldn’t say what she wanted<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Because of the tears that kept coming of themselves.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“I have burdened you with orphan children,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With orphan children two or three.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Don’t let our children go hungry or cold;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If they do wrong, don’t slap or beat them.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When you take out the baby, rock it in your arms.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Don’t forget to do that.”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Last she said,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“When I carried them in my arms they had no clothes<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And now their jackets have no linings.” <span class="direction">[<i>She dies.</i></span><br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I shut the doors and barred the windows<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And left the motherless children.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When I got to the market and met my friends, I wept.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I sat down and could not go with them.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I asked them to buy some cakes for my children.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the presence of my friends I sobbed and cried.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I tried not to grieve, but sorrow would not cease.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I felt in my pocket and gave my friends some money.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When I got home I found my children<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Calling to be taken into their mother’s arms.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I walked up and down in the empty room<br /></span>
<span class="i0">This way and that a long while.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then I went away from it and said to myself<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“I will forget and never speak of her again.”<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">COCK-CROW SONG</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>Anon. (first century <span class="smcap lowercase">B.C.</span>)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">In the eastern quarter dawn breaks, the stars flicker pale.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The morning cock at Ju-nan mounts the wall and crows.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The songs are over, the clock<a name="FNanchor_5_5" id="FNanchor_5_5"></a><a href="#Footnote_5_5" class="fnanchor">[5]</a> run down, but still the feast is set.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span>
<span class="i0">The moon grows dim and the stars are few; morning has come to the world.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At a thousand gates and ten thousand doors the fish-shaped keys turn;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Round the Palace and up by the Castle, the crows and magpies are flying.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_5_5" id="Footnote_5_5"></a><a href="#FNanchor_5_5"><span class="label">[5]</span></a> A water-clock.</p></div>
<h4 class="title">THE GOLDEN PALACE</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>Anon. (first century <span class="smcap lowercase">B.C.</span>)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i10">We go to the Golden Palace:<br /></span>
<span class="i10">We set out the jade cups.<br /></span>
<span class="i10">We summon the honoured guests<br /></span>
<span class="i10">To enter at the Golden Gate.<br /></span>
<span class="i10">They enter at the Golden Gate<br /></span>
<span class="i10">And go to the Golden Hall.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the Eastern Kitchen the meat is sliced and ready—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Roast beef and boiled pork and mutton.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Master of the Feast hands round the wine.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The harp-players sound their clear chords.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The cups are pushed aside and we face each other at chess:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The rival pawns are marshalled rank against rank.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The fire glows and the smoke puffs and curls;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">From the incense-burner rises a delicate fragrance.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The clear wine has made our cheeks red;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Round the table joy and peace prevail.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">May those who shared in this day’s delight<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Through countless autumns enjoy like felicity.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">“OLD POEM”</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">At fifteen I went with the army,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At fourscore I came home.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On the way I met a man from the village,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I asked him who there was at home.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“That over there is your house,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">All covered over with trees and bushes.”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Rabbits had run in at the dog-hole,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Pheasants flew down from the beams of the roof.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the courtyard was growing some wild grain;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And by the well, some wild mallows.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I’ll boil the grain and make porridge,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I’ll pluck the mallows and make soup.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Soup and porridge are both cooked,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But there is no one to eat them with.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I went out and looked towards the east,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">While tears fell and wetted my clothes.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">MEETING IN THE ROAD</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">In a narrow road where there was not room to pass<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My carriage met the carriage of a young man.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And while his axle was touching my axle<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the narrow road I asked him where he lived.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“The place where I live is easy enough to find,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Easy to find and difficult to forget.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The gates of my house are built of yellow gold,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span>
<span class="i0">The hall of my house is paved with white jade,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On the hall table flagons of wine are set,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I have summoned to serve me dancers of Han-tan.<a name="FNanchor_6_6" id="FNanchor_6_6"></a><a href="#Footnote_6_6" class="fnanchor">[6]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the midst of the courtyard grows a cassia-tree,—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And candles on its branches flaring away in the night.”<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_6_6" id="Footnote_6_6"></a><a href="#FNanchor_6_6"><span class="label">[6]</span></a> Capital of the kingdom of Chao, where the people were famous
for their beauty.</p></div>
<h4 class="title">FIGHTING SOUTH OF THE CASTLE</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>Anon. (<i>circa</i> 124 <span class="smcap lowercase">B.C.</span>)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">They fought south of the Castle,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They died north of the wall.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They died in the moors and were not buried.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their flesh was the food of crows.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“Tell the crows we are not afraid;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We have died in the moors and cannot be buried.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Crows, how can our bodies escape you?”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The waters flowed deep<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the rushes in the pool were dark.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The riders fought and were slain:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their horses wander neighing.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">By the bridge there was a house.<a name="FNanchor_7_7" id="FNanchor_7_7"></a><a href="#Footnote_7_7" class="fnanchor">[7]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">Was it south, was it north?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The harvest was never gathered.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How can we give you your offerings?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You served your Prince faithfully,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Though all in vain.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I think of you, faithful soldiers;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Your service shall not be forgotten.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For in the morning you went out to battle<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And at night you did not return.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_7_7" id="Footnote_7_7"></a><a href="#FNanchor_7_7"><span class="label">[7]</span></a> There is no trace of it left. This passage describes the havoc of
war. The harvest has not been gathered: therefore corn-offerings
cannot be made to the spirits of the dead.</p></div>
<h4 class="title">THE EASTERN GATE</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>Anon. (first century <span class="smcap lowercase">B.C.</span>).</p>
<p>A poor man determines to go out into the world and make his
fortune. His wife tries to detain him.</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I went out at the eastern gate:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I never thought to return.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But I came back to the gate with my heart full of sorrow.<br /></span>
</div>
<hr class="tb" /><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">There was not a peck of rice in the bin:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There was not a coat hanging on the pegs.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So I took my sword and went towards the gate.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My wife and child clutched at my coat and wept:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“Some people want to be rich and grand:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I only want to share my porridge with you.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Above, we have the blue waves of the sky:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Below, the yellow face of this little child.”<br /></span>
<span class="i14">“Dear wife, I cannot stay.<br /></span>
<span class="i14">Soon it will be too late.<br /></span>
<span class="i14">When one is growing old<br /></span>
<span class="i14">One cannot put things off.”<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">OLD AND NEW</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>Anon. (first century <span class="smcap lowercase">B.C.</span>)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">She went up the mountain to pluck wild herbs;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She came down the mountain and met her former husband.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She knelt down and asked her former husband<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“What do you find your new wife like?”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“My new wife, although her talk is clever,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Cannot charm me as my old wife could.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In beauty of face there is not much to choose.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But in usefulness they are not at all alike.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My new wife comes in from the road to meet me;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My old wife always came down from her tower.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My new wife is clever at embroidering silk;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My old wife was good at plain sewing.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of silk embroidery one can do an inch a day;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of plain sewing, more than five feet.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Putting her silks by the side of your sewing,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I see that the new will not compare with the old.”<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">SOUTH OF THE GREAT SEA</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">My love is living<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To the south of the Great Sea.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What shall I send to greet him?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Two pearls and a comb of tortoise-shell:<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span>
<span class="i0">I’ll send them to him packed in a box of jade.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They tell me he is not true:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They tell me he dashed my box to the ground,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Dashed it to the ground and burnt it<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And scattered its ashes to the wind.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">From this day to the ends of time<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I must never think of him,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Never again think of him.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The cocks are crowing,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the dogs are barking—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My brother and his wife will soon know.<a name="FNanchor_8_8" id="FNanchor_8_8"></a><a href="#Footnote_8_8" class="fnanchor">[8]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">The autumn wind is blowing;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The morning wind is sighing.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In a moment the sun will rise in the east<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And then <i>it</i> too will know.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_8_8" id="Footnote_8_8"></a><a href="#FNanchor_8_8"><span class="label">[8]</span></a> <i>I.e.</i>, about her engagement being broken off.</p></div>
<h4 class="title">THE OTHER SIDE OF THE VALLEY</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I am a prisoner in the hands of the enemy,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Enduring the shame of captivity.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My bones stick out and my strength is gone<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Through not getting enough to eat.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My brother is a Mandarin<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And his horses are fed on maize.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Why can’t he spare a little money<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To send and ransom me?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">OATHS OF FRIENDSHIP</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>In the country of Yüeh when a man made friends with another they
set up an altar of earth and sacrificed upon it a dog and a cock,
reciting this oath as they did so:</p></div>
<h5>(1)</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">If you were riding in a coach<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And I were wearing a “li,”<a name="FNanchor_9_9" id="FNanchor_9_9"></a><a href="#Footnote_9_9" class="fnanchor">[9]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">And one day we met in the road,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You would get down and bow.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If you were carrying a “tēng”<a name="FNanchor_10_10" id="FNanchor_10_10"></a><a href="#Footnote_10_10" class="fnanchor">[10]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">And I were riding on a horse,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And one day we met in the road<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I would get down for you.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_9_9" id="Footnote_9_9"></a><a href="#FNanchor_9_9"><span class="label">[9]</span></a> A peasant’s coat made of straw.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_10_10" id="Footnote_10_10"></a><a href="#FNanchor_10_10"><span class="label">[10]</span></a> An umbrella under which a cheap-jack sells his wares.</p></div>
<h5>(2)</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Shang Ya!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I want to be your friend<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For ever and ever without break or decay.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When the hills are all flat<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the rivers are all dry,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When it lightens and thunders in winter,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When it rains and snows in summer,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When Heaven and Earth mingle—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Not till then will I part from you.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">BURIAL SONGS</h4>
<h5>(1)</h5>
<div class="comment">
<p>“The dew on the garlic-leaf,” sung at the burial of kings and
princes.</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">How swiftly it dries,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The dew on the garlic-leaf,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The dew that dries so fast<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To-morrow will fall again.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But he whom we carry to the grave<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Will never more return.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h5>(2)</h5>
<div class="comment">
<p>“The Graveyard,” sung at the burial of common men.</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">What man’s land is the graveyard?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It is the crowded home of ghosts,—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Wise and foolish shoulder to shoulder.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The King of the Dead claims them all;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Man’s fate knows no tarrying.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">SEVENTEEN OLD POEMS</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>The following seventeen poems are from a series known as the
Nineteen Pieces of Old Poetry. Some have been attributed to Mei
Shēng (first century <span class="smcap lowercase">B.C.</span>), and one to Fu I (first century <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span>). They
are manifestly not all by the same hand nor of the same date. Internal
evidence shows that No. 3 at least was written after the date of Mei
Shēng’s death. These poems had an enormous influence on all subsequent
poetry, and many of the habitual <i>clichés</i> of Chinese verse are
taken from them. I have omitted two because of their marked inferiority.</p></div>
<h5 class="title">(1)</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">On and on, always on and on<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Away from you, parted by a life-parting.<a name="FNanchor_11_11" id="FNanchor_11_11"></a><a href="#Footnote_11_11" class="fnanchor">[11]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">Going from one another ten thousand “li,”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Each in a different corner of the World.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The way between is difficult and long,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Face to face how shall we meet again?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Tartar horse prefers the North wind,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The bird from Yüeh nests on the Southern branch.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Since we parted the time is already long,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Daily my clothes hang looser round my waist.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Floating clouds obscure the white sun,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The wandering one has quite forgotten home.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Thinking of you has made me suddenly old,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The months and years swiftly draw to their close.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I’ll put you out of my mind and forget for ever<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And try with all my might to eat and thrive.<a name="FNanchor_12_12" id="FNanchor_12_12"></a><a href="#Footnote_12_12" class="fnanchor">[12]</a><br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_11_11" id="Footnote_11_11"></a><a href="#FNanchor_11_11"><span class="label">[11]</span></a> The opposite of a parting by death.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_12_12" id="Footnote_12_12"></a><a href="#FNanchor_12_12"><span class="label">[12]</span></a> The popular, but erroneous, interpretation of these two lines is:
</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“That I’m cast away and rejected I will not repine,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But only hope with all my heart you’re well.”<br /></span>
</div></div>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span></p>
<h5 class="title">(2)</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Green, green,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The grass by the river-bank.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Thick, thick,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The willow trees in the garden.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sad, sad,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The lady in the tower.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">White, white,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sitting at the casement window.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Fair, fair,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Her red-powdered face.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Small, small,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She puts out her pale hand.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Once she was a dancing-house girl.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Now she is a wandering man’s wife.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The wandering man went, but did not return.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It is hard alone to keep an empty bed.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h5 class="title">(3)</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Green, green,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The cypress on the mound.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Firm, firm,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The boulder in the stream.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Man’s life lived within this world,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Is like the sojourning of a hurried traveller.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A cup of wine together will make us glad,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And a little friendship is no little matter.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Yoking my chariot I urge my stubborn horses.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I wander about in the streets of Wan and Lo.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span>
<span class="i0">In Lo Town how fine everything is!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The “Caps and Belts”<a name="FNanchor_13_13" id="FNanchor_13_13"></a><a href="#Footnote_13_13" class="fnanchor">[13]</a> go seeking each other out.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The great boulevards are intersected by lanes,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Wherein are the town-houses of Royal Dukes.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The two palaces stare at each other from afar,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The twin gates rise a hundred feet.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">By prolonging the feast let us keep our hearts gay,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And leave no room for sadness to creep in.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_13_13" id="Footnote_13_13"></a><a href="#FNanchor_13_13"><span class="label">[13]</span></a> High officers.</p></div>
<h5 class="title">(4)</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Of this day’s glorious feast and revel<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The pleasure and delight are difficult to describe.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Plucking the lute they sent forth lingering sounds,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The new melodies in beauty reached the divine.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Skilful singers intoned the high words,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Those who knew the tune heard the trueness of their singing.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We sat there each with the same desire<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And like thoughts by each unexpressed:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“Man in the world lodging for a single life-time<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Passes suddenly like dust borne on the wind.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then let us hurry out with high steps<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And be the first to reach the highways and fords:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Rather than stay at home wretched and poor<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For long years plunged in sordid grief.”<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h5 class="title">(5)</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">In the north-west there is a high house,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Its top level with the floating clouds.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Embroidered curtains thinly screen its windows,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Its storied tower is built on three steps.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">From above there comes a noise of playing and singing,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The tune sounding, oh! how sad!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who can it be, playing so sad a tune?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Surely it must be Ch’i Liang’s<a name="FNanchor_14_14" id="FNanchor_14_14"></a><a href="#Footnote_14_14" class="fnanchor">[14]</a> wife.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The tranquil “D” follows the wind’s rising,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The middle lay lingers indecisive.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To each note, two or three sobs,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Her high will conquered by overwhelming grief.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She does not regret that she is left so sad,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But minds that so few can understand her song.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She wants to become those two wild geese<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That with beating wings rise high aloft.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_14_14" id="Footnote_14_14"></a><a href="#FNanchor_14_14"><span class="label">[14]</span></a> Who had no father, no husband, and no children.</p></div>
<h5 class="title">(6)</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Crossing the river I pluck hibiscus-flowers:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the orchid-swamps are many fragrant herbs.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I gather them, but who shall I send them to?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My love is living in lands far away.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I turn and look towards my own country:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The long road stretches on for ever.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The same heart, yet a different dwelling:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Always fretting, till we are grown old!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h5 class="title">(7)</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">A bright moon illumines the night-prospect:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The house-cricket chirrups on the eastern wall.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Handle of the Pole-star points to the Beginning of Winter.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span>
<span class="i0">The host of stars is scattered over the sky.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The white dew wets the moor-grasses,—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With sudden swiftness the times and seasons change.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The autumn cicada sings among the trees,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The swallows, alas, whither are they gone?<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Once I had a same-house friend,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He took flight and rose high away.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He did not remember how once we went hand in hand,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But left me like footsteps behind one in the dust.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">In the South is the Winnowing-fan and the Pole-star in the North,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And a Herd-boy<a name="FNanchor_15_15" id="FNanchor_15_15"></a><a href="#Footnote_15_15" class="fnanchor">[15]</a> whose ox has never borne the yoke.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A friend who is not firm as a great rock<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Is of no profit and idly bears the name.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_15_15" id="Footnote_15_15"></a><a href="#FNanchor_15_15"><span class="label">[15]</span></a> Name of a star. The Herd-boy, who is only figuratively speaking
a herd-boy, is like the friend who is no real friend.</p></div>
<h5 class="title">(8)</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">In the courtyard there grows a strange tree,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Its green leaves ooze with a fragrant moisture.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Holding the branch I cut a flower from the tree,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Meaning to send it away to the person I love.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Its sweet smell fills my sleeves and lap.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The road is long, how shall I get it there?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Such a thing is not fine enough to send:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But it may remind him of the time that has past since he left.<a name="FNanchor_16_16" id="FNanchor_16_16"></a><a href="#Footnote_16_16" class="fnanchor">[16]</a><br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_16_16" id="Footnote_16_16"></a><a href="#FNanchor_16_16"><span class="label">[16]</span></a> <i>I.e.</i> (supposing he went away in the autumn), remind him that
spring has come.</p></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span></p>
<h5 class="title">(9)</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Far away twinkles the Herd-boy star;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Brightly shines the Lady of the Han River.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Slender, slender she plies her white fingers.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Click, click go the wheels of her spinning-loom.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At the end of the day she has not finished her task;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Her bitter tears fall like streaming rain.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Han River runs shallow and clear;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Set between them, how short a space!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But the river water will not let them pass,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Gazing at each other but never able to speak.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h5 class="title">(10)</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Turning my chariot I yoke my horses and go.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On and on down the long roads<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The autumn winds shake the hundred grasses.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On every side, how desolate and bare!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The things I meet are all new things,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their strangeness hastens the coming of old age.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Prosperity and decay each have their season.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Success is bitter when it is slow in coming.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Man’s life is not metal or stone,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He cannot far prolong the days of his fate.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Suddenly he follows in the way of things that change.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Fame is the only treasure that endures.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h5 class="title">(11)</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The Eastern Castle stands tall and high;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Far and wide stretch the towers that guard it.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The whirling wind uprises and shakes the earth;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span>
<span class="i0">The autumn grasses grow thick and green.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The four seasons alternate without pause,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The year’s end hurries swiftly on.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Bird of the Morning Wind is stricken with sorrow;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The frail cicada suffers and is hard pressed.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Free and clear, let us loosen the bonds of our hearts.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Why should we go on always restraining and binding?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In Yen and Chao are many fair ladies,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Beautiful people with faces like jade.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their clothes are made all of silk gauze.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They stand at the door practising tranquil lays.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The echo of their singing, how sad it sounds!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">By the pitch of the song one knows the stops have been tightened.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To ease their minds they arrange their shawls and belts;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Lowering their song, a little while they pause.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“I should like to be those two flying swallows<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who are carrying clay to nest in the eaves of your house.”<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h5 class="title">(12)</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I drive my chariot up to the Eastern Gate;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">From afar I see the graveyard north of the Wall.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The white aspens how they murmur, murmur;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Pines and cypresses flank the broad paths.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Beneath lie men who died long ago;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Black, black is the long night that holds them.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Deep down beneath the Yellow Springs,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Thousands of years they lie without waking.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">In infinite succession light and darkness shift,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And years vanish like the morning dew.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Man’s life is like a sojourning,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span>
<span class="i0">His longevity lacks the firmness of stone and metal.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For ever it has been that mourners in their turn were mourned,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Saint and Sage,—all alike are trapped.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Seeking by food to obtain Immortality<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Many have been the dupe of strange drugs.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Better far to drink good wine<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And clothe our bodies in robes of satin and silk.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h5 class="title">(13) <span class="smcap">Continuation of</span> (12)</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The dead are gone and with them we cannot converse.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The living are here and ought to have our love.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Leaving the city-gate I look ahead<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And see before me only mounds and tombs.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The old graves are ploughed up into fields,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The pines and cypresses are hewn for timber.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the white aspens sad winds sing;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their long murmuring kills my heart with grief.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I want to go home, to ride to my village gate.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I want to go back, but there’s no road back.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h5 class="title">(14)</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The years of a lifetime do not reach a hundred.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Yet they contain a thousand years’ sorrow.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When days are short and the dull nights long,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Why not take a lamp and wander forth?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If you want to be happy you must do it now,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There is no waiting till an after-time.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The fool who’s loath to spend the wealth he’s got<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Becomes the laughing-stock of after ages.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It is true that Master Wang became immortal,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But how can <i>we</i> hope to share his lot?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span></p>
<h5 class="title">(15)</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Cold, cold the year draws to its end,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The crickets and grasshoppers make a doleful chirping.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The chill wind increases its violence.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My wandering love has no coat to cover him.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He gave his embroidered furs to the Lady of Lo,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But from me his bedfellow he is quite estranged.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sleeping alone in the depth of the long night<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In a dream I thought I saw the light of his face.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My dear one thought of our old joys together,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He came in his chariot and gave me the front reins.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I wanted so to prolong our play and laughter,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To hold his hand and go back with him in his coach.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But, when he had come he would not stay long<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Nor stop to go with me to the Inner Chamber.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Truly without the falcon’s wings to carry me<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How can I rival the flying wind’s swiftness?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I go and lean at the gate and think of my grief,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My falling tears wet the double gates.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h5 class="title">(16)</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">At the beginning of winter a cold spirit comes,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The North Wind blows—chill, chill.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My sorrows being many, I know the length of the nights,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Raising my head I look at the stars in their places.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On the fifteenth day the bright moon is full,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On the twentieth day the “toad and hare” wane.<a name="FNanchor_17_17" id="FNanchor_17_17"></a><a href="#Footnote_17_17" class="fnanchor">[17]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">A stranger came to me from a distant land<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span>
<span class="i0">And brought me a single scroll with writing on it;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At the top of the scroll was written “Do not forget,”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At the bottom was written “Goodbye for Ever.”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I put the letter away in the folds of my dress,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For three years the writing did not fade.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How with an undivided heart I loved you<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I fear that you will never know or guess.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_17_17" id="Footnote_17_17"></a><a href="#FNanchor_17_17"><span class="label">[17]</span></a> The “toad and hare” correspond to our “man in the moon.”
The waning of the moon symbolizes the waning of the lover’s affection.</p></div>
<h5 class="title">(17)</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The bright moon, oh, how white it shines,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Shines down on the gauze curtains of my bed.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Racked by sorrow I toss and cannot sleep.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Picking up my clothes, I wander up and down.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My absent love says that he is happy,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But I would rather he said he was coming back.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Out in the courtyard I stand hesitating, alone.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To whom can I tell the sad thoughts I think?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Staring before me I enter my room again;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Falling tears wet my mantle and robe.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">THE AUTUMN WIND</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Wu-ti (157-87 <span class="smcap lowercase">B.C.</span>), sixth emperor of the Han dynasty. He came
to the throne when he was only sixteen. In this poem he regrets that
he is obliged to go on an official journey, leaving his mistress behind
in the capital. He is seated in his state barge surrounded by his
ministers.</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Autumn wind rises: white clouds fly.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Grass and trees wither: geese go south.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Orchids all in bloom: chrysanthemums smell sweet.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span>
<span class="i0">I think of my lovely lady: I never can forget.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Floating-pagoda boat crosses Fēn River.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Across the mid-stream white waves rise<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Flute and drum keep time to sound of the rowers’ song;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Amidst revel and feasting, sad thoughts come;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Youth’s years how few! Age how sure!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">LI FU-JĒN</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The sound of her silk skirt has stopped.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On the marble pavement dust grows.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Her empty room is cold and still.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Fallen leaves are piled against the doors.<br /></span>
<span class="i16">Longing for that lovely lady<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How can I bring my aching heart to rest?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="comment">
<p>The above poem was written by Wu-ti when his mistress, Li Fu-jēn,
died. Unable to bear his grief, he sent for wizards from all parts of
China, hoping that they would be able to put him into communication
with her spirit. At last one of them managed to project her shape on
to a curtain. The emperor cried:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Is it or isn’t it?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I stand and look.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The swish, swish of a silk skirt.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How slow she comes!<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">SONG OF SNOW-WHITE HEADS</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>Ssŭ-ma Hsiang-ju was a young poet who had lost his position at
court owing to ill-health. One day Cho Wēn-chün, a rich man’s
daughter, heard him singing at a feast given by her father. She
eloped with him that night, and they set up a wine-shop together.
After a time Hsiang-ju became famous as a poet, but his character
was marred by love of money. He sold love-poems, which the ladies
of the palace sent to the emperor in order to win his favour. Finally,
he gave presents to the “ladies of Mo-ling,” hoping to secure a concubine.
It was this step that induced his mistress, Cho Wēn-chün, to
write the following poem.</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Our love was pure<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As the snow on the mountains:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">White as a moon<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Between the clouds—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They’re telling me<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Your thoughts are double<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That’s why I’ve come<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To break it off.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To-day we’ll drink<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A cup of wine.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To-morrow we’ll part<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Beside the Canal:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Walking about<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Beside the Canal,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where its branches divide<br /></span>
<span class="i0">East and west.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Alas and alas,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And again alas.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So must a girl<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Cry when she’s married,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If she find not a man<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of single heart,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who will not leave her<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Till her hair is white.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">TO HIS WIFE</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By General Su Wu (<i>circa</i> 100 <span class="smcap lowercase">B.C.</span>)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Since our hair was plaited and we became man and wife<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The love between us was never broken by doubt.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So let us be merry this night together,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Feasting and playing while the good time lasts.<br /></span>
</div>
<hr class="tb" />
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I suddenly remember the distance that I must travel;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I spring from bed and look out to see the time.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The stars and planets are all grown dim in the sky;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Long, long is the road; I cannot stay.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I am going on service, away to the battle-ground,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And I do not know when I shall come back.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I hold your hand with only a deep sigh;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Afterwards, tears—in the days when we are parted.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With all your might enjoy the spring flowers,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But do not forget the time of our love and pride.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Know that if I live, I will come back again,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And if I die, we will go on thinking of each other.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">LI LING</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>(Parting from Su Wu)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The good time will never come back again:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In a moment,—our parting will be over.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Anxiously—we halt at the road-side,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Hesitating—we embrace where the fields begin.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The clouds above are floating across the sky:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Swiftly, swiftly passing: or blending together.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The waves in the wind lose their fixed place<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And are rolled away each to a corner of Heaven.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">From now onwards—long must be our parting.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So let us stop again for a little while.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I wish I could ride on the wings of the morning wind<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And go with you right to your journey’s end.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="comment">
<p>Li Ling and Su Wu were both prisoners in the land of the Huns.
After nineteen years Su Wu was released. Li Ling would not go back
with him. When invited to do so, he got up and danced, singing:</p>
</div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I came ten thousand leagues<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Across sandy deserts<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the service of my Prince,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To break the Hun tribes.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My way was blocked and barred,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My arrows and sword broken.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My armies had faded away,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My reputation had gone.<br /></span>
</div>
<hr class="tb" />
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">My old mother is long dead.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Although I want to requite my Prince<br /></span>
<span class="i10">How can I return?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">LAMENT OF HSI-CHÜN</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>About the year 110 <span class="smcap lowercase">B.C.</span> a Chinese Princess named Hsi-chün was
sent, for political reasons, to be the wife of a central Asian nomad
king, K’un Mo, king of the Wu-sun. When she got there, she found
her husband old and decrepit. He only saw her once or twice a year,
when they drank a cup of wine together. They could not converse,
as they had no language in common.</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">My people have married me<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In a far corner of Earth:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sent me away to a strange land,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To the king of the Wu-sun.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A tent is my house,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of felt are my walls;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Raw flesh my food<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With mare’s milk to drink.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Always thinking of my own country,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My heart sad within.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Would I were a yellow stork<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And could fly to my old home!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">CH’IN CHIA</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>Ch’in Chia (first century <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span>) was summoned to take up an appointment
at the capital at a time when his wife was ill and staying with
her parents. He was therefore unable to say goodbye to her, and sent
her three poems instead. This is the last of the three.</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Solemn, solemn the coachman gets ready to go:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“Chiang, chiang” the harness bells ring.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At break of dawn I must start on my long journey:<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span>
<span class="i0">At cock-crow I must gird on my belt.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I turn back and look at the empty room:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For a moment I almost think I see you there.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">One parting, but ten thousand regrets:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As I take my seat, my heart is unquiet.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What shall I do to tell you all my thoughts?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How can I let you know of all my love?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Precious hairpins make the head to shine<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And bright mirrors can reflect beauty.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Fragrant herbs banish evil smells<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the scholar’s harp has a clear note.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The man in the Book of Odes<a name="FNanchor_18_18" id="FNanchor_18_18"></a><a href="#Footnote_18_18" class="fnanchor">[18]</a> who was given a quince<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Wanted to pay it back with diamonds and rubies.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When I think of all the things you have done for me,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How ashamed I am to have done so little for you!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Although I know that it is a poor return,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">All I can give you is this description of my feelings.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_18_18" id="Footnote_18_18"></a><a href="#FNanchor_18_18"><span class="label">[18]</span></a> Odes, v, 10.</p></div>
<h4 class="title">CH’IN CHIA’S WIFE’S REPLY</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">My poor body is alas unworthy:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I was ill when first you brought me home.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Limp and weary in the house—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Time passed and I got no better.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We could hardly ever see each other:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I could not serve you as I ought.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then you received the Imperial Mandate:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You were ordered to go far away to the City.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Long, long must be our parting:<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span>
<span class="i0">I was not destined to tell you my thoughts.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I stood on tiptoe gazing into the distance,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Interminably gazing at the road that had taken you.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With thoughts of you my mind is obsessed:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In my dreams I see the light of your face.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Now you are started on your long journey<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Each day brings you further from me.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Oh that I had a bird’s wings<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And high flying could follow you.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Long I sob and long I cry:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The tears fall down and wet my skirt.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">SONG</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Sung Tzŭ-hou (second century <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span>)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">On the Eastern Way at the city of Lo-yang<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At the edge of the road peach-trees and plum-trees grow;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On the two sides,—flower matched by flower;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Across the road,—leaf touching leaf.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">A spring wind rises from the north-east;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Flowers and leaves gently nod and sway.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Up the road somebody’s daughter comes<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Carrying a basket, to gather silkworms’ food.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="direction">
<p class="direction">(<i>She sees the fruit trees in blossom and, forgetting
about her silkworms, begins to pluck the
branches.</i>)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">With her slender hand she breaks a branch from the tree;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The flowers fall, tossed and scattered in the wind.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span></p>
<div class="direction">
<p class="direction"><i>The tree says:</i></p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“Lovely lady, I never did you harm;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Why should you hate me and do me injury?”<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="direction">
<p class="direction"><i>The lady answers:</i></p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“At high autumn in the eighth and ninth moons<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When the white dew changes to hoar-frost,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At the year’s end the wind would have lashed your boughs,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Your sweet fragrance could not have lasted long.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Though in the autumn your leaves patter to the ground,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When spring comes, your gay bloom returns.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But in men’s lives when their bright youth is spent<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Joy and love never come back again.”<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span></p>
<h3>CHAPTER II</h3>
<h4 class="title">SATIRE ON PAYING CALLS IN AUGUST</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Ch’ēng Hsiao (<i>circa</i> <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 250)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">When I was young, throughout the hot season<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There were no carriages driving about the roads.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">People shut their doors and lay down in the cool:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Or if they went out, it was not to pay calls.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Nowadays—ill-bred, ignorant fellows,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When they feel the heat, make for a friend’s house.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The unfortunate host, when he hears someone coming<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Scowls and frowns, but can think of no escape.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“There’s nothing for it but to rise and go to the door,”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And in his comfortable seat he groans and sighs.<br /></span>
</div>
<hr class="tb" />
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The conversation does not end quickly:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Prattling and babbling, what a lot he says!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Only when one is almost dead with fatigue<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He asks at last if one isn’t finding him tiring.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">(One’s arm is almost in half with continual fanning:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The sweat is pouring down one’s neck in streams.)<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Do not say that this is a small matter:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I consider the practice a blot on our social life.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I therefore caution all wise men<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That August visitors should not be admitted.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">ON THE DEATH OF HIS FATHER</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Wei Wēn-ti, son of Ts’ao Ts’ao, who founded the dynasty of Wei,
and died in <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 220. (The poem has been wrongly attributed to
Han Wēn-ti, died 157 <span class="smcap lowercase">B.C.</span>)</p>
</div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I look up and see / his curtains and bed:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I look down and examine / his table and mat.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The things are there / just as before.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But the man they belonged to / is not there.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">His spirit suddenly / has taken flight<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And left me behind / far away.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To whom shall I look / on whom rely?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My tears flow / in an endless stream.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“Yu, yu” / cry the wandering deer<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As they carry fodder / to their young in the wood.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Flap, flap / fly the birds<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As they carry their little ones / back to the nest.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I alone / am desolate<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Dreading the days / of our long parting:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My grieving heart’s / settled pain<br /></span>
<span class="i0">No one else / can understand.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There is a saying / among people<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“Sorrow makes us / grow old.”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Alas, alas / for my white hairs!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">All too early / they have come!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Long wailing, / long sighing<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My thoughts are fixed on my sage parent.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They say the good / live long:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then why was he / not spared?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">THE CAMPAIGN AGAINST WU<br />
<span class="small">TWO POEMS</span></h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Wei Wēn-ti (<span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 188-227)</p></div>
<h5>(1)</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">My charioteer hastens to yoke my carriage,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For I must go on a journey far away.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“Where are you going on your journey far away?”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To the land of Wu where my enemies are.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But I must ride many thousand miles,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Beyond the Eastern Road that leads to Wu.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Between the rivers bitter winds blow,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Swiftly flow the waters of Huai and Ssŭ.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I want to take a skiff and cross these rivers,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But alas for me, where shall I find a boat?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To sit idle is not my desire:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Gladly enough would I go to my country’s aid.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h5>(2)</h5>
<div class="comment"><p>(<i>He abandons the campaign</i>)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">In the North-west there is a floating cloud<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Stretched on high, like a chariot’s canvas-awning.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Alas that I was born in these times,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To be blown along like a cloud puffed by the wind!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It has blown me away far to the South-east,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On and on till I came to Wu-hui.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Wu-hui is not my country:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Why should I go on staying and staying here?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I will give it up and never speak of it again,—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">This being abroad and always living in dread.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">THE RUINS OF LO-YANG</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Ts’ao Chih (<span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 192-233), third son of Ts’ao Ts’ao. He was a
great favourite with his father till he made a mistake in a campaign.
In this poem he returns to look at the ruins of Lo-yang, where he used
to live. It had been sacked by Tung Cho.</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I climb to the ridge of Pei Mang Mountain<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And look down on the city of Lo-yang.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In Lo-yang how still it is!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Palaces and houses all burnt to ashes.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Walls and fences all broken and gaping,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Thorns and brambles shooting up to the sky.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I do not see the old old-men:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I only see the new young men.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I turn aside, for the straight road is lost:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The fields are overgrown and will never be ploughed again.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I have been away such a long time<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That I do not know which street is which.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How sad and ugly the empty moors are!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A thousand miles without the smoke of a chimney.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I think of the house I lived in all those years:<br /></span>
<span class="i14">I am heart-tied and cannot speak.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="comment"><p>The above poem vaguely recalls a famous Anglo-Saxon fragment
which I will make intelligible by semi-translation:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“Wondrous was the wall-stone,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Weirdly<a name="FNanchor_19_19" id="FNanchor_19_19"></a><a href="#Footnote_19_19" class="fnanchor">[19]</a> broken;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Burgh-steads bursten,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Giants’ work tumbleth,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Roofs are wrenched,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Towers totter,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Bereft of rune-gates.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Smoke is on the plaster,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Scarred the shower-burghs,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Shorn and shattered,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">By eld under-eaten.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Earth’s grip haveth<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Wealders<a name="FNanchor_20_20" id="FNanchor_20_20"></a><a href="#Footnote_20_20" class="fnanchor">[20]</a> and workmen.”<br /></span>
</div></div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_19_19" id="Footnote_19_19"></a><a href="#FNanchor_19_19"><span class="label">[19]</span></a> By Fate.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_20_20" id="Footnote_20_20"></a><a href="#FNanchor_20_20"><span class="label">[20]</span></a> Rulers.</p></div>
<h4 class="title">THE COCK-FIGHT</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Ts’ao Chih</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Our wandering eyes are sated with the dancer’s skill.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Our ears are weary with the sound of “kung” and “shang.”<a name="FNanchor_21_21" id="FNanchor_21_21"></a><a href="#Footnote_21_21" class="fnanchor">[21]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">Our host is silent and sits doing nothing:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">All the guests go on to places of amusement.<br /></span>
</div>
<hr class="tb" />
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">On long benches the sportsmen sit ranged<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Round a cleared room, watching the fighting-cocks.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The gallant birds are all in battle-trim:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They raise their tails and flap defiantly.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their beating wings stir the calm air:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their angry eyes gleam with a red light.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where their beaks have struck, the fine feathers are scattered:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With their strong talons they wound again and again.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their long cries enter the blue clouds;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their flapping wings tirelessly beat and throb.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“Pray God the lamp-oil lasts a little longer,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then I shall not leave without winning the match!”<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_21_21" id="Footnote_21_21"></a><a href="#FNanchor_21_21"><span class="label">[21]</span></a> Notes of the scale.</p>
</div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">A VISION</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Ts’ao Chih</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">In the Nine Provinces there is not room enough:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I want to soar high among the clouds,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And, far beyond the Eight Limits of the compass,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Cast my gaze across the unmeasured void.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I will wear as my gown the red mists of sunrise,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And as my skirt the white fringes of the clouds:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My canopy—the dim lustre of Space:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My chariot—six dragons mounting heavenward:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And before the light of Time has shifted a pace<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Suddenly stand upon the World’s blue rim.<br /></span>
<span class="i2">The doors of Heaven swing open,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The double gates shine with a red light.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I roam and linger in the palace of Wēn-ch’ang,<a name="FNanchor_22_22" id="FNanchor_22_22"></a><a href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">I climb up to the hall of T’ai-wei.<a href="#Footnote_22_22" class="fnanchor">[22]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Lord God lies at his western lattice:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the lesser Spirits are together in the eastern gallery.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They wash me in a bath of rainbow-spray<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And gird me with a belt of jasper and rubies.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I wander at my ease gathering divine herbs:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I bend down and touch the scented flowers.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Wang-tzŭ<a name="FNanchor_23_23" id="FNanchor_23_23"></a><a href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> gives me drugs of long-life<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And Hsien-mēn<a href="#Footnote_23_23" class="fnanchor">[23]</a> hands me strange potions.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">By the partaking of food I evade the rites of Death:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My span is extended to the enjoyment of life everlasting.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_22_22" id="Footnote_22_22"></a><a href="#FNanchor_22_22"><span class="label">[22]</span></a> Stars.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_23_23" id="Footnote_23_23"></a><a href="#FNanchor_23_23"><span class="label">[23]</span></a> Immortals.</p></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">THE CURTAIN OF THE WEDDING BED</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Liu Hsün’s wife (third century <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span>).</p>
<p>After she had been married to him for a long while, General Liu
Hsün sent his wife back to her home, because he had fallen in love
with a girl of the Ssu-ma family.</p>
</div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Flap, flap, you curtain in front of our bed!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I hung you there to screen us from the light of day.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I brought you with me when I left my father’s house;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Now I am taking you back with me again.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I will fold you up and lay you flat in your box.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Curtain—shall I ever take you out again?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">REGRET</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Yüan Chi (<span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 210-263)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">When I was young I learnt fencing<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And was better at it than Crooked Castle.<a name="FNanchor_24_24" id="FNanchor_24_24"></a><a href="#Footnote_24_24" class="fnanchor">[24]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">My spirit was high as the rolling clouds<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And my fame resounded beyond the World.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I took my sword to the desert sands,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I drank my horse at the Nine Moors.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My flags and banners flapped in the wind,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And nothing was heard but the song of my drums.<br /></span>
</div>
<hr class="tb" /><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">War and its travels have made me sad,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And a fierce anger burns within me:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It’s thinking of how I’ve wasted my time<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That makes this fury tear my heart.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_24_24" id="Footnote_24_24"></a><a href="#FNanchor_24_24"><span class="label">[24]</span></a> A famous general.</p></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">TAOIST SONG</h4>
<div class="comment"><p>By Chi K’ang (<span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 223-262)</p>
</div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I will cast out Wisdom and reject Learning.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My thoughts shall wander in the Great Void (<i>bis</i>).<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Always repenting of wrongs done<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Will never bring my heart to rest.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I cast my hook in a single stream;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But my joy is as though I possessed a Kingdom.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I loose my hair and go singing;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To the four frontiers men join in my refrain.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">This is the purport of my song:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“My thoughts shall wander in the Great Void.”<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">A GENTLE WIND</h4>
<div class="comment"><p>By Fu Hsüan (died <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 278)</p>
</div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">A gentle wind fans the calm night:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A bright moon shines on the high tower.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A voice whispers, but no one answers when I call:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A shadow stirs, but no one comes when I beckon.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The kitchen-man brings in a dish of lentils:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Wine is there, but I do not fill my cup.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Contentment with poverty is Fortune’s best gift:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Riches and Honour are the handmaids of Disaster.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Though gold and gems by the world are sought and prized,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To me they seem no more than weeds or chaff.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">WOMAN</h4>
<div class="comment"><p>By Fu Hsüan</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">How sad it is to be a woman!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Nothing on earth is held so cheap.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Boys stand leaning at the door<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Like Gods fallen out of Heaven.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their hearts brave the Four Oceans,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The wind and dust of a thousand miles.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">No one is glad when a girl is born:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">By <i>her</i> the family sets no store.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When she grows up, she hides in her room<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Afraid to look a man in the face.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">No one cries when she leaves her home—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sudden as clouds when the rain stops.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She bows her head and composes her face,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Her teeth are pressed on her red lips:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She bows and kneels countless times.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She must humble herself even to the servants.<br /></span>
<span class="i0"><i>His</i> love is distant as the stars in Heaven,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Yet the sunflower bends toward the sun.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their hearts more sundered than water and fire—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A hundred evils are heaped upon her.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Her face will follow the years’ changes:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Her lord will find new pleasures.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They that were once like substance and shadow<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Are now as far as Hu from Ch’in.<a name="FNanchor_25_25" id="FNanchor_25_25"></a><a href="#Footnote_25_25" class="fnanchor">[25]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">Yet Hu and Ch’in shall sooner meet<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Than they whose parting is like Ts’an and Ch’ēn.<a name="FNanchor_26_26" id="FNanchor_26_26"></a><a href="#Footnote_26_26" class="fnanchor">[26]</a><br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_25_25" id="Footnote_25_25"></a><a href="#FNanchor_25_25"><span class="label">[25]</span></a> Two lands.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_26_26" id="Footnote_26_26"></a><a href="#FNanchor_26_26"><span class="label">[26]</span></a> Two stars.</p></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">DAY DREAMS</h4>
<div class="comment"><p>By Tso Ssŭ (third century <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span>)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">When I was young I played with a soft brush<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And was passionately devoted to reading all sorts of books.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In prose I made Chia I my standard:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In verse I imitated Ssŭ-ma Hsiang-ju.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But then the arrows began singing at the frontier.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And a winged summons came flying to the City.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Although arms were not my profession,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I had once read Jang-Chū’s war-book.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I shouted aloud and my cries rent the air:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I felt as though Tung Wu were already annihilated.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The scholar’s knife cuts best at its first use<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And my dreams hurried on to the completion of my plan.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I wanted at a stroke to clear the Yang-tze and Hsiang,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And at a glance to quell the Tibetans and Hu.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When my task was done, I should not accept a barony,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But refusing with a bow, retire to a cottage in the country.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">THE SCHOLAR IN THE NARROW STREET</h4>
<div class="comment"><p>By Tso Ssŭ</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Flap, flap, the captive bird in the cage<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Beating its wings against the four corners.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Depressed, depressed the scholar in the narrow street:<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Clasping a shadow, he dwells in an empty house.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When he goes out, there is nowhere for him to go:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Bunches and brambles block up his path.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He composes a memorial, but it is rejected and unread,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He is left stranded, like a fish in a dry pond.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Without—he has not a single farthing of salary:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Within—there is not a peck of grain in his larder.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">His relations upbraid him for his lack of success:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">His friends and callers daily decrease in number.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Su Ch’in used to go preaching in the North<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And Li Ssŭ sent a memorandum to the West.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I once hoped to pluck the fruits of life:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But now alas, they are all withered and dry.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Though one drinks at a river, one cannot drink more than a bellyful;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Enough is good, but there is no use in satiety.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The bird in a forest can perch but on one bough,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And this should be the wise man’s pattern.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">THE DESECRATION OF THE HAN TOMBS</h4>
<div class="comment"><p>By Chang Tsai (third century <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span>)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">At Pei-mang how they rise to Heaven,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Those high mounds, four or five in the fields!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What men lie buried under these tombs?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">All of them were Lords of the Han world.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“Kung” and “Wēn”<a name="FNanchor_27_27" id="FNanchor_27_27"></a><a href="#Footnote_27_27" class="fnanchor">[27]</a> gaze across at each other:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Yüan mound is all grown over with weeds.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span>
<span class="i0">When the dynasty was falling, tumult and disorder arose,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Thieves and robbers roamed like wild beasts.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of earth<a name="FNanchor_28_28" id="FNanchor_28_28"></a><a href="#Footnote_28_28" class="fnanchor">[28]</a> they have carried away more than one handful,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They have gone into vaults and opened the secret doors.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Jewelled scabbards lie twisted and defaced:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The stones that were set in them, thieves have carried away,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The ancestral temples are hummocks in the ground:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The walls that went round them are all levelled flat.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Over everything the tangled thorns are growing:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A herd-boy pushes through them up the path.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Down in the thorns rabbits have made their burrows:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The weeds and thistles will never be cleared away.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Over the tombs the ploughshare will be driven<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And peasants will have their fields and orchards there.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They that were once lords of a thousand hosts<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Are now become the dust of the hills and ridges.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I think of what Yün-mēn<a name="FNanchor_29_29" id="FNanchor_29_29"></a><a href="#Footnote_29_29" class="fnanchor">[29]</a> said<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And am sorely grieved at the thought of “then” and “now.”<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_27_27" id="Footnote_27_27"></a><a href="#FNanchor_27_27"><span class="label">[27]</span></a> Names of two tombs.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_28_28" id="Footnote_28_28"></a><a href="#FNanchor_28_28"><span class="label">[28]</span></a> In the early days of the dynasty a man stole a handful of earth
from the imperial tombs, and was executed by the police. The
emperor was furious at the lightness of the punishment.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_29_29" id="Footnote_29_29"></a><a href="#FNanchor_29_29"><span class="label">[29]</span></a> Yün-mēn said to Mēng Ch’ang-chün (died 279 <span class="smcap lowercase">B.C.</span>), “Does it not
grieve you to think that after a hundred years this terrace will be cast
down and this pond cleared away?” Mēng Ch’ang-chün wept.</p></div>
<h4 class="title">BEARER’S SONG</h4>
<div class="comment"><p>By Miu Hsi (died <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 245). <i>Cf.</i> the “Han Burial Songs,” p. <a href="#Page_38">38</a>.</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">When I was alive, I wandered in the streets of the Capital:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Now that I am dead, I am left to lie in the fields.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span>
<span class="i0">In the morning I drove out from the High Hall:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the evening I lodged beneath the Yellow Springs.<a name="FNanchor_30_30" id="FNanchor_30_30"></a><a href="#Footnote_30_30" class="fnanchor">[30]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">When the white sun had sunk in the Western Chasm<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I hung up my chariot and rested my four horses.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Now, even the mighty Maker of All<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Could not bring the life back to my limbs.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Shape and substance day by day will vanish:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Hair and teeth will gradually fall away.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Forever from of old men have been so:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And none born can escape this thing.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_30_30" id="Footnote_30_30"></a><a href="#FNanchor_30_30"><span class="label">[30]</span></a> Hades.</p></div>
<h4 class="title">THE VALLEY WIND</h4>
<div class="comment"><p>By Lu Yün (fourth century <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span>)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Living in retirement beyond the World,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Silently enjoying isolation,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I pull the rope of my door tighter<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And stuff my window with roots and ferns.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My spirit is tuned to the Spring-season:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At the fall of the year there is autumn in my heart.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Thus imitating cosmic changes<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My cottage becomes a Universe.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a><br /><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span></p>
<h3>CHAPTER III</h3>
<h4 class="title">POEMS BY T’AO CH’IEN</h4>
<h5 class="title">(1)</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Shady, shady the wood in front of the Hall:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At midsummer full of calm shadows.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The south wind follows summer’s train:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With its eddying-puffs it blows open my coat.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I am free from ties and can live a life of retirement.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When I rise from sleep, I play with books and harp.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The lettuce in the garden still grows moist:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of last year’s grain there is always plenty left.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Self-support should maintain strict limits:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">More than enough is not what I want.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I grind millet and make good wine:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When the wine is heated, I pour it out for myself.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My little children are playing at my side,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Learning to talk, they babble unformed sounds.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">These things have made me happy again<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And I forget my lost cap of office.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Distant, distant I gaze at the white clouds:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With a deep yearning I think of the Sages of Antiquity.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h5 class="title">(2)</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">In the quiet of the morning I heard a knock at my door:<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>
<span class="i0">I threw on my clothes and opened it myself.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I asked who it was who had come so early to see me:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He said he was a peasant, coming with good intent.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He brought a present of wine and rice-soup,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Believing that I had fallen on evil days.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“You live in rags under a thatched roof<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And seem to have no desire for a better lot.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The rest of mankind have all the same ambitions:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You, too, must learn to wallow in their mire.”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“Old man, I am impressed by what you say,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But my soul is not fashioned like other men’s.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To drive in their rut I might perhaps learn:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To be untrue to myself could only lead to muddle.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Let us drink and enjoy together the wine you have brought:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For my course is set and cannot now be altered.”<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h5 class="title">(3)</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">A long time ago<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I went on a journey,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Right to the corner<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of the Eastern Ocean.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The road there<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Was long and winding,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And stormy waves<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Barred my path.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What made me<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Go this way?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Hunger drove me<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Into the World.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I tried hard<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To fill my belly:<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span>
<span class="i0">And even a little<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Seemed a lot.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But this was clearly<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A bad bargain,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So I went home<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And lived in idleness.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h5 class="title">(4)<br />
SUBSTANCE, SHADOW, AND SPIRIT</h5>
<div class="poem"><p>High and low, wise and simple, all busily hoard up the moments of
life. How greatly they err!</p>
<p>Therefore I have to the uttermost exposed the bitterness
both of Substance and Shadow, and have made
Spirit show how, by following Nature, we may dissolve
this bitterness.</p>
<div class="direction">
<p class="direction"><i>Substance speaks to Shadow</i>:</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Heaven and Earth exist for ever:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Mountains and rivers never change.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But herbs and trees in perpetual rotation<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Are renovated and withered by the dews and frosts:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And Man the wise, Man the divine—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Shall he alone escape this law?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Fortuitously appearing for a moment in the World<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He suddenly departs, never to return.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How can he know that the friends he has left<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Are missing him and thinking of him?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Only the things that he used remain;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They look upon them and their tears flow.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Me no magical arts can save,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Though you may hope for a wizard’s aid.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I beg you listen to this advice—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When you can get wine, be sure to drink it.<br /></span>
</div><div class="direction">
<p class="direction"><i>Shadow replies</i>:</p>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">There is no way to preserve life.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Drugs of Immortality are instruments of folly.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I would gladly wander in Paradise,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But it is far away and there is no road.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Since the day that I was joined to you<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We have shared all our joys and pains.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">While you rested in the shade, I left you a while:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But till the end we shall be together.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Our joint existence is impermanent:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sadly together we shall slip away.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That when the body decays Fame should also go<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Is a thought unendurable, burning the heart.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Let us strive and labour while yet we may<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To do some deed that men will praise.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Wine may in truth dispel our sorrow,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But how compare it with lasting Fame?<br /></span>
</div>
<div class="direction">
<p class="direction"><i>Spirit expounds</i>:</p></div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">God can only set in motion:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He cannot control the things he has made.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Man, the second of the Three Orders,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Owes his precedence to Me.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Though I am different from you,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We were born involved in one another:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Nor by any means can we escape<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The intimate sharing of good and ill.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Three Emperors were saintly men,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Yet to-day—where are they?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">P’ēng<a name="FNanchor_31_31" id="FNanchor_31_31"></a><a href="#Footnote_31_31" class="fnanchor">[31]</a> lived to a great age,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Yet he went at last, when he longed to stay.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And late or soon, all go:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Wise and simple have no reprieve.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Wine may bring forgetfulness,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But does it not hasten old-age?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If you set your heart on noble deeds,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How do you know that any will praise you?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">By all this thinking you do Me injury:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You had better go where Fate leads—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Drift on the Stream of Infinite Flux,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Without joy, without fear:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When you must go—then go,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And make as little fuss as you can.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_31_31" id="Footnote_31_31"></a><a href="#FNanchor_31_31"><span class="label">[31]</span></a> The Chinese Methuselah.</p></div>
<h5 class="title">(5)</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Chill and harsh the year draws to its close:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In my cotton dress I seek sunlight on the porch.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the southern orchard all the leaves are gone:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the north garden rotting boughs lie heaped.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I empty my cup and drink it down to the dregs:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I look towards the kitchen, but no smoke rises.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Poems and books lie piled beside my chair:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But the light is going and I shall not have time to read them.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My life here is not like the Agony in Ch’ēn,<a name="FNanchor_32_32" id="FNanchor_32_32"></a><a href="#Footnote_32_32" class="fnanchor">[32]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">But often I have to bear bitter reproaches.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Let me then remember, to calm my heart’s distress,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That the Sages of old were often in like case.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_32_32" id="Footnote_32_32"></a><a href="#FNanchor_32_32"><span class="label">[32]</span></a> Confucius was maltreated in Ch’ēn.</p></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span></p>
<h5 class="title">(6)<br />
BLAMING SONS<br />
<span class="small">(AN APOLOGY FOR HIS OWN DRUNKENNESS)</span></h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">White hair covers my temples,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I am wrinkled and seared beyond repair,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And though I have got five sons,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They all hate paper and brush.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A-shu is eighteen:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For laziness there is none like him.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A-hsüan does his best,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But really loathes the Fine Arts.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Yung-tuan is thirteen.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But does not know “six” from “seven.”<a name="FNanchor_33_33" id="FNanchor_33_33"></a><a href="#Footnote_33_33" class="fnanchor">[33]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">T’ung-tzŭ in his ninth year<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Is only concerned with things to eat.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If Heaven treats me like this,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What can I do but fill my cup?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_33_33" id="Footnote_33_33"></a><a href="#FNanchor_33_33"><span class="label">[33]</span></a> Written in Chinese with two characters very easy to distinguish.</p></div>
<h5 class="title">(7)</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I built my hut in a zone of human habitation,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Yet near me there sounds no noise of horse or coach.<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Would you know how that is possible?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A heart that is distant creates a wilderness round it.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I pluck chrysanthemums under the eastern hedge,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then gaze long at the distant summer hills.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The mountain air is fresh at the dusk of day:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The flying birds two by two return.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In these things there lies a deep meaning;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Yet when we would express it, words suddenly fail us.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span></p>
<h5 class="title">(8)<br />
MOVING HOUSE</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">My old desire to live in the Southern Village<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Was not because I had taken a fancy to the house.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But I heard it was a place of simple-minded men<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With whom it were a joy to spend the mornings and evenings.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Many years I had longed to settle here:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Now at last I have managed to move house.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I do not mind if my cottage is rather small<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So long as there’s room enough for bed and mat.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Often and often the neighbours come to see me<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And with brave words discuss the things of old.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Rare writings we read together and praise:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Doubtful meanings we examine together and settle.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h5 class="title">(9)<br />
RETURNING TO THE FIELDS</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">When I was young, I was out of tune with the herd:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My only love was for the hills and mountains.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Unwitting I fell into the Web of the World’s dust<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And was not free until my thirtieth year.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The migrant bird longs for the old wood:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The fish in the tank thinks of its native pool.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I had rescued from wildness a patch of the Southern Moor<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And, still rustic, I returned to field and garden.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My ground covers no more than ten acres:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My thatched cottage has eight or nine rooms.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Elms and willows cluster by the eaves:<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Peach trees and plum trees grow before the Hall.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Hazy, hazy the distant hamlets of men.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Steady the smoke of the half-deserted village,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A dog barks somewhere in the deep lanes,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A cock crows at the top of the mulberry tree.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At gate and courtyard—no murmur of the World’s dust:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the empty rooms—leisure and deep stillness.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Long I lived checked by the bars of a cage:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Now I have turned again to Nature and Freedom.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h5 class="title">(10)<br />
READING THE BOOK OF HILLS AND SEAS</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">In the month of June the grass grows high<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And round my cottage thick-leaved branches sway.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There is not a bird but delights in the place where it rests:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And I too—love my thatched cottage.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I have done my ploughing:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I have sown my seed.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Again I have time to sit and read my books.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the narrow lane there are no deep ruts:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Often my friends’ carriages turn back.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In high spirits I pour out my spring wine<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And pluck the lettuce growing in my garden.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A gentle rain comes stealing up from the east<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And a sweet wind bears it company.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My thoughts float idly over the story of King Chou<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My eyes wander over the pictures of Hills and Seas.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At a single glance I survey the whole Universe.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He will never be happy, whom such pleasures fail to please!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span></p>
<h5 class="title">(11)<br />
FLOOD</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The lingering clouds, rolling, rolling,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the settled rain, dripping, dripping,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the Eight Directions—the same dusk.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The level lands—one great river.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Wine I have, wine I have:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Idly I drink at the eastern window.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Longingly—I think of my friends,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But neither boat nor carriage comes.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h5 class="title">(12)<br />
NEW CORN</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Swiftly the years, beyond recall.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Solemn the stillness of this fair morning.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I will clothe myself in spring-clothing<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And visit the slopes of the Eastern Hill.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">By the mountain-stream a mist hovers,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Hovers a moment, then scatters.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There comes a wind blowing from the south<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That brushes the fields of new corn.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a><br /><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p>
<h3>CHAPTER IV</h3>
<h4 class="title">INVITING GUESTS</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Ch’ēng-kung Sui (died <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 273)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I sent out invitations<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To summon guests.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I collected together<br /></span>
<span class="i0">All my friends.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Loud talk<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And simple feasting:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Discussion of philosophy,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Investigation of subtleties.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Tongues loosened<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And minds at one.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Hearts refreshed<br /></span>
<span class="i0">By discharge of emotion!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">CLIMBING A MOUNTAIN</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Tao-yün (<i>circa</i> <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 400), wife of General Wang Ning-chih.
The general was so stupid that she finally deserted him.</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">High rises the Eastern Peak<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Soaring up to the blue sky.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Among the rocks—an empty hollow,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Secret, still, mysterious!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Uncarved and unhewn,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Screened by nature with a roof of clouds.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Times and Seasons, what things are you<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Bringing to my life ceaseless change?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I will lodge for ever in this hollow<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where Springs and Autumns unheeded pass.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">SAILING HOMEWARD</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Chan Fang-shēng (fourth century <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span>)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Cliffs that rise a thousand feet<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Without a break,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Lake that stretches a hundred miles<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Without a wave,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sands that are white through all the year,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Without a stain,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Pine-tree woods, winter and summer<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Ever-green,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Streams that for ever flow and flow<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Without a pause,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Trees that for twenty thousand years<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Your vows have kept,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You have suddenly healed the pain of a traveller’s heart,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And moved his brush to write a new song.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">FIVE “TZŬ-YEH” SONGS</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">At the time when blossoms<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Fall from the cherry-tree:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On a day when yellow birds<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Hovered in the branches—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You said you must stop,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Because your horse was tired:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I said I must go,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Because my silkworms were hungry.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">All night I could not sleep<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Because of the moonlight on my bed.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I kept on hearing a voice calling:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Out of Nowhere, Nothing answered “yes.”<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I will carry my coat and not put on my belt;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With unpainted eyebrows I will stand at the front window.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My tiresome petticoat keeps on flapping about;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If it opens a little, I shall blame the spring wind.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I heard my love was going to Yang-chou<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And went with him as far as Ch’u-shan.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For a moment when you held me fast in your outstretched arms<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I thought the river stood still and did not flow.<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I have brought my pillow and am lying at the northern window,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So come to me and play with me awhile.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With so much quarrelling and so few kisses<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How long do you think our love can last?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">THE LITTLE LADY OF CH’ING-HSI<br />
<span class="small">(A CHILDREN’S SONG)</span></h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Her door opened on the white water<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Close by the side of the timber bridge:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That’s where the little lady lived<br /></span>
<span class="i0">All alone without a lover.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">PLUCKING THE RUSHES<br />
<span class="small">(A BOY AND GIRL ARE SENT TO GATHER RUSHES FOR THATCHING)</span></h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>Anon. (fourth century)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Green rushes with red shoots,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Long leaves bending to the wind—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You and I in the same boat<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Plucking rushes at the Five Lakes.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We started at dawn from the orchid-island:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We rested under the elms till noon.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You and I plucking rushes<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Had not plucked a handful when night came!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">BALLAD OF THE WESTERN ISLAND
IN THE NORTH COUNTRY</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“Seeing the plum-tree I thought of the Western Island<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span>
<span class="i0">And I plucked a branch to send to the North Country.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I put on my dress of apricot-yellow silk<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And bound up my hair black as the crow’s wing.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But which is the road that leads to the Western Island?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I’ll ask the man at the ferry by the Bridge of Boats.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But the sun is sinking and the orioles flying home:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the wind is blowing and sighing in the walnut-tree.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I’ll stand under the tree just beside the gate:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I’ll stand by the door and show off my enamelled hair-pins.”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She’s opened the gate, but her lover has not come:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She’s gone out at the gate to pluck red lotus.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As she plucks the lotus on the southern dyke in autumn,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The lotus flowers stand higher than a man’s head.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She bends down—and plays with the lotus seeds,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The lotus seeds are green like the lake-water.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She gathers the flowers and puts them into her gown—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The lotus-bud that is red all through.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She thinks of her lover, her lover that does not come:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She looks up and sees the wild geese flying—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Western Island is full of wild geese.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To look for her lover she climbs the Blue Tower.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The tower is high: she looks, but cannot see:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">All day she leans on the balcony rails.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The rail is twisted into a twelve-fold pattern.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She lets fall her hand white like the colour of jade.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She rolls up the awning, she sees the wide sky,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the sea-water waving its vacant blue.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“The sea shall carry my dreams far away,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So that you shall be sorry at last for my sorrow.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If the South wind—only knew my thoughts<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It would blow my dreams till they got to the Western Island.”<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">SONG</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Tsang Chih (sixth century)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I was brought up under the Stone Castle:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My window opened on to the castle tower.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the castle were beautiful young men<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who waved to me as they went in and out.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">SONG OF THE MEN OF CHIN-LING<br />
<span class="small">(MARCHING BACK INTO THE CAPITAL)</span></h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Hsieh T’iao (fifth century <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span>)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Chiang-nan is a glorious and beautiful land,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And Chin-ling an exalted and kingly province!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The green canals of the city stretch on and on<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And its high towers stretch up and up.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Flying gables lean over the bridle-road:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Drooping willows cover the Royal Aqueduct.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Shrill flutes sing by the coach’s awning,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And reiterated drums bang near its painted wheels.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The names of the deserving shall be carved on the Cloud Terrace.<a name="FNanchor_34_34" id="FNanchor_34_34"></a><a href="#Footnote_34_34" class="fnanchor">[34]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">And for those who have done valiantly rich reward awaits.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_34_34" id="Footnote_34_34"></a><a href="#FNanchor_34_34"><span class="label">[34]</span></a> The Record Office.</p></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">THE SCHOLAR RECRUIT</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Pao Chao (died <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 466)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Now late<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I follow Time’s Necessity:<a name="FNanchor_35_35" id="FNanchor_35_35"></a><a href="#Footnote_35_35" class="fnanchor">[35]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">Mounting a barricade I pacify remote tribes.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Discarding my sash I don a coat of rhinoceros-skin:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Rolling up my skirts I shoulder a black bow.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Even at the very start my strength fails:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What will become of me before it’s all over?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_35_35" id="Footnote_35_35"></a><a href="#FNanchor_35_35"><span class="label">[35]</span></a> <i>I.e.</i>, “enlist.”</p></div>
<h4 class="title">THE RED HILLS</h4>
<p>By Pao Chao</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Red hills lie athwart us as a menace in the west,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And fiery mountains glare terrible in the south.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The body burns, the head aches and throbs:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If a bird light here, its soul forthwith departs.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Warm springs<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Pour from cloudy pools<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And hot smoke issues between the rocks.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The sun and moon are perpetually obscured:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The rain and dew never stay dry.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There are red serpents a hundred feet long,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And black snakes ten girths round.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The sand-spitters shoot their poison at the sunbeams:<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span>
<span class="i0">The flying insects are ill with the shifting glare.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The hungry monkeys dare not come down to eat:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The morning birds dare not set out to fly.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At the Ching river many die of poison:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Crossing the Lu one is lucky if one is only ill.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Our living feet walk on dead ground:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Our high wills surmount the snares of Fate.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Spear-boat General<a name="FNanchor_36_36" id="FNanchor_36_36"></a><a href="#Footnote_36_36" class="fnanchor">[36]</a> got but little honour:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Wave-subduer<a name="FNanchor_37_37" id="FNanchor_37_37"></a><a href="#Footnote_37_37" class="fnanchor">[37]</a> met with scant reward.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If our Prince still grudges the things that are easy to give,<a name="FNanchor_38_38" id="FNanchor_38_38"></a><a href="#Footnote_38_38" class="fnanchor">[38]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">Can he hope that his soldiers will give what is hardest to give?<a name="FNanchor_39_39" id="FNanchor_39_39"></a><a href="#Footnote_39_39" class="fnanchor">[39]</a><br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_36_36" id="Footnote_36_36"></a><a href="#FNanchor_36_36"><span class="label">[36]</span></a> Hou Yen (first century <span class="smcap lowercase">B.C.</span>).</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_37_37" id="Footnote_37_37"></a><a href="#FNanchor_37_37"><span class="label">[37]</span></a> Ma Yüan (first century <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span>).</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_38_38" id="Footnote_38_38"></a><a href="#FNanchor_38_38"><span class="label">[38]</span></a> Rewards and titles.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_39_39" id="Footnote_39_39"></a><a href="#FNanchor_39_39"><span class="label">[39]</span></a> Life.</p></div>
<h4 class="title">DREAMING OF A DEAD LADY</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“I heard at night your long sighs<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And knew that you were thinking of me.”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As she spoke, the doors of Heaven opened<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And our souls conversed and I saw her face.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She set me a pillow to rest on<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And she brought me meat and drink.<br /></span>
</div>
<hr class="tb" />
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I stood beside her where she lay,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But suddenly woke and she was not there:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And none knew how my soul was torn,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How the tears fell surging over my breast.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">THE LIBERATOR<br />
<span class="small">A POLITICAL ALLEGORY</span></h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Wu-ti, emperor of the Liang dynasty (<span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 464-549)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">In the high trees—many doleful winds:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The ocean waters—lashed into waves.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If the sharp sword be not in your hand,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How can you hope your friends will remain many?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Do you not see that sparrow on the fence?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Seeing the hawk it casts itself into the snare.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The fowler to catch the sparrow is delighted:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Young Man to see the sparrow is grieved.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He takes his sword and cuts through the netting:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The yellow sparrow flies away, away.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Away, away, up to the blue sky<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And down again to thank the Young Man.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">LO-YANG</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By the Emperor Ch’ien Wēn-ti (sixth century)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">A beautiful place is the town of Lo-yang:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The big streets are full of spring light.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The lads go driving out with harps in their hands:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The mulberry girls go out to the fields with their baskets.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Golden whips glint at the horses’ flanks.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Gauze sleeves brush the green boughs.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Racing dawn, the carriages come home,—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the girls with their high baskets full of fruit.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">WINTER NIGHT</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">My bed is so empty that I keep on waking up:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As the cold increases, the night-wind begins to blow.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It rustles the curtains, making a noise like the sea:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Oh that those were waves which could carry me back to you!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">THE REJECTED WIFE</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Yüan-ti (508-554). See page <a href="#Yuan-ti">15</a>.</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Entering the Hall, she meets the new wife:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Leaving the gate, she runs into her former husband.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Words stick: she does not manage to say anything:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She presses her hands together and hesitates.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Agitates moon-like fan—sheds pearl-like tears—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Realizes she loves him just as much as ever:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That her present pain will never come to an end.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">PEOPLE HIDE THEIR LOVE</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Wu-ti</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Who says<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That it’s by my desire,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">This separation, this living so far from you?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My dress still smells of the lavender you gave:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My hand still holds the letter that you sent.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Round my waist I wear a double sash:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I dream that it binds us both with a same-heart knot.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Did not you know that people hide their love,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Like a flower that seems too precious to be picked?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">THE FERRY</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By the Emperor Ch’ien Wēn-ti, of the Liang dynasty, who reigned
during the year <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 500.</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Of marsh-mallows my boat is made,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The ropes are lily-roots.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The pole-star is athwart the sky:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The moon sinks low.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It’s at the ferry I’m plucking lilies.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But it might be the Yellow River—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So afraid you seem of the wind and waves,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So long you tarry at the crossing.<a name="FNanchor_40_40" id="FNanchor_40_40"></a><a href="#Footnote_40_40" class="fnanchor">[40]</a><br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_40_40" id="Footnote_40_40"></a><a href="#FNanchor_40_40"><span class="label">[40]</span></a> A lady is waiting for her lover at the ferry which crosses a small
stream. When he does not come, she bitterly suggests that he is as
afraid of the little stream as though it were the Yellow River, the
largest river in China.</p></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">THE WATERS OF LUNG-T’OU<br />
<span class="small">(THE NORTH-WEST FRONTIER)</span></h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Hsü Ling (<span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 507-583)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The road that I came by mounts eight thousand feet:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The river that I crossed hangs a hundred fathoms.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The brambles so thick that in summer one cannot pass!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The snow so high that in winter one cannot climb!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With branches that interlace Lung Valley is dark:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Against cliffs that tower one’s voice beats and echoes.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I turn my head, and it seems only a dream<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That I ever lived in the streets of Hsien-yang.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">FLOWERS AND MOONLIGHT ON THE
SPRING RIVER</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Yang-ti (605-617), emperor of the Sui dynasty</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The evening river is level and motionless—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The spring colours just open to their full.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Suddenly a wave carries the moon<a name="FNanchor_41_41" id="FNanchor_41_41"></a><a href="#Footnote_41_41" class="fnanchor">[41]</a> away<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the tidal water comes with its freight of stars.<a href="#Footnote_41_41" class="fnanchor">[41]</a><br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_41_41" id="Footnote_41_41"></a><a href="#FNanchor_41_41"><span class="label">[41]</span></a> <i>I.e.</i>, the reflection in the water.</p></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">TCHIREK SONG</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>Altun (486-566 A.D.) was a Tartar employed by the Chinese in drilling
their troops “after the manner of the Huns.” He could not read or
write. The “Yo Fu Kuang T’i” says: Kao Huan attacked Pi, king
of Chou, but lost nearly half his men. Kao Huan fell ill of sadness and
Pi, to taunt him, sent out a proclamation, which said:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Kao Huan, that son of a mouse<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Dared to attack King Pi.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But at the first stroke of sword and bow,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The aggressor’s plot recoiled on himself.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>When this reached Kao Huan’s ears, he sat up in bed and tried to
comfort his officers. All the nobles were summoned to his room, and
Altun was asked to sing them a song about Tchirek, his native land.
He sang:</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Tchirek River<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Lies under the Dark Mountains:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where the sky is like the sides of a tent<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Stretched down over the Great Steppe.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The sky is gray, gray:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the steppe wide, wide:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Over grass that the wind has battered low<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sheep and oxen roam.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="comment">
<p>“Altun” means “gold” in Tartar. No one could teach him to write
the Chinese character for <i>gold</i>, till at last some one said: “Draw the
roof of your house and then put a few strokes underneath.” He thus
learnt, in a rough fashion, to write his own name.</p></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a><br /><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span></p>
<h3>CHAPTER V</h3>
<h4 class="title">BUSINESS MEN</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Ch’ēn Tzŭ-ang (<span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 656-698)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Business men boast of their skill and cunning<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But in philosophy they are like little children.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Bragging to each other of successful depredations<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They neglect to consider the ultimate fate of the body.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What should they know of the Master of Dark Truth<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who saw the wide world in a jade cup,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">By illumined conception got clear of Heaven and Earth:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On the chariot of Mutation entered the Gate of Immutability?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">TELL ME NOW</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Wang Chi (<i>circa</i> <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 700)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“Tell me now, what should a man want<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But to sit alone, sipping his cup of wine?”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I should like to have visitors come and discuss philosophy<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And not to have the tax-collector coming to collect taxes:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My three sons married into good families<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And my five daughters wedded to steady husbands.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then I could jog through a happy five-score years<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And, at the end, need no Paradise.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">ON GOING TO A TAVERN</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Wang Chi</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">These days, continually fuddled with drink,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I fail to satisfy the appetites of the soul.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But seeing men all behaving like drunkards,<a name="FNanchor_42_42" id="FNanchor_42_42"></a><a href="#Footnote_42_42" class="fnanchor">[42]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">How can I alone remain sober?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_42_42" id="Footnote_42_42"></a><a href="#FNanchor_42_42"><span class="label">[42]</span></a> Written during the war which preceded the T’ang dynasty.</p></div>
<h4 class="title">STONE FISH LAKE</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Yüan Chieh (flourished <i>circa</i> <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 740-770).</p>
<p>Yüan Chieh, a contemporary of Li Po, has not hitherto been mentioned
in any European book. “His subjects were always original,
but his poems are seldom worth quoting,” is a Chinese opinion of him.</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I loved you dearly, Stone Fish Lake,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With your rock-island shaped like a swimming fish!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On the fish’s back is the Wine-cup Hollow<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And round the fish,—the flowing waters of the Lake.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The boys on the shore sent little wooden ships,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Each made to carry a single cup of wine.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The island-drinkers emptied the liquor-boats<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And set their sails and sent them back for more.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On the shores of the Lake were jutting slabs of rock<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And under the rocks there flowed an icy stream.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Heated with wine, to rinse our mouths and hands<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In those cold waters was a joy beyond compare!<br /></span>
</div>
<hr class="tb" />
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Of gold and jewels I have not any need;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For Caps and Coaches I do not care at all.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But I wish I could sit on the rocky banks of the Lake<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For ever and ever staring at the Stone Fish.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">CIVILIZATION</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Yüan Chieh</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">To the south-east—three thousand leagues—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Yüan and Hsiang form into a mighty lake.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Above the lake are deep mountain valleys,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And men dwelling whose hearts are without guile.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Gay like children, they swarm to the tops of the trees;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And run to the water to catch bream and trout.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their pleasures are the same as those of beasts and birds;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They put no restraint either on body or mind.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Far I have wandered throughout the Nine Lands;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Wherever I went such manners had disappeared.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I find myself standing and wondering, perplexed,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Whether Saints and Sages have really done us good.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">A PROTEST IN THE SIXTH YEAR OF
CH’IEN FU (<span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 879)</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Ts’ao Sung (flourished <i>circa</i> <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 870-920)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The hills and rivers of the lowland country<br /></span>
<span class="i2">You have made your battle-ground.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How do you suppose the people who live there<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span>
<span class="i2">Will procure “firewood and hay”?<a name="FNanchor_43_43" id="FNanchor_43_43"></a><a href="#Footnote_43_43" class="fnanchor">[43]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">Do not let me hear you talking together<br /></span>
<span class="i2">About titles and promotions;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For a single general’s reputation<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Is made out of ten thousand corpses.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_43_43" id="Footnote_43_43"></a><a href="#FNanchor_43_43"><span class="label">[43]</span></a> The necessaries of life.</p></div>
<h4 class="title">ON THE BIRTH OF HIS SON</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Su Tung-p’o (<span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 1036-1101)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Families, when a child is born<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Want it to be intelligent.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I, through intelligence,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Having wrecked my whole life,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Only hope the baby will prove<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Ignorant and stupid.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then he will crown a tranquil life<br /></span>
<span class="i0">By becoming a Cabinet Minister.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">THE PEDLAR OF SPELLS</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>By Lu Yu (<span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 1125-1209)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">An old man selling charms in a cranny of the town wall.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He writes out spells to bless the silkworms and spells to protect the corn.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With the money he gets each day he only buys wine.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But he does not worry when his legs get wobbly,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For he has a boy to lean on.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">BOATING IN AUTUMN</h4>
<div class="comment"><p>By Lu Yu</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Away and away I sail in my light boat;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My heart leaps with a great gust of joy.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Through the leafless branches I see the temple in the wood;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Over the dwindling stream the stone bridge towers.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Down the grassy lanes sheep and oxen pass;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the misty village cranes and magpies cry.<br /></span>
</div>
<hr class="tb" />
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Back in my home I drink a cup of wine<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And need not fear the greed<a name="FNanchor_44_44" id="FNanchor_44_44"></a><a href="#Footnote_44_44" class="fnanchor">[44]</a> of the evening wind.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_44_44" id="Footnote_44_44"></a><a href="#FNanchor_44_44"><span class="label">[44]</span></a> Which “eats” men.</p></div>
<h4 class="title">THE HERD-BOY</h4>
<div class="comment"><p>By Lu Yu</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">In the southern village the boy who minds the ox<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With his naked feet stands on the ox’s back.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Through the hole in his coat the river wind blows;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Through his broken hat the mountain rain pours.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On the long dyke he seemed to be far away;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the narrow lane suddenly we were face to face.<br /></span>
</div>
<hr class="tb" />
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The boy is home and the ox is back in its stall;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And a dark smoke oozes through the thatched roof.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">HOW I SAILED ON THE LAKE TILL I
CAME TO THE EASTERN STREAM</h4>
<div class="comment"><p>By Lu Yu</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Of Spring water,—thirty or forty miles:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the evening sunlight,—three or four houses.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Youths and boys minding geese and ducks:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Women and girls tending mulberries and hemp.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The place,—remote: their coats and scarves old:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The year,—fruitful: their talk and laughter gay.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The old wanderer moors his flat boat<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And staggers up the bank to pluck wistaria flowers.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">A SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY
CHINESE POEM</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>Ch’ēn Tzŭ-lung was born in 1607. He became a soldier, and in
1637 defeated the rebel, Hsü Tu. After the suicide of the last Ming
emperor, he offered his services to the Ming princes who were still
opposing the Manchus. In 1647 he headed a conspiracy to place the
Ming prince Lu on the throne. His plans were discovered and he was
arrested by Manchu troops. Escaping their vigilance for a moment,
he leapt into a river and was drowned.</p>
<p>The following song describes the flight of a husband and wife from
a town menaced by the advancing Manchus. They find the whole
country-side deserted.</p></div>
<h4 class="title">THE LITTLE CART</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The little cart jolting and banging through the yellow haze of dusk.<br /></span>
<span class="i2">The man pushing behind: the woman pulling in front.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span>
<span class="i0">They have left the city and do not know where to go.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“Green, green, those elm-tree leaves: <i>they</i> will cure my hunger,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If only we could find some quiet place and sup on them together.”<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i2">The wind has flattened the yellow mother-wort:<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Above it in the distance they see the walls of a house.<br /></span>
<span class="i2">“<i>There</i> surely must be people living who’ll give you something to eat.”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They tap at the door, but no one comes: they look in, but the kitchen is empty.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They stand hesitating in the lonely road and their tears fall like rain.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a><br /><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span></p>
<h2>PART II<br />
<span class="small"><span class="smcap">Po Chü-i</span><br />
(<span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 772-846)</span></h2>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a><br /><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span></p>
<h3>INTRODUCTION</h3>
<p>Po Chü-i was born at T’ai-yüan in Shansi. Most of
his childhood was spent at Jung-yang in Honan. His
father was a second-class Assistant Department Magistrate.
He tells us that his family was poor and often in
difficulties.</p>
<p>He seems to have settled permanently at Ch’ang-an in
801. This town, lying near the north-west frontier, was
the political capital of the Empire. In its situation it somewhat
resembled Madrid. Lo-yang, the Eastern city, owing
to its milder climate and more accessible position, became,
like Seville in Spain, a kind of <i>social</i> capital.</p>
<p>Soon afterwards he met Yüan Chēn, then aged twenty-two,
who was destined to play so important a part in his
life. Five years later, during a temporary absence from
the city, he addressed to Yüan the following poem:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Since I left my home to seek official state<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Seven years I have lived in Ch’ang-an.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What have I gained? Only you, Yüan;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So hard it is to bind friendships fast.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We have roamed on horseback under the flowering trees;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We have walked in the snow and warmed our hearts with wine.<br /></span>
<span class="i4">We have met and parted at the Western Gate<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And neither of us bothered to put on Cap or Belt.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We did not go up together for Examination;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We were not serving in the same Department of State.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The bond that joined us lay deeper than outward things;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The rivers of our souls spring from the same well!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span></p>
<p>Of Yüan’s appearance at this time we may guess something
from a picture which still survives in copy; it shows
him, a youthful and elegant figure, visiting his cousin
Ts’ui Ying-ying, who was a lady-in-waiting at Court.<a name="FNanchor_45_45" id="FNanchor_45_45"></a><a href="#Footnote_45_45" class="fnanchor">[45]</a> At
this period of his life Po made friends with difficulty, not
being, as he tells us, “a master of such accomplishments
as caligraphy, painting, chess or gambling, which tend
to bring men together in pleasurable intercourse.” Two
older men, T’ang Ch’ü and Tēng Fang, liked his poetry
and showed him much kindness; another, the politician
K’ung T’an, won his admiration on public grounds. But
all three died soon after he got to know them. Later he
made three friends with whom he maintained a lifelong
intimacy: the poet Liu Yū-hsi (called Mēng-tē), and the
two officials Li Chien and Ts’ui Hsuan-liang. In 805 Yüan
Chēn was banished for provocative behaviour towards
a high official. The T’ang History relates the episode as
follows: “Yüan was staying the night at the Fu-shui Inn;
just as he was preparing to go to sleep in the Main Hall,
the court-official Li Shih-yüan also arrived. Yüan Chēn
should have offered to withdraw from the Hall. He did
not do so and a scuffle ensued. Yüan, locked out of the
building, took off his shoes and stole round to the back,
hoping to find another way in. Liu followed with a whip
and struck him across the face.”</p>
<p>The separation was a heavy blow to Po Chü-i. In a
poem called “Climbing Alone to the Lo-yu Gardens”
he says:</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span></p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I look down on the Twelve City Streets:—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Red dust flanked by green trees!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Coaches and horsemen alone fill my eyes;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I do not see whom my heart longs to see.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">K’ung T’an has died at Lo-yang;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Yüan Chēn is banished to Ching-mēn.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of all that walk on the North-South Road<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There is not one that I care for more than the rest!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>In 804 on the death of his father, and again in 811 on
the death of his mother, he spent periods of retirement on
the Wei river near Ch’ang-an. It was during the second of
these periods that he wrote the long poem (260 lines) called
“Visiting the Wu-chēn Temple.” Soon after his return to
Ch’ang-an, which took place in the winter of 814, he fell
into official disfavour. In two long memorials entitled
“On Stopping the War,” he had criticized the handling of
a campaign against an unimportant tribe of Tartars, which
he considered had been unduly prolonged. In a series of
poems he had satirized the rapacity of minor officials and
called attention to the intolerable sufferings of the masses.</p>
<p>His enemies soon found an opportunity of silencing him.
In 814 the Prime Minister, Wu Yüan-hēng, was assassinated
in broad daylight by an agent of the revolutionary
leader Wu Yüan-chi. Po, in a memorial to the Throne,
pointed out the urgency of remedying the prevailing discontent.
He held at this time the post of assistant secretary
to the Princes’ tutor. He should not have criticized
the Prime Minister (for being murdered!) until the official
Censors had spoken, for he held a Palace appointment
which did not carry with it the right of censorship.</p>
<p>His opponents also raked up another charge. His
mother had met her death by falling into a well while
looking at flowers. Chü-i had written two poems entitled<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span>
“In Praise of Flowers” and “The New Well.” It was
claimed that by choosing such subjects he had infringed
the laws of Filial Piety.</p>
<p>He was banished to Kiukiang (then called Hsün-yang)
with the rank of Sub-Prefect. After three years he was
given the Governorship of Chung-chou, a remote place in
Ssech’uan. On the way up the Yangtze he met Yüan Chēn
after three years of separation. They spent a few days together
at I-ch’ang, exploring the rock-caves of the neighbourhood.</p>
<p>Chung-chou is noted for its “many flowers and exotic
trees,” which were a constant delight to its new Governor.
In the winter of 819 he was recalled to the capital and
became a second-class Assistant Secretary. About this
time Yüan Chēn also returned to the city.</p>
<p>In 821 the Emperor Mou Tsung came to the throne.
His arbitrary mis-government soon caused a fresh rising
in the north-west. Chü-i remonstrated in a series of
memorials and was again removed from the capital—this
time to be Governor of the important town of Hangchow.
Yüan now held a judicial post at Ningpo and the two were
occasionally able to meet.</p>
<p>In 824 his Governorship expired and he lived (with the
nominal rank of Imperial Tutor) at the village of Li-tao-li,
near Lo-yang. It was here that he took into his household
two girls, Fan-su and Man-tzŭ, whose singing and dancing
enlivened his retreat. He also brought with him from
Hangchow a famous “Indian rock,” and two cranes of
the celebrated “Hua-t’ing” breed. Other amenities of his
life at this time were a recipe for making sweet wine,
the gift of Ch’ēn Hao-hsien; a harp-melody taught him
by Ts’ui Hsuan-liang; and a song called “Autumn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span>
Thoughts,” brought by the concubine of a visitor from
Ssech’uan.</p>
<p>In 825 he became Governor of Soochow. Here at the
age of fifty-three he enjoyed a kind of second youth, much
more sociable than that of thirty years before; we find him
endlessly picnicking and feasting. But after two years
illness obliged him to retire.</p>
<p>He next held various posts at the capital, but again fell
ill, and in 829 settled at Lo-yang as Governor of the
Province of Honan. Here his first son, A-ts’ui, was born,
but died in the following year.</p>
<p>In 831 Yüan Chēn also died.</p>
<p>Henceforth, though for thirteen years he continued to
hold nominal posts, he lived a life of retirement. In 832 he
repaired an unoccupied part of the Hsiang-shan monastery
at Lung-mēn,<a name="FNanchor_46_46" id="FNanchor_46_46"></a><a href="#Footnote_46_46" class="fnanchor">[46]</a> a few miles south of Lo-yang, and lived
there, calling himself the Hermit of Hsiang-shan. Once
he invited to dinner eight other elderly and retired
officials; the occasion was recorded in a picture entitled
“The Nine Old Men at Hsiang-shan.” There is no evidence
that his association with them was otherwise than
transient, though legend (see “Mémoires Concernant les
Chinois” and Giles, Biographical Dictionary) has invested
the incident with an undue importance. He amused himself
at this time by writing a description of his daily life
which would be more interesting if it were not so closely
modelled on a famous memoir by T’ao Ch’ien. In the winter
of 839 he was attacked by paralysis and lost the use of
his left leg. After many months in bed he was again able
to visit his garden, carried by Ju-man, a favourite monk.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span></p>
<p>In 842 Liu Yü-hsi, the last survivor of the four friends,
and a constant visitor at the monastery, “went to wander
with Yüan Chēn in Hades.” The monk Ju-man also died.</p>
<p>The remaining years of Po’s life were spent in collecting
and arranging his Complete Works. Copies were presented
to the principal monasteries (the “Public Libraries” of the
period) in the towns with which he had been connected.
He died in 846, leaving instructions that his funeral should
be without pomp and that he should be buried not in the
family tomb at Hsia-kuei, but by Ju-man’s side in the
Hsiang-shan Monastery. He desired that a posthumous
title should not be awarded.</p>
<p>The most striking characteristic of Po Chü-i’s poetry is
its verbal simplicity. There is a story that he was in the
habit of reading his poems to an old peasant woman and
altering any expression which she could not understand.
The poems of his contemporaries were mere elegant diversions
which enabled the scholar to display his erudition,
or the literary juggler his dexterity. Po expounded his
theory of poetry in a letter to Yüan Chēn. Like Confucius,
he regarded art solely as a method of conveying instruction.
He is not the only great artist who has advanced
this untenable theory. He accordingly valued his didactic
poems far above his other work; but it is obvious that
much of his best poetry conveys no moral whatever. He
admits, indeed, that among his “miscellaneous stanzas”
many were inspired by some momentary sensation or passing
event. “A single laugh or a single sigh were rapidly
translated into verse.”</p>
<p>The didactic poems or “satires” belong to the period
before his first banishment. “When the tyrants and favourites
heard my Songs of Ch’in, they looked at one another<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span>
and changed countenance,” he boasts. Satire, in the
European sense, implies <i>wit</i>; but Po’s satires are as lacking
in true wit as they are unquestionably full of true
poetry. We must regard them simply as moral tales in
verse.</p>
<p>In the conventional lyric poetry of his predecessors he
finds little to admire. Among the earlier poems of the
T’ang dynasty he selects for praise the series by Ch’ēn
Tzŭ-ang, which includes “Business Men.” In Li Po and
Tu Fu he finds a deficiency of “fēng” and “ya.” The two
terms are borrowed from the Preface to the Odes. “Fēng”
means “criticism of one’s rulers”; “ya,” “moral guidance
to the masses.”</p>
<p>“The skill,” he says in the same letter, “which Tu Fu
shows in threading on to his <i>lü-shih</i> a ramification of
allusions ancient and modern could not be surpassed; in
this he is even superior to Li Po. But, if we take the
‘Press-gang’ and verses like that stanza:</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">At the palace doors the smell of meat and wine;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On the road the bones of one who was frozen to death.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p>what a small part of his whole work it represents!”</p>
<p>Content, in short, he valued far above form: and it was
part of his theory, though certainly not of his practice,
that this content ought to be definitely moral. He aimed
at raising poetry from the triviality into which it had sunk
and restoring it to its proper intellectual level. It is an
irony that he should be chiefly known to posterity, in
China, Japan, and the West, as the author of the “Everlasting
Wrong.”<a name="FNanchor_47_47" id="FNanchor_47_47"></a><a href="#Footnote_47_47" class="fnanchor">[47]</a> He set little store by the poem himself,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span>
and, though a certain political moral might be read into it,
its appeal is clearly romantic.</p>
<p>His other poem of sentiment, the “Lute Girl,”<a name="FNanchor_48_48" id="FNanchor_48_48"></a><a href="#Footnote_48_48" class="fnanchor">[48]</a> accords
even less with his stated principles. With these he ranks
his <i>Lü-shih</i>; and it should here be noted that all the satires
and long poems are in the old style of versification, while
his lighter poems are in the strict, modern form. With his
satires he classes his “reflective” poems, such as “Singing
in the Mountains,” “On being removed from Hsün-yang,”
“Pruning Trees,” etc. These are all in the old
style.</p>
<p>No poet in the world can ever have enjoyed greater contemporary
popularity than Po. His poems were “on the
mouths of kings, princes, concubines, ladies, plough-boys,
and grooms.” They were inscribed “on the walls of village-schools,
temples, and ships-cabins.” “A certain
Captain Kao Hsia-yü was courting a dancing-girl. ‘You
must not think I am an ordinary dancing-girl,’ she said to
him, ‘I can recite Master Po’s “Everlasting Wrong.”’
And she put up her price.”</p>
<p>But this popularity was confined to the long, romantic
poems and the <i>Lü-shih</i>. “The world,” writes Po to Yüan
Chēn, “values highest just those of my poems which I
most despise. Of contemporaries you alone have understood
my satires and reflective poems. A hundred, a
thousand years hence perhaps some one will come who
will understand them as you have done.”</p>
<p>The popularity of his lighter poems lasted till the Ming
dynasty, when a wave of pedantry swept over China. At
that period his poetry was considered vulgar, because it
was not erudite; and prosaic, because it was not rhetorical.</p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span></p>
<p>Although they valued form far above content, not even the
Ming critics can accuse him of slovenly writing. His versification
is admitted by them to be “correct.”</p>
<p>Caring, indeed, more for matter than for manner, he
used with facility and precision the technical instruments
which were at his disposal. Many of the later anthologies
omit his name altogether, but he has always had isolated
admirers. Yüan Mei imitates him constantly, and Chao I
(died 1814) writes: “Those who accuse him of being
vulgar and prosaic know nothing of poetry.”</p>
<p>Even during his lifetime his reputation had reached
Japan, and great writers like Michizane were not ashamed
to borrow from him. He is still held in high repute there,
is the subject of a Nō Play and has even become a kind of
Shintō deity. It is significant that the only copy of his works
in the British Museum is a seventeenth-century Japanese
edition.</p>
<p>It is usual to close a biographical notice with an attempt
to describe the “character” of one’s subject. But I hold
myself absolved from such a task; for the sixty poems
which follow will enable the reader to perform it for himself.</p>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_45_45" id="Footnote_45_45"></a><a href="#FNanchor_45_45"><span class="label">[45]</span></a> Yüan has told the story of this intrigue in an autobiographical
fragment, of which I hope to publish a translation. Upon this fragment
is founded the famous fourteenth-century drama, “The Western
Pavilion.”</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_46_46" id="Footnote_46_46"></a><a href="#FNanchor_46_46"><span class="label">[46]</span></a> Famous for its rock-sculptures, carved in the sixth and seventh
centuries.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_47_47" id="Footnote_47_47"></a><a href="#FNanchor_47_47"><span class="label">[47]</span></a> Giles, “Chinese Literature,” p. 169.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_48_48" id="Footnote_48_48"></a><a href="#FNanchor_48_48"><span class="label">[48]</span></a> Giles, “Chinese Literature,” p. 165.</p></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a><br /><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">AN EARLY LEVÉE<br />
<span class="small smcap">Addressed to Ch’ēn, the Hermit</span></h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">At Ch’ang-an—a full foot of snow;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A levée at dawn—to bestow congratulations on the Emperor.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Just as I was nearing the Gate of the Silver Terrace,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">After I had left the suburb of Hsin-ch’ang<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On the high causeway my horse’s foot slipped;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the middle of the journey my lantern suddenly went out.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Ten leagues riding, always facing to the North;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The cold wind almost blew off my ears.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I waited for the bell outside the Five Gates;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I waited for the summons within the Triple Hall.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My hair and beard were frozen and covered with icicles;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My coat and robe—chilly like water.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Suddenly I thought of Hsien-yu Valley<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And secretly envied Ch’ēn Chü-shih,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In warm bed-socks dozing beneath the rugs<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And not getting up till the sun has mounted the sky.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">BEING ON DUTY ALL NIGHT IN THE
PALACE AND DREAMING OF THE
HSIEN-YU TEMPLE</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">At the western window I paused from writing rescripts;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The pines and bamboos were all buried in stillness.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The moon rose and a calm wind came;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Suddenly, it was like an evening in the hills.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And so, as I dozed, I dreamed of the South West<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And thought I was staying at the Hsien-yu Temple.<a name="FNanchor_49_49" id="FNanchor_49_49"></a><a href="#Footnote_49_49" class="fnanchor">[49]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">When I woke and heard the dripping of the Palace clock<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I still thought it the murmur of a mountain stream.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_49_49" id="Footnote_49_49"></a><a href="#FNanchor_49_49"><span class="label">[49]</span></a> Where the poet used to spend his holidays.</p></div>
<h4 class="title">PASSING T’IEN-MĒN STREET IN CH’ANG-AN
AND SEEING A DISTANT VIEW OF
CHUNG-NAN<a name="FNanchor_50_50" id="FNanchor_50_50"></a><a href="#Footnote_50_50" class="fnanchor">[50]</a> MOUNTAIN</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The snow has gone from Chung-nan; spring is almost come.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Lovely in the distance its blue colours, against the brown of the streets.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A thousand coaches, ten thousand horsemen pass down the Nine Roads;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Turns his head and looks at the mountains,—not one man!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_50_50" id="Footnote_50_50"></a><a href="#FNanchor_50_50"><span class="label">[50]</span></a> Part of the great Nan Shan range, fifteen miles south of
Ch’ang-an.</p></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">THE LETTER</h4>
<p><i>Preface</i>:—After I parted with Yüan Chēn, I suddenly dreamt
one night that I saw him. When I awoke, I found
that a letter from him had just arrived and, enclosed
in it, a poem on the <i>paulovnia</i> flower.</p>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">We talked together in the Yung-shou Temple;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We parted to the north of the Hsin-ch’ang dyke.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Going home—I shed a few tears,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Grieving about things,—not sorry for you.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Long, long the road to Lan-t’ien;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You said yourself you would not be able to write.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Reckoning up your halts for eating and sleeping—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">By this time you’ve crossed the Shang mountains.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Last night the clouds scattered away;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A thousand leagues, the same moonlight scene.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When dawn came, I dreamt I saw your face;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It must have been that you were thinking of me.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In my dream, I thought I held your hand<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And asked you to tell me what your thoughts were.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And <i>you</i> said: “I miss you bitterly,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But there’s no one here to send to you with a letter.”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When I awoke, before I had time to speak,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A knocking on the door sounded “Doong, doong!”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They came and told me a messenger from Shang-chou<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Had brought a letter,—a single scroll from you!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Up from my pillow I suddenly sprang out of bed,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And threw you my clothes, all topsy-turvy.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I undid the knot and saw the letter within;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span>
<span class="i0">A single sheet with thirteen lines of writing.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At the top it told the sorrows of an exile’s heart;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At the bottom it described the pains of separation.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The sorrows and pains took up so much space<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There was no room left to talk about the weather!<br /></span>
<span class="i2">But you said that when you wrote<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You were staying for the night to the east of Shang-chou;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sitting alone, lighted by a solitary candle<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Lodging in the mountain hostel of Yang-Ch’ēng.<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Night was late when you finished writing,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The mountain moon was slanting towards the west.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What is it lies aslant across the moon?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A single tree of purple <i>paulovnia</i> flowers—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Paulovnia flowers just on the point of falling<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Are a symbol to express “thinking of an absent friend.”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Lovingly—you wrote on the back side,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To send in the letter, your “Poem of the Paulovnia Flower.”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Poem of the Paulovnia Flower has eight rhymes;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Yet these eight couplets have cast a spell on my heart.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They have taken hold of this morning’s thoughts<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And carried them to yours, the night you wrote your letter.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The whole poem I read three times;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Each verse ten times I recite.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So precious to me are the fourscore words<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That each letter changes into a bar of gold!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">REJOICING AT THE ARRIVAL OF
CH’ĒN HSIUNG</h4>
<div class="comment"><p>(<i>Circa</i> <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 812)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">When the yellow bird’s note was almost stopped;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span>
<span class="i0">And half formed the green plum’s fruit;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sitting and grieving that spring things were over,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I rose and entered the Eastern Garden’s gate.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I carried my cup and was dully drinking alone:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Suddenly I heard a knocking sound at the door.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Dwelling secluded, I was glad that someone had come;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How much the more, when I saw it was Ch’ēn Hsiung!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At ease and leisure,—all day we talked;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Crowding and jostling,—the feelings of many years.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How great a thing is a single cup of wine!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For it makes us tell the story of our whole lives.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">GOLDEN BELLS</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i18">When I was almost forty<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I had a daughter whose name was Golden Bells.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Now it is just a year since she was born;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She is learning to sit and cannot yet talk.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Ashamed,—to find that I have not a sage’s heart:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I cannot resist vulgar thoughts and feelings.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Henceforward I am tied to things outside myself:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My only reward,—the pleasure I am getting now.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If I am spared the grief of her dying young,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then I shall have the trouble of getting her married.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My plan for retiring and going back to the hills<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Must now be postponed for fifteen years!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">REMEMBERING GOLDEN BELLS</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Ruined and ill,—a man of two score;<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Pretty and guileless,—a girl of three.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Not a boy,—but, still better than nothing:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To soothe one’s feeling,—from time to time a kiss!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There came a day,—they suddenly took her from me;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Her soul’s shadow wandered I know not where.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And when I remember how just at the time she died<br /></span>
<span class="i0">She lisped strange sounds, beginning to learn to talk,<br /></span>
<span class="i0"><i>Then</i> I know that the ties of flesh and blood<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Only bind us to a load of grief and sorrow.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At last, by thinking of the time before she was born,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">By thought and reason I drove the pain away.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Since my heart forgot her, many days have passed<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And three times winter has changed to spring.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">This morning, for a little, the old grief came back,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Because, in the road, I met her foster-nurse.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">ILLNESS</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Sad, sad—lean with long illness;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Monotonous, monotonous—days and nights pass.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The summer trees have clad themselves in shade;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span>
<span class="i0">The autumn “lan”<a name="FNanchor_51_51" id="FNanchor_51_51"></a><a href="#Footnote_51_51" class="fnanchor">[51]</a> already houses the dew.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The eggs that lay in the nest when I took to bed<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Have changed into little birds and flown away.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The worm that then lay hidden in its hole<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Has hatched into a cricket sitting on the tree.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Four Seasons go on for ever and ever:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In all Nature nothing stops to rest<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Even for a moment. Only the sick man’s heart<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Deep down still aches as of old!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_51_51" id="Footnote_51_51"></a><a href="#FNanchor_51_51"><span class="label">[51]</span></a> The epidendrum.</p></div>
<h4 class="title">THE DRAGON OF THE BLACK POOL<br />
<span class="small smcap">A Satire</span></h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Deep the waters of the Black Pool, coloured like ink;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They say a Holy Dragon lives there, whom men have never seen.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Beside the Pool they have built a shrine; the authorities have established a ritual;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A dragon by itself remains a dragon, but men can make it a god.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Prosperity and disaster, rain and drought, plagues and pestilences—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">By the village people were all regarded as the Sacred Dragon’s doing.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They all made offerings of sucking-pig and poured libations of wine;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The morning prayers and evening gifts depended on a “medium’s” advice<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span></div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i14">When the dragon comes, ah!<br /></span>
<span class="i14">The wind stirs and sighs<br /></span>
<span class="i14">Paper money thrown, ah!<br /></span>
<span class="i14">Silk umbrellas waved.<br /></span>
<span class="i14">When the dragon goes, ah!<br /></span>
<span class="i14">The wind also—still.<br /></span>
<span class="i14">Incense-fire dies, ah!<br /></span>
<span class="i14">The cups and vessels are cold.<a name="FNanchor_52_52" id="FNanchor_52_52"></a><a href="#Footnote_52_52" class="fnanchor">[52]</a><br /></span>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Meats lie stacked on the rocks of the Pool’s shore;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Wine flows on the grass in front of the shrine.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I do not know, of all those offerings, how much the Dragon eats;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But the mice of the woods and the foxes of the hills are continually drunk and sated.<br /></span>
<span class="i14">Why are the foxes so lucky?<br /></span>
<span class="i14">What have the sucking-pigs done,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That year by year <i>they</i> should be killed, merely to glut the foxes?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That the foxes are robbing the Sacred Dragon and eating His sucking-pig,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Beneath the nine-fold depths of His pool, does He know or not?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_52_52" id="Footnote_52_52"></a><a href="#FNanchor_52_52"><span class="label">[52]</span></a> Parody of a famous Han dynasty hymn.</p></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">THE GRAIN TRIBUTE</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>Written <i>circa</i> 812, showing one of the poet’s periods of retirement.
When the officials come to receive his grain-tribute, he remembers
that he is only giving back what he had taken during his years of
office. Salaries were paid partly in kind.</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">There came an officer knocking by night at my door—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In a loud voice demanding grain-tribute.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My house-servants dared not wait till the morning,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But brought candles and set them on the barn-floor.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Passed through the sieve, clean-washed as pearls,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A whole cart-load, thirty bushels of grain.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But still they cry that it is not paid in full:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With whips and curses they goad my servants and boys.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Once, in error, I entered public life;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I am inwardly ashamed that my talents were not sufficient.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In succession I occupied four official posts;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For doing nothing,—ten years’ salary!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Often have I heard that saying of ancient men<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That “good and ill follow in an endless chain.”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And to-day it ought to set my heart at rest<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To return to others the corn in my great barn.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">THE PEOPLE OF TAO-CHOU</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i12">In the land of Tao-chou<br /></span>
<span class="i12">Many of the people are dwarfs;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span>
<span class="i0">The tallest of them never grow to more than three feet.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They were sold in the market as dwarf slaves and yearly sent to Court;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Described as “an offering of natural products from the land of Tao-chou.”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A strange “offering of natural products”; I never heard of one yet<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That parted men from those they loved, never to meet again!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Old men—weeping for their grandsons; mothers for their children!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">One day—Yang Ch’ēng came to govern the land;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He refused to send up dwarf slaves in spite of incessant mandates.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He replied to the Emperor “Your servant finds in the Six Canonical Books<br /></span>
<span class="i0">‘In offering products, one must offer what is there, and not what isn’t there’<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On the waters and lands of Tao-chou, among all the things that live<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I only find dwarfish <i>people</i>; no dwarfish <i>slaves</i>.”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Emperor’s heart was deeply moved and he sealed and sent a scroll<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“The yearly tribute of dwarfish slaves is henceforth annulled.”<br /></span>
<span class="i12">The people of Tao-chou,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Old ones and young ones, how great their joy!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Father with son and brother with brother henceforward kept together;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">From that day for ever more they lived as free men.<br /></span>
<span class="i12">The people of Tao-chou<br /></span>
<span class="i12">Still enjoy this gift.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span>
<span class="i0">And even now when they speak of the Governor<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Tears start to their eyes.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And lest their children and their children’s children should forget the Governor’s name,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When boys are born the syllable “Yang” is often used in their forename.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">THE OLD HARP</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Of cord and cassia-wood is the harp compounded:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Within it lie ancient melodies.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Ancient melodies—weak and savourless,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Not appealing to present men’s taste.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Light and colour are faded from the jade stops:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Dust has covered the rose-red strings.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Decay and ruin came to it long ago,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But the sound that is left is still cold and clear.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I do not refuse to play it, if you want me to:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But even if I play, people will not listen.<br /></span>
</div>
<hr class="tb" />
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">How did it come to be neglected so?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Because of the Ch’iang flute and the Ch’in flageolet.<a name="FNanchor_53_53" id="FNanchor_53_53"></a><a href="#Footnote_53_53" class="fnanchor">[53]</a><br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_53_53" id="Footnote_53_53"></a><a href="#FNanchor_53_53"><span class="label">[53]</span></a> Barbarous modern instruments.</p></div>
<h4 class="title">THE HARPER OF CHAO</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The singers have hushed their notes of clear song:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The red sleeves of the dancers are motionless.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Hugging his lute, the old harper of Chao<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Rocks and sways as he touches the five chords.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The loud notes swell and scatter abroad:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“Sa, sa,” like wind blowing the rain.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The soft notes dying almost to nothing:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“Ch’ieh, ch’ieh,” like the voice of ghosts talking.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Now as glad as the magpie’s lucky song:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Again bitter as the gibbon’s ominous cry.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">His ten fingers have no fixed note:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Up and down—“kung,” chih, and yü.<a name="FNanchor_54_54" id="FNanchor_54_54"></a><a href="#Footnote_54_54" class="fnanchor">[54]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">And those who sit and listen to the tune he plays<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of soul and body lose the mastery.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And those who pass that way as he plays the tune,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Suddenly stop and cannot raise their feet.<br /></span>
</div>
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Alas, alas that the ears of common men<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Should love the modern and not love the old.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Thus it is that the harp in the green window<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Day by day is covered deeper with dust.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_54_54" id="Footnote_54_54"></a><a href="#FNanchor_54_54"><span class="label">[54]</span></a> Tonic, dominant and superdominant of the ancient five-note scale.</p>
</div>
<h4 class="title">THE FLOWER MARKET</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">In the Royal City spring is almost over:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Tinkle, tinkle—the coaches and horsemen pass.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We tell each other “This is the peony season”:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And follow with the crowd that goes to the Flower Market.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“Cheap and dear—no uniform price:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The cost of the plant depends on the number of blossoms.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For the fine flower,—a hundred pieces of damask:<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span>
<span class="i0">For the cheap flower,—five bits of silk.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Above is spread an awning to protect them:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Around is woven a wattle-fence to screen them.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If you sprinkle water and cover the roots with mud,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When they are transplanted, they will not lose their beauty.”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Each household thoughtlessly follows the custom,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Man by man, no one realizing.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There happened to be an old farm labourer<br /></span>
<span class="i8">Who came by chance that way.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He bowed his head and sighed a deep sigh:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But this sigh nobody understood.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He was thinking, “A cluster of deep-red flowers<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Would pay the taxes of ten poor houses.”<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">THE PRISONER</h4>
<div class="comment"><p>Written in <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 809</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i16">Tartars led in chains,<br /></span>
<span class="i16">Tartars led in chains!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their ears pierced, their faces bruised—they are driven into the land of Ch’in.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Son of Heaven took pity on them and would not have them slain.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He sent them away to the south-east, to the lands of Wu and Yüeh.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A petty officer in a yellow coat took down their names and surnames:<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span>
<span class="i0">They were led from the city of Ch’ang-an under escort of an armed guard.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their bodies were covered with the wounds of arrows, their bones stood out from their cheeks.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They had grown so weak they could only march a single stage a day.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the morning they must satisfy hunger and thirst with neither plate nor cup:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At night they must lie in their dirt and rags on beds that stank with filth.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Suddenly they came to the Yangtze River and remembered the waters of Chiao.<a name="FNanchor_55_55" id="FNanchor_55_55"></a><a href="#Footnote_55_55" class="fnanchor">[55]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">With lowered hands and levelled voices they sobbed a muffled song.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then one Tartar lifted up his voice and spoke to the other Tartars,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“<i>Your</i> sorrows are none at all compared with <i>my</i> sorrows.”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Those that were with him in the same band asked to hear his tale:<br /></span>
<span class="i2">As he tried to speak the words were choked by anger.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He told them “I was born and bred in the town of Liang-yüan.<a name="FNanchor_56_56" id="FNanchor_56_56"></a><a href="#Footnote_56_56" class="fnanchor">[56]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the frontier wars of Ta-li<a name="FNanchor_57_57" id="FNanchor_57_57"></a><a href="#Footnote_57_57" class="fnanchor">[57]</a> I fell into the Tartars’ hands.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Since the days the Tartars took me alive forty years have passed:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They put me into a coat of skins tied with a belt of rope.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Only on the first of the first month might I wear my Chinese dress.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As I put on my coat and arranged my cap, how fast the tears flowed!<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span>
<span class="i0">I made in my heart a secret vow I would find a way home:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I hid my plan from my Tartar wife and the children she had borne me in the land.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I thought to myself, ‘It is well for me that my limbs are still strong,’<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And yet, being old, in my heart I feared I should never live to return.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Tartar chieftains shoot so well that the birds are afraid to fly:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">From the risk of their arrows I escaped alive and fled swiftly home.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Hiding all day and walking all night, I crossed the Great Desert:<a name="FNanchor_58_58" id="FNanchor_58_58"></a><a href="#Footnote_58_58" class="fnanchor">[58]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">Where clouds are dark and the moon black and the sands eddy in the wind.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Frightened, I sheltered at the Green Grave,<a name="FNanchor_59_59" id="FNanchor_59_59"></a><a href="#Footnote_59_59" class="fnanchor">[59]</a> where the frozen grasses are few:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Stealthily I crossed the Yellow River, at night, on the thin ice,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Suddenly I heard Han<a name="FNanchor_60_60" id="FNanchor_60_60"></a><a href="#Footnote_60_60" class="fnanchor">[60]</a> drums and the sound of soldiers coming:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I went to meet them at the road-side, bowing to them as they came.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But the moving horsemen did not hear that I spoke the Han tongue:<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Their Captain took me for a Tartar born and had me bound in chains.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They are sending me away to the south-east, to a low and swampy land:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">No one now will take pity on me: resistance is all in vain.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Thinking of this, my voice chokes and I ask of Heaven above,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Was I spared from death only to spend the rest of my years in sorrow?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My native village of Liang-yüan I shall not see again:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My wife and children in the Tartars’ land I have fruitlessly deserted.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When I fell among Tartars and was taken prisoner, I pined for the land of Han:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Now that I am back in the land of Han, they have turned me into a Tartar.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Had I but known what my fate would be, I would not have started home!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For the two lands, so wide apart, are alike in the sorrow they bring.<br /></span>
<span class="i14">Tartar prisoners in chains!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of all the sorrows of all the prisoners mine is the hardest to bear!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Never in the world has so great a wrong befallen the lot of man,—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A Han heart and a Han tongue set in the body of a Turk.”<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span></p>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_55_55" id="Footnote_55_55"></a><a href="#FNanchor_55_55"><span class="label">[55]</span></a> In Turkestan.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_56_56" id="Footnote_56_56"></a><a href="#FNanchor_56_56"><span class="label">[56]</span></a> North of Ch’ang-an.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_57_57" id="Footnote_57_57"></a><a href="#FNanchor_57_57"><span class="label">[57]</span></a> The period Ta-li, <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 766-780.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_58_58" id="Footnote_58_58"></a><a href="#FNanchor_58_58"><span class="label">[58]</span></a> The Gobi Desert.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_59_59" id="Footnote_59_59"></a><a href="#FNanchor_59_59"><span class="label">[59]</span></a> The grave of Chao-chün, a Chinese girl who in 33 <span class="smcap lowercase">B.C.</span> was
“bestowed upon the Khan of the Hsiung-nu as a mark of Imperial
regard” (Giles). Hers was the only grave in this desolate district on
which grass would grow.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_60_60" id="Footnote_60_60"></a><a href="#FNanchor_60_60"><span class="label">[60]</span></a> <i>I.e.</i>, Chinese.</p></div>
<h4 class="title">THE CHANCELLOR’S GRAVEL-DRIVE<br />
<span class="small">(<span class="smcap">A Satire on the Maltreatment of Subordinates</span>)</span></h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">A Government-bull yoked to a Government-cart!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Moored by the bank of Ch’an River, a barge loaded with gravel.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A single load of gravel,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How many pounds it weighs!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Carrying at dawn, carrying at dusk, what is it all for?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They are carrying it towards the Five Gates,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To the West of the Main Road.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Under the shadow of green laurels they are making a gravel-drive.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For yesterday arrove, newly appointed,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Assistant Chancellor of the Realm,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And was terribly afraid that the wet and mud<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Would dirty his horse’s hoofs.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Chancellor’s horse’s hoofs<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Stepped on the gravel and remained perfectly clean;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But the bull employed in dragging the cart<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Was almost sweating blood.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Assistant Chancellor’s business<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Is to “save men, govern the country<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And harmonize Yin and Yang.”<a name="FNanchor_61_61" id="FNanchor_61_61"></a><a href="#Footnote_61_61" class="fnanchor">[61]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">Whether the bull’s neck is sore<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Need not trouble him at all.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_61_61" id="Footnote_61_61"></a><a href="#FNanchor_61_61"><span class="label">[61]</span></a> The negative and positive principles in nature.</p></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">THE MAN WHO DREAMED OF FAIRIES</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>This poem is an attack on the Emperor Hsien-tsung, <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 806-820,
who “was devoted to magic.” A Taoist wizard told him that herbs
of longevity grew near the city of T’ai-chou. The Emperor at once
appointed him prefect of the place, “pour lui permettre d’herboriser
plus à son aise” (Wieger, Textes III, 1723). When the censors protested,
the Emperor replied: “The ruin of a single district would be a
small price to pay, if it could procure longevity for the Lord of Men.”</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">There was once a man who dreamt he went to Heaven:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">His dream-body soared aloft through space.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He rode on the back of a white-plumed crane,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And was led on his flight by two crimson banners.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Whirring of wings and flapping of coat tails!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Jade bells suddenly all a-tinkle!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Half way to Heaven, he looked down beneath him,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Down on the dark turmoil of the World.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Gradually he lost the place of his native town;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Mountains and water—nothing else distinct.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Eastern Ocean—a single strip of white:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Hills of China,—five specks of green.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Gliding past him a host of fairies swept<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In long procession to the Palace of the Jade City.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How should he guess that the children of Tzŭ-mēn<a name="FNanchor_62_62" id="FNanchor_62_62"></a><a href="#Footnote_62_62" class="fnanchor">[62]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">Bow to the throne like courtiers of earthly kings?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They take him to the presence of the Mighty Jade Emperor:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He bows his head and proffers loyal homage.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span>
<span class="i0">The Emperor says: “We see you have fairy talents:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Be of good heart and do not slight yourself.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We shall send to fetch you in fifteen years<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And give you a place in the Courtyard of Immortality.”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Twice bowing, he acknowledged the gracious words:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then woke from sleep, full of wonder and joy.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He hid his secret and dared not tell it abroad:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But vowed a vow he would live in a cave of rock.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">From love and affection he severed kith and kin:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">From his eating and drinking he omitted savoury and spice.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">His morning meal was a dish of coral-dust:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At night he sipped an essence of dewy mists.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the empty mountains he lived for thirty years<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Daily watching for the Heavenly Coach to come.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The time of appointment was already long past,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But of wings and coach-bells—still no sound.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">His teeth and hair daily withered and decayed:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">His ears and eyes gradually lost their keenness.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">One morning he suffered the Common Change<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And his body was one with the dust and dirt of the hill.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Gods and fairies! If indeed such things there be,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their ways are beyond the striving of mortal men.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If you have not on your skull the Golden Bump’s protrusion,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If your name is absent from the rolls of the Red Terrace,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In vain you learn the “Method of Avoiding Food”:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For naught you study the “Book of Alchemic Lore.”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Though you sweat and toil, what shall your trouble bring?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You will only shorten the five-score years of your span.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sad, alas, the man who dreamt of Fairies!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For a single dream spoiled his whole life.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_62_62" id="Footnote_62_62"></a><a href="#FNanchor_62_62"><span class="label">[62]</span></a> <i>I.e.</i>, the Immortals.</p></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">MAGIC</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i14">Boundless, the great sea.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Straight down,—no bottom: sideways,—no border.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of cloudy waves and misty billows down in the uttermost depths<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Men have fabled, in the midst there stand three sacred hills.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On the hills, thick growing,—herbs that banish Death.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Wings grow on those who eat them and they turn into heavenly “hsien.”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Lord of Ch’in<a name="FNanchor_63_63" id="FNanchor_63_63"></a><a href="#Footnote_63_63" class="fnanchor">[63]</a> and Wu of Han<a name="FNanchor_64_64" id="FNanchor_64_64"></a><a href="#Footnote_64_64" class="fnanchor">[64]</a> believed in these stories:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And magic-workers year by year were sent to gather the herbs.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Blessed Islands, now and of old, what but an empty tale?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The misty waters spread before them and they knew not where to seek.<br /></span>
<span class="i14">Boundless, the great sea.<br /></span>
<span class="i14">Dauntless, the mighty wind.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their eyes search but cannot see the shores of the Blessed Islands.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They cannot find the Blessed Isles and yet they dare not return:<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Youths and maidens that began the quest grew grey on board the boat.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They found that the writings of Hsü<a name="FNanchor_65_65" id="FNanchor_65_65"></a><a href="#Footnote_65_65" class="fnanchor">[65]</a> were all boasts and lies:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To the Lofty Principle and Great Unity in vain they raised their prayers.<br /></span>
<span class="i14">Do you not see<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The graves on the top of Black Horse Hill<a name="FNanchor_66_66" id="FNanchor_66_66"></a><a href="#Footnote_66_66" class="fnanchor">[66]</a> and the tombs at Mo-ling?<a name="FNanchor_67_67" id="FNanchor_67_67"></a><a href="#Footnote_67_67" class="fnanchor">[67]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">What is left but the sighing wind blowing in the tangled grasses?<br /></span>
<span class="i14">Yes, and what is more,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Dark and Primal Master of Sages in his five thousand words<a name="FNanchor_68_68" id="FNanchor_68_68"></a><a href="#Footnote_68_68" class="fnanchor">[68]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i14">Never spoke of herbs,<br /></span>
<span class="i14">Never spoke of “hsien,”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Nor spoke of soaring in broad daylight up to the blue heaven.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_63_63" id="Footnote_63_63"></a><a href="#FNanchor_63_63"><span class="label">[63]</span></a> The “First Emperor,” 259-210 <span class="smcap lowercase">B.C.</span></p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_64_64" id="Footnote_64_64"></a><a href="#FNanchor_64_64"><span class="label">[64]</span></a> Wu Ti, 156-87 <span class="smcap lowercase">B.C.</span></p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_65_65" id="Footnote_65_65"></a><a href="#FNanchor_65_65"><span class="label">[65]</span></a> = Hsü Shih. Giles, 1276.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_66_66" id="Footnote_66_66"></a><a href="#FNanchor_66_66"><span class="label">[66]</span></a> The burial-places of these two Emperors.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_67_67" id="Footnote_67_67"></a><a href="#FNanchor_67_67"><span class="label">[67]</span></a> <i>Ibid.</i></p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_68_68" id="Footnote_68_68"></a><a href="#FNanchor_68_68"><span class="label">[68]</span></a> Lao-tzŭ, in the Tao Tē Ching.</p></div>
<h4 class="title">THE TWO RED TOWERS<br />
<span class="small">(<span class="smcap">A Satire against Clericalism</span>)</span></h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">The Two Red Towers<br /></span>
<span class="i0">North and south rise facing each other.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I beg to ask, to whom do they belong?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To the two Princes of the period Chēng Yüan.<a name="FNanchor_69_69" id="FNanchor_69_69"></a><a href="#Footnote_69_69" class="fnanchor">[69]</a><br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span>
<span class="i0">The two Princes blew on their flutes and drew down fairies from the sky,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who carried them off through the Five Clouds, soaring away to Heaven.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their halls and houses, that they could not take with them,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Were turned into Temples planted in the Dust of the World.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the tiring-rooms and dancers’ towers all is silent and still;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Only the willows like dancers’ arms, and the pond like a mirror.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When the flowers are falling at yellow twilight, when things are sad and hushed,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">One does not hear songs and flutes, but only chimes and bells.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Imperial Patent on the Temple doors is written in letters of gold;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For nuns’ quarters and monks’ cells ample space is allowed.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For green moss and bright moonlight—plenty of room provided;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In a hovel opposite is a sick man who has hardly room to lie down.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I remember once when at P’ing-yang they were building a great man’s house<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How it swallowed up the housing space of thousands of ordinary men.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Immortals<a name="FNanchor_70_70" id="FNanchor_70_70"></a><a href="#Footnote_70_70" class="fnanchor">[70]</a> are leaving us, two by two, and their houses are turned into Temples;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I begin to fear that the whole world will become a vast convent.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_69_69" id="Footnote_69_69"></a><a href="#FNanchor_69_69"><span class="label">[69]</span></a> 785-805.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_70_70" id="Footnote_70_70"></a><a href="#FNanchor_70_70"><span class="label">[70]</span></a> Hsien Tsung’s brothers?</p></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">THE CHARCOAL-SELLER<br />
<span class="small">(<span class="smcap">A Satire against “Kommandatur”</span>)</span></h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">An old charcoal-seller<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Cutting wood and burning charcoal in the forests of the Southern Mountain.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">His face, stained with dust and ashes, has turned to the colour of smoke.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The hair on his temples is streaked with gray: his ten fingers are black.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The money he gets by selling charcoal, how far does it go?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It is just enough to clothe his limbs and put food in his mouth.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Although, alas, the coat on his back is a coat without lining.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">He hopes for the coming of cold weather, to send up the price of coal!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Last night, outside the city,—a whole foot of snow;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At dawn he drives the charcoal wagon along the frozen ruts.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Oxen,—weary; man,—hungry: the sun, already high;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Outside the Gate, to the south of the Market, at last they stop in the mud.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Suddenly, a pair of prancing horsemen. Who can it be coming?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A public official in a yellow coat and a boy in a white shirt.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span>
<span class="i0">In their hands they hold a written warrant: on their tongues—the words of an order;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They turn back the wagon and curse the oxen, leading them off to the north.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A whole wagon of charcoal,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">More than a thousand pieces!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If officials choose to take it away, the woodman may not complain.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Half a piece of red silk and a single yard of damask,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The Courtiers have tied to the oxen’s collar, as the price<br /></span>
<span class="i0">of a wagon of coal!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">THE POLITICIAN</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I was going to the City to sell the herbs I had plucked;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On the way I rested by some trees at the Blue Gate.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Along the road there came a horseman riding;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Whose face was pale with a strange look of dread.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Friends and relations, waiting to say good-bye,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Pressed at his side, but he did not dare to pause.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I, in wonder, asked the people about me<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Who he was and what had happened to him.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They told me this was a Privy Councillor<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Whose grave duties were like the pivot of State.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">His food allowance was ten thousand cash;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Three times a day the Emperor came to his house.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Yesterday he was called to a meeting of Heroes:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To-day he is banished to the country of Yai-chou.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So always, the Counsellors of Kings;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Favour and ruin changed between dawn and dusk!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Green, green,—the grass of the Eastern Suburb;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And amid the grass, a road that leads to the hills.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Resting in peace among the white clouds,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At last he has made a “coup” that cannot fail!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">THE OLD MAN WITH THE BROKEN ARM<br />
<span class="small">(<span class="smcap">A Satire on Militarism</span>)</span></h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">At Hsin-fēng an old man—four-score and eight;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The hair on his head and the hair of his eyebrows—white as the new snow.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Leaning on the shoulders of his great-grandchildren, he walks in front of the Inn;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With his left arm he leans on their shoulders; his right arm is broken.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I asked the old man how many years had passed since he broke his arm;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I also asked the cause of the injury, how and why it happened?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The old man said he was born and reared in the District of Hsin-fēng;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At the time of his birth—a wise reign; no wars or discords.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“Often I listened in the Pear-Tree Garden to the sound of flute and song;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Naught I knew of banner and lance; nothing of arrow or bow.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then came the wars of T’ien-pao<a name="FNanchor_71_71" id="FNanchor_71_71"></a><a href="#Footnote_71_71" class="fnanchor">[71]</a> and the great levy of men;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of three men in each house,—one man was taken.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And those to whom the lot fell, where were they taken to?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Five months’ journey, a thousand miles—away to Yün-nan.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">We heard it said that in Yün-nan there flows the Lu River;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As the flowers fall from the pepper-trees, poisonous vapours rise.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When the great army waded across, the water seethed like a cauldron;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When barely ten had entered the water, two or three were dead.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To the north of my village, to the south of my village the sound of weeping and wailing.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Children parting from fathers and mothers; husbands parting from wives.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Everyone says that in expeditions against the Min tribes<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of a million men who are sent out, not one returns.<br /></span>
<span class="i10">I, that am old, was then twenty-four;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My name and fore-name were written down in the rolls of the Board of War.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the depth of the night not daring to let any one know<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I secretly took a huge stone and dashed it against my arm.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For drawing the bow and waving the banner now wholly unfit;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I knew henceforward I should not be sent to fight in Yün-nan.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Bones broken and sinews wounded could not fail to hurt;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I was ready enough to bear pain, if only I got back home.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span>
<span class="i0">My arm—broken ever since; it was sixty years ago.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">One limb, although destroyed,—whole body safe!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But even now on winter nights when the wind and rain blow<br /></span>
<span class="i0">From evening on till day’s dawn I cannot sleep for pain.<br /></span>
<span class="i16">Not sleeping for pain<br /></span>
<span class="i16">Is a small thing to bear,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Compared with the joy of being alive when all the rest are dead.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For otherwise, years ago, at the ford of Lu River<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My body would have died and my soul hovered by the bones that no one gathered.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A ghost, I’d have wandered in Yün-nan, always looking for home.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Over the graves of ten thousand soldiers, mournfully hovering.”<br /></span>
<span class="i16">So the old man spoke.<br /></span>
<span class="i12">And I bid you listen to his words<br /></span>
<span class="i16">Have you not heard<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That the Prime Minister of K’ai-yüan,<a name="FNanchor_72_72" id="FNanchor_72_72"></a><a href="#Footnote_72_72" class="fnanchor">[72]</a> Sung K’ai-fu,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Did not reward frontier exploits, lest a spirit of aggression should prevail?<br /></span>
<span class="i16">And have you not heard<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That the Prime Minister of T’ien-Pao, Yang Kuo-chung<a name="FNanchor_73_73" id="FNanchor_73_73"></a><a href="#Footnote_73_73" class="fnanchor">[73]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">Desiring to win imperial favour, started a frontier war?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But long before he could win the war, people had lost their temper;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Ask the man with the broken arm in the village of Hsin-fēng?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_71_71" id="Footnote_71_71"></a><a href="#FNanchor_71_71"><span class="label">[71]</span></a> <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 742-755.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_72_72" id="Footnote_72_72"></a><a href="#FNanchor_72_72"><span class="label">[72]</span></a> 713-742.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_73_73" id="Footnote_73_73"></a><a href="#FNanchor_73_73"><span class="label">[73]</span></a> Cousin of the notorious mistress of Ming-huang, Yang Kuei-fei.</p></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">KEPT WAITING IN THE BOAT AT
CHIU-K’OU TEN DAYS BY AN
ADVERSE WIND</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">White billows and huge waves block the river crossing;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Wherever I go, danger and difficulty; whatever I do, failure.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Just as in my worldly career I wander and lose the road,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">So when I come to the river crossing, I am stopped by contrary winds.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of fishes and prawns sodden in the rain the smell fills my nostrils;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With the stings of insects that come with the fog, my whole body is sore.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I am growing old, time flies, and my short span runs out.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">While I sit in a boat at Chiu-k’ou, wasting ten days!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">ON BOARD SHIP: READING YÜAN CHĒN’S
POEMS</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I take your poems in my hand and read them beside the candle;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The poems are finished: the candle is low: dawn not yet come.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With sore eyes by the guttering candle still I sit in the dark,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Listening to waves that, driven by the wind, strike the prow of the ship.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">ARRIVING AT HSÜN-YANG<br />
<span class="small">(<span class="smcap">Two Poems</span>)</span></h4>
<h5>(1)</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">A bend of the river brings into view two triumphal arches;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That is the gate in the western wall of the suburbs of Hsün-yang.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I have still to travel in my solitary boat three or four leagues—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">By misty waters and rainy sands, while the yellow dusk thickens.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h5>(2)</h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">We are almost come to Hsün-yang: how my thoughts are stirred<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As we pass to the south of Yü Liang’s<a name="FNanchor_74_74" id="FNanchor_74_74"></a><a href="#Footnote_74_74" class="fnanchor">[74]</a> tower and the east of P’ēn Port.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The forest trees are leafless and withered,—after the mountain rain;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The roofs of the houses are hidden low among the river mists.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The horses, fed on water grass, are too weak to carry their load;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The cottage walls of wattle and thatch let the wind blow on one’s bed.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the distance I see red-wheeled coaches driving from the town-gate;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They have taken the trouble, these civil people, to meet their new Prefect!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_74_74" id="Footnote_74_74"></a><a href="#FNanchor_74_74"><span class="label">[74]</span></a> Died <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 340. Giles, 2526.</p></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">MADLY SINGING IN THE MOUNTAINS</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">There is no one among men that has not a special failing:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And my failing consists in writing verses.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I have broken away from the thousand ties of life:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But this infirmity still remains behind.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Each time that I look at a fine landscape:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Each time that I meet a loved friend,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I raise my voice and recite a stanza of poetry<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And am glad as though a God had crossed my path.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Ever since the day I was banished to Hsün-yang<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Half my time I have lived among the hills.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And often, when I have finished a new poem,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Alone I climb the road to the Eastern Rock.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I lean my body on the banks of white stone:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I pull down with my hands a green cassia branch.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My mad singing startles the valleys and hills:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The apes and birds all come to peep.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Fearing to become a laughing-stock to the world,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I choose a place that is unfrequented by men.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">RELEASING A MIGRANT “YEN” (WILD
GOOSE)</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">At Nine Rivers,<a name="FNanchor_75_75" id="FNanchor_75_75"></a><a href="#Footnote_75_75" class="fnanchor">[75]</a> in the tenth year,<a name="FNanchor_76_76" id="FNanchor_76_76"></a><a href="#Footnote_76_76" class="fnanchor">[76]</a> in winter,—heavy snow;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The river-water covered with ice and the forests broken with their load.<a name="FNanchor_77_77" id="FNanchor_77_77"></a><a href="#Footnote_77_77" class="fnanchor">[77]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">The birds of the air, hungry and cold, went flying east and west;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And with them flew a migrant “yen,” loudly clamouring for food.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Among the snow it pecked for grass; and rested on the surface of the ice:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It tried with its wings to scale the sky; but its tired flight was slow.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The boys of the river spread a net and caught the bird as it flew;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They took it in their hands to the city-market and sold it there alive.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I that was once a man of the North am now an exile here:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Bird and man, in their different kind, are each strangers in the south.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And because the sight of an exiled bird wounded an exile’s heart,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>
<span class="i0">I paid your ransom and set you free, and you flew away to the clouds.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Yen, Yen, flying to the clouds, tell me, whither shall you go?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of all things I bid you, do not fly to the land of the north-west<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In Huai-hsi there are rebel bands<a name="FNanchor_78_78" id="FNanchor_78_78"></a><a href="#Footnote_78_78" class="fnanchor">[78]</a> that have not been subdued;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And a thousand thousand armoured men have long been camped in war.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The official army and the rebel army have grown old in their opposite trenches;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The soldier’s rations have grown so small, they’ll be glad of even you.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The brave boys, in their hungry plight, will shoot you and eat your flesh;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They will pluck from your body those long feathers and make them into arrow-wings!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_75_75" id="Footnote_75_75"></a><a href="#FNanchor_75_75"><span class="label">[75]</span></a> Kiukiang, the poet’s place of exile.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_76_76" id="Footnote_76_76"></a><a href="#FNanchor_76_76"><span class="label">[76]</span></a> <span class="smcap lowercase">A.D.</span> 815. His first winter at Kiukiang.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_77_77" id="Footnote_77_77"></a><a href="#FNanchor_77_77"><span class="label">[77]</span></a> By the weight of snow.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_78_78" id="Footnote_78_78"></a><a href="#FNanchor_78_78"><span class="label">[78]</span></a> The revolt of Wu Yüan-chi.</p></div>
<h4 class="title">TO A PORTRAIT PAINTER WHO DESIRED
HIM TO SIT</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0"><i>You</i>, so bravely splashing reds and blues!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Just when <i>I</i> am getting wrinkled and old.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Why should you waste the moments of inspiration<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Tracing the withered limbs of a sick man?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Tall, tall is the Palace of Ch’i-lin;<a name="FNanchor_79_79" id="FNanchor_79_79"></a><a href="#Footnote_79_79" class="fnanchor">[79]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">But my deeds have not been frescoed on its walls.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Minutely limned on a foot of painting silk—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">What can I do with a portrait such as <i>that</i>?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_79_79" id="Footnote_79_79"></a><a href="#FNanchor_79_79"><span class="label">[79]</span></a> One of the “Record Offices” of the T’ang dynasty, where
meritorious deeds were illustrated on the walls.</p></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">SEPARATION</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Yesterday I heard that such-a-one was gone;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">This morning they tell me that so-and-so is dead.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of friends and acquaintances more than two-thirds<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Have suffered change and passed to the Land of Ghosts.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Those that are gone I shall not see again;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They, alas, are for ever finished and done.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Those that are left,—where are they now?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They are all scattered,—a thousand miles away.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Those I have known and loved through all my life,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On the fingers of my hand—how many do I count?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Only the prefects of T’ung, Kuo and Li<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And Fēng Province—just those four.<a name="FNanchor_80_80" id="FNanchor_80_80"></a><a href="#Footnote_80_80" class="fnanchor">[80]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">Longing for each other we are all grown gray;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Through the Fleeting World rolled like a wave in the stream.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Alas that the feasts and frolics of old days<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Have withered and vanished, bringing us to this!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When shall we meet and drink a cup of wine<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And laughing gaze into each other’s eyes?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_80_80" id="Footnote_80_80"></a><a href="#FNanchor_80_80"><span class="label">[80]</span></a> Yüan Chēn (d. 831), Ts’ui Hsüan-liang (d. 833), Liu Yü-hsi (d. 842),
and Li Chien (d. 821).</p></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">HAVING CLIMBED TO THE TOPMOST PEAK
OF THE INCENSE-BURNER MOUNTAIN</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Up and up, the Incense-burner Peak!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In my heart is stored what my eyes and ears perceived.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">All the year—detained by official business;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To-day at last I got a chance to go.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Grasping the creepers, I clung to dangerous rocks;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My hands and feet—weary with groping for hold.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">There came with me three or four friends,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But two friends dared not go further.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At last we reached the topmost crest of the Peak;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My eyes were blinded, my soul rocked and reeled.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The chasm beneath me—ten thousand feet;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The ground I stood on, only a foot wide.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If you have not exhausted the scope of seeing and hearing,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How can you realize the wideness of the world?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The waters of the River looked narrow as a ribbon,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">P’ēn Castle smaller than a man’s fist.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How it clings, the dust of the world’s halter!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It chokes my limbs: I cannot shake it away.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Thinking of retirement,<a name="FNanchor_81_81" id="FNanchor_81_81"></a><a href="#Footnote_81_81" class="fnanchor">[81]</a> I heaved an envious sigh,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Then, with lowered head, came back to the Ants’ Nest.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_81_81" id="Footnote_81_81"></a><a href="#FNanchor_81_81"><span class="label">[81]</span></a> <i>I.e.</i>, retirement from office.</p></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">EATING BAMBOO-SHOOTS</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">My new Province is a land of bamboo-groves:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Their shoots in spring fill the valleys and hills.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The mountain woodman cuts an armful of them<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And brings them down to sell at the early market.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Things are cheap in proportion as they are common;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For two farthings, I buy a whole bundle.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I put the shoots in a great earthen pot<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And heat them up along with boiling rice.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The purple nodules broken,—like an old brocade;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The white skin opened,—like new pearls.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Now every day I eat them recklessly;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For a long time I have not touched meat.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">All the time I was living at Lo-yang<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They could not give me enough to suit my taste,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Now I can have as many shoots as I please;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For each breath of the south-wind makes a new bamboo!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">THE RED COCKATOO</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Sent as a present from Annam—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A red cockatoo.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Coloured like the peach-tree blossom,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Speaking with the speech of men.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And they did to it what is always done<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To the learned and eloquent.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They took a cage with stout bars<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And shut it up inside.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">AFTER LUNCH</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">After lunch—one short nap:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On waking up—two cups of tea.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Raising my head, I see the sun’s light<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Once again slanting to the south-west.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Those who are happy regret the shortness of the day;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Those who are sad tire of the year’s sloth.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But those whose hearts are devoid of joy or sadness<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Just go on living, regardless of “short” or “long.”<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">ALARM AT FIRST ENTERING THE
YANG-TZE GORGES</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>Written in 818, when he was being towed up the rapids to Chung-chou.</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Above, a mountain ten thousand feet high:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Below, a river a thousand fathoms deep.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A strip of green, walled by cliffs of stone:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Wide enough for the passage of a single reed.<a name="FNanchor_82_82" id="FNanchor_82_82"></a><a href="#Footnote_82_82" class="fnanchor">[82]</a><br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span>
<span class="i0">At Chü-t’ang a straight cleft yawns:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At Yen-yü islands block the stream.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Long before night the walls are black with dusk;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Without wind white waves rise.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The big rocks are like a flat sword:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The little rocks resemble ivory tusks.<br /></span>
</div><hr class="tb" />
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">We are stuck fast and cannot move a step.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How much the less, three hundred miles?<a name="FNanchor_83_83" id="FNanchor_83_83"></a><a href="#Footnote_83_83" class="fnanchor">[83]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">Frail and slender, the twisted-bamboo rope:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Weak, the dangerous hold of the towers’ feet.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A single slip—the whole convoy lost:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And <i>my</i> life hangs on <i>this</i> thread!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I have heard a saying “He that has an upright heart<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Shall walk scathless through the lands of Man and Mo.”<a name="FNanchor_84_84" id="FNanchor_84_84"></a><a href="#Footnote_84_84" class="fnanchor">[84]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">How can I believe that since the world began<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In every shipwreck none have drowned but rogues?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And how can I, born in evil days<a name="FNanchor_85_85" id="FNanchor_85_85"></a><a href="#Footnote_85_85" class="fnanchor">[85]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">And fresh from failure,<a name="FNanchor_86_86" id="FNanchor_86_86"></a><a href="#Footnote_86_86" class="fnanchor">[86]</a> ask a kindness of Fate?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Often I fear that these un-talented limbs<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Will be laid at last in an un-named grave!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_82_82" id="Footnote_82_82"></a><a href="#FNanchor_82_82"><span class="label">[82]</span></a> See Odes, v, 7.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_83_83" id="Footnote_83_83"></a><a href="#FNanchor_83_83"><span class="label">[83]</span></a> The distance to Chung-chou.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_84_84" id="Footnote_84_84"></a><a href="#FNanchor_84_84"><span class="label">[84]</span></a> Dangerous savages.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_85_85" id="Footnote_85_85"></a><a href="#FNanchor_85_85"><span class="label">[85]</span></a> Of civil war.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_86_86" id="Footnote_86_86"></a><a href="#FNanchor_86_86"><span class="label">[86]</span></a> Alluding to his renewed banishment.</p></div>
<h4 class="title">ON BEING REMOVED FROM HSÜN-YANG
AND SENT TO CHUNG-CHOU</h4>
<div class="comment"><p>A remote place in the mountains of Pa (Ssech’uan)</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Before this, when I was stationed at Hsün-yang,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Already I regretted the fewness of friends and guests.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Suddenly, suddenly,—bearing a stricken heart<br /></span>
<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span><span class="i0">I left the gates, with nothing to comfort me.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Henceforward,—relegated to deep seclusion<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In a bottomless gorge, flanked by precipitous mountains,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Five months on end the passage of boats is stopped<br /></span>
<span class="i0">By the piled billows that toss and leap like colts.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The inhabitants of Pa resemble wild apes;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Fierce and lusty, they fill the mountains and prairies.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Among such as these I cannot hope for friends<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And am pleased with anyone who is even remotely human!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">PLANTING FLOWERS ON THE EASTERN
EMBANKMENT</h4>
<div class="comment"><p>Written when Governor of Chung-Chou</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I took money and bought flowering trees<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And planted them out on the bank to the east of the Keep.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I simply bought whatever had most blooms,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Not caring whether peach, apricot, or plum.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A hundred fruits, all mixed up together;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A thousand branches, flowering in due rotation.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Each has its season coming early or late;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But to all alike the fertile soil is kind.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The red flowers hang like a heavy mist;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The white flowers gleam like a fall of snow.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The wandering bees cannot bear to leave them;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The sweet birds also come there to roost.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In front there flows an ever-running stream;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Beneath there is built a little flat terrace.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Sometimes I sweep the flagstones of the terrace;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sometimes, in the wind, I raise my cup and drink.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The flower-branches screen my head from the sun;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The flower-buds fall down into my lap.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Alone drinking, alone singing my songs<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I do not notice that the moon is level with the steps.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The people of Pa do not care for flowers;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">All the spring no one has come to look.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But their Governor General, alone with his cup of wine<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sits till evening and will not move from the place!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">CHILDREN</h4>
<div class="comment"><p>Written <i>circa</i> 820</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">My niece, who is six years old, is called “Miss Tortoise”;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My daughter of three,—little “Summer Dress.”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">One is beginning to learn to joke and talk;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The other can already recite poems and songs.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At morning they play clinging about my feet;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At night they sleep pillowed against my dress.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Why, children, did you reach the world so late,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Coming to me just when my years are spent?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Young things draw our feelings to them;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Old people easily give their hearts.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The sweetest vintage at last turns sour;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The full moon in the end begins to wane.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And so with men the bonds of love and affection<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Soon may change to a load of sorrow and care.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But all the world is bound by love’s ties;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Why did I think that I alone should escape?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">PRUNING TREES</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Trees growing—right in front of my window;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The trees are high and the leaves grow thick.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sad alas! the distant mountain view<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Obscured by this, dimly shows between.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">One morning I took knife and axe;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With my own hand I lopped the branches off.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Ten thousand leaves fall about my head;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A thousand hills came before my eyes.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Suddenly, as when clouds or mists break<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And straight through, the blue sky appears;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Again, like the face of a friend one has loved<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Seen at last after an age of parting.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">First there came a gentle wind blowing;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">One by one the birds flew back to the tree.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To ease my mind I gazed to the South East;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As my eyes wandered, my thoughts went far away.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of men there is none that has not some preference;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of things there is none but mixes good with ill.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It was not that I did not love the tender branches;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But better still,—to see the green hills!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">BEING VISITED BY A FRIEND DURING
ILLNESS</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I have been ill so long that I do not count the days;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At the southern window, evening—and again evening.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Sadly chirping in the grasses under my eaves<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The winter sparrows morning and evening sing.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">By an effort I rise and lean heavily on my bed;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Tottering I step towards the door of the courtyard.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">By chance I meet a friend who is coming to see me;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Just as if I had gone specially to meet him.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They took my couch and placed it in the setting sun;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They spread my rug and I leaned on the balcony-pillar.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Tranquil talk was better than any medicine;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Gradually the feelings came back to my numbed heart.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">ON THE WAY TO HANGCHOW: ANCHORED
ON THE RIVER AT NIGHT</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Little sleeping and much grieving,—the traveller<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Rises at midnight and looks back towards home.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The sands are bright with moonlight that joins the shores;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The sail is white with dew that has covered the boat.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Nearing the sea, the river grows broader and broader:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Approaching autumn,—the nights longer and longer.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Thirty times we have slept amid mists and waves,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And still we have not reached Hang-chow!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">STOPPING THE NIGHT AT JUNG-YANG</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i12">I grew up at Jung-yang;<br /></span>
<span class="i12">I was still young when I left.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On and on,—forty years passed<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Till again I stayed for the night at Jung-yang.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When I went away, I was only eleven or twelve;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">This year I am turned fifty-six.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Yet thinking back to the times of my childish games,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Whole and undimmed, still they rise before me.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The old houses have all disappeared;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Down in the village none of my people are left.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">It is not only that streets and buildings have changed;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But steep is level and level changed to steep!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Alone unchanged, the waters of Ch’iu and Yu<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Passionless,—flow in their old course.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">THE SILVER SPOON</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>While on the road to his new province, Hang-chow, in 822, he sends
a silver spoon to his niece A-kuei, whom he had been obliged to leave
behind with her nurse, old Mrs. Ts’ao.</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">To distant service my heart is well accustomed;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When I left home, it wasn’t <i>that</i> which was difficult<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But because I had to leave Miss Kuei at home—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For this it was that tears filled my eyes.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Little girls ought to be daintily fed:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Mrs. Ts’ao, please see to this!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That’s why I’ve packed and sent a silver spoon;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You will think of me and eat up your food nicely!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">THE HAT GIVEN TO THE POET BY LI
CHIEN</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Long ago to a white-haired gentleman<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You made the present of a black gauze hat.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The gauze hat still sits on my head;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But you already are gone to the Nether Springs.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The thing is old, but still fit to wear;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The man is gone and will never be seen again.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Out on the hill the moon is shining to-night<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And the trees on your tomb are swayed by the autumn wind.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">THE BIG RUG</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">That so many of the poor should suffer from cold what can we do to prevent?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To bring warmth to a single body is not much use.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I wish I had a big rug ten thousand feet long,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Which at one time could cover up every inch of the City.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">AFTER GETTING DRUNK, BECOMING
SOBER IN THE NIGHT</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Our party scattered at yellow dusk and I came home to bed;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I woke at midnight and went for a walk, leaning heavily on a friend.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As I lay on my pillow my vinous complexion, soothed by sleep, grew sober;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In front of the tower the ocean moon, accompanying the tide, had risen.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The swallows, about to return to the beams, went back to roost again;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The candle at my window, just going out, suddenly revived its light.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">All the time till dawn came, still my thoughts were muddled;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And in my ears something sounded like the music of flutes and strings.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">REALIZING THE FUTILITY OF LIFE</h4>
<div class="comment"><p>Written on the wall of a priest’s cell, <i>circa</i> 828</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Ever since the time when I was a lusty boy<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Down till now when I am ill and old,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span>
<span class="i0">The things I have cared for have been different at different times,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But my being <i>busy</i>, <i>that</i> has never changed.<br /></span>
<span class="i0"><i>Then</i> on the shore,—building sand-pagodas;<br /></span>
<span class="i0"><i>Now</i>, at Court, covered with tinkling jade.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">This and that,—equally childish games,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Things whose substance passes in a moment of time!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">While the hands are busy, the heart cannot understand;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When there are no Scriptures, then Doctrine is sound.<a name="FNanchor_87_87" id="FNanchor_87_87"></a><a href="#Footnote_87_87" class="fnanchor">[87]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">Even should one zealously strive to learn the Way,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That very striving will make one’s error more.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_87_87" id="Footnote_87_87"></a><a href="#FNanchor_87_87"><span class="label">[87]</span></a> This is the teaching of the Dhyana Sect.</p></div>
<h4 class="title">RISING LATE AND PLAYING WITH
A-TS’UI, AGED TWO</h4>
<div class="comment"><p>Written in 831</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">All the morning I have lain perversely in bed;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Now at dusk I rise with many yawns.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My warm stove is quick to get ablaze;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At the cold mirror I am slow in doing my hair.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With melted snow I boil fragrant tea;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Seasoned with curds I cook a milk-pudding.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At my sloth and greed there is no one but me to laugh;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">My cheerful vigour none but myself knows.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The taste of my wine is mild and works no poison;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The notes of my harp are soft and bring no sadness.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To the Three Joys in the book of Mencius<a name="FNanchor_88_88" id="FNanchor_88_88"></a><a href="#Footnote_88_88" class="fnanchor">[88]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">I have added the fourth of playing with my baby-boy.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_88_88" id="Footnote_88_88"></a><a href="#FNanchor_88_88"><span class="label">[88]</span></a> “Mencius,” bk. vii, pt. i, 20.</p></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">ON A BOX CONTAINING HIS OWN WORKS</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">I break up cypress and make a book-box;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The box well-made,—and the cypress-wood tough.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In it shall be kept what author’s works?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The inscription says PO LO-T’IEN.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">All my life has been spent in writing books,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">From when I was young till now that I am old.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">First and last,—seventy whole volumes;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Big and little,—three thousand themes.<a name="FNanchor_89_89" id="FNanchor_89_89"></a><a href="#Footnote_89_89" class="fnanchor">[89]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">Well I know in the end they’ll be scattered and lost;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But I cannot bear to see them thrown away<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With my own hand I open and shut the locks,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And put it carefully in front of the book-curtain.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I am like Tēng Pai-tao;<a name="FNanchor_90_90" id="FNanchor_90_90"></a><a href="#Footnote_90_90" class="fnanchor">[90]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">But to-day there is not any Wang Ts’an.<a name="FNanchor_91_91" id="FNanchor_91_91"></a><a href="#Footnote_91_91" class="fnanchor">[91]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">All I can do is to divide them among my daughters<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To be left by them to give to my grandchildren.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_89_89" id="Footnote_89_89"></a><a href="#FNanchor_89_89"><span class="label">[89]</span></a> <i>I.e.</i>, separate poems, essays, etc.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_90_90" id="Footnote_90_90"></a><a href="#FNanchor_90_90"><span class="label">[90]</span></a> Who was obliged to abandon his only child on the roadside.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_91_91" id="Footnote_91_91"></a><a href="#FNanchor_91_91"><span class="label">[91]</span></a> Who rescued a foundling.</p></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">ON BEING SIXTY</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>Addressed to Liu Mēng-tē, who had asked for a poem. He was
the same age as Po Chü-i.</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Between thirty and forty, one is distracted by the Five Lusts;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Between seventy and eighty, one is a prey to a hundred diseases.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But from fifty to sixty one is free from all ills;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Calm and still—the heart enjoys rest.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I have put behind me Love and Greed; I have done with Profit and Fame;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I am still short of illness and decay and far from decrepit age.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Strength of limb I still possess to seek the rivers and hills;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Still my heart has spirit enough to listen to flutes and strings.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At leisure I open new wine and taste several cups;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Drunken I recall old poems and sing a whole volume.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Mēng-tē has asked for a poem and herewith I exhort him<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Not to complain of three-score, “the time of obedient ears.”<a name="FNanchor_92_92" id="FNanchor_92_92"></a><a href="#Footnote_92_92" class="fnanchor">[92]</a><br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_92_92" id="Footnote_92_92"></a><a href="#FNanchor_92_92"><span class="label">[92]</span></a> Confucius said that it was not till <i>sixty</i> that “his ears obeyed
him.” This age was therefore called “the time of obedient ears.”</p></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">CLIMBING THE TERRACE OF KUAN-YIN
AND LOOKING AT THE CITY</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Hundreds of houses, thousands of houses,—like a chess-board.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The twelve streets like a field planted with rows of cabbage.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the distance perceptible, dim, dim—the fire of approaching dawn;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And a single row of stars lying to the west of the Five Gates.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">CLIMBING THE LING YING TERRACE
AND LOOKING NORTH</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Mounting on high I begin to realize the smallness of Man’s Domain;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Gazing into distance I begin to know the vanity of the Carnal World.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I turn my head and hurry home—back to the Court and Market,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A single grain of rice falling—into the Great Barn.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">GOING TO THE MOUNTAINS WITH A
LITTLE DANCING GIRL,
AGED FIFTEEN</h4>
<div class="comment"><p>Written when the poet was about sixty-five</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Two top-knots not yet plaited into one.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Of thirty years—just beyond half.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You who are really a lady of silks and satins<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Are now become my hill and stream companion!<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At the spring fountains together we splash and play:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On the lovely trees together we climb and sport.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Her cheeks grow rosy, as she quickens her sleeve-dancing:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Her brows grow sad, as she slows her song’s tune.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Don’t go singing the Song of the Willow Branches,<a name="FNanchor_93_93" id="FNanchor_93_93"></a><a href="#Footnote_93_93" class="fnanchor">[93]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">When there’s no one here with a heart for you to break!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_93_93" id="Footnote_93_93"></a><a href="#FNanchor_93_93"><span class="label">[93]</span></a> A plaintive love-song, to which Po Chü-i had himself written
words.</p></div>
<h4 class="title">DREAMING OF YÜAN CHĒN</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>This was written eight years after Yüan Chēn’s death, when
Po-Chü-i was sixty-eight.</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">At night you came and took my hand and we wandered together in my dream;<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span>
<span class="i0">When I woke in the morning there was no one to stop the tears that fell on my handkerchief.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">On the banks of the Ch’ang my aged body three times<a name="FNanchor_94_94" id="FNanchor_94_94"></a><a href="#Footnote_94_94" class="fnanchor">[94]</a> has passed through sickness;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">At Hsien-yang<a name="FNanchor_95_95" id="FNanchor_95_95"></a><a href="#Footnote_95_95" class="fnanchor">[95]</a> to the grasses on your grave eight times has autumn come.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">You lie buried beneath the springs and your bones are mingled with the clay.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I—lodging in the world of men; my hair white as snow.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A-wei and Han-lang<a name="FNanchor_96_96" id="FNanchor_96_96"></a><a href="#Footnote_96_96" class="fnanchor">[96]</a> both followed in their turn;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Among the shadows of the Terrace of Night did you know them or not?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_94_94" id="Footnote_94_94"></a><a href="#FNanchor_94_94"><span class="label">[94]</span></a> Since you died.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_95_95" id="Footnote_95_95"></a><a href="#FNanchor_95_95"><span class="label">[95]</span></a> Near Ch’ang-an, modern Si-ngan-fu.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_96_96" id="Footnote_96_96"></a><a href="#FNanchor_96_96"><span class="label">[96]</span></a> Affectionate names of Li Chien and Ts’ui Hsüan-liang.</p></div>
<h4 class="title">A DREAM OF MOUNTAINEERING</h4>
<div class="comment"><p>Written when he was over seventy</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">At night, in my dream, I stoutly climbed a mountain.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Going out alone with my staff of holly-wood.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A thousand crags, a hundred hundred valleys—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In my dream-journey none were unexplored<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And all the while my feet never grew tired<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And my step was as strong as in my young days.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Can it be that when the mind travels backward<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The body also returns to its old state?<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And can it be, as between body and soul,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">That the body may languish, while the soul is still strong?<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span>
<span class="i0">Soul and body—both are vanities:<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Dreaming and waking—both alike unreal.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the day my feet are palsied and tottering;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the night my steps go striding over the hills.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">As day and night are divided in equal parts—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Between the two, I <i>get</i> as much as I <i>lose</i>.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">EASE</h4>
<div class="comment">
<p>Congratulating himself on the comforts of his life after his retirement
from office. Written <i>circa</i> 844.</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Lined coat, warm cap and easy felt slippers,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the little tower, at the low window, sitting over the sunken brazier.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Body at rest, heart at peace; no need to rise early.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I wonder if the courtiers at the Western Capital know of these things, or not?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h4 class="title">ON HEARING SOMEONE SING A POEM
BY YÜAN CHĒN</h4>
<div class="comment"><p>Written long after Chēn’s death</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">No new poems his brush will trace:<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Even his fame is dead.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">His old poems are deep in dust<br /></span>
<span class="i2">At the bottom of boxes and cupboards.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Once lately, when someone was singing,<br /></span>
<span class="i2">Suddenly I heard a verse—<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Before I had time to catch the words<br /></span>
<span class="i2">A pain had stabbed my heart.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">THE PHILOSOPHERS</h4>
<h5><span class="small smcap">Lao-tzŭ</span></h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">“Those who speak know nothing;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Those who know are silent.”<br /></span>
<span class="i0">These words, as I am told,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Were spoken by Lao-tzŭ.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">If we are to believe that Lao-tzŭ<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Was himself <i>one who knew</i>,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">How comes it that he wrote a book<br /></span>
<span class="i4">Of five thousand words?<br /></span>
</div></div>
<h5><span class="small smcap">Chuang-tzŭ, the Monist</span></h5>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Chuang-tzŭ levels all things<br /></span>
<span class="i0">And reduces them to the same Monad.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">But <i>I</i> say that even in their sameness<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Difference may be found.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Although in following the promptings of their nature<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They display the same tendency,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Yet it seems to me that in some ways<br /></span>
<span class="i0">A phœnix is superior to a reptile!<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">TAOISM AND BUDDHISM</h4>
<div class="comment"><p>Written shortly before his death</p></div>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">A traveller came from across the seas<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Telling of strange sights.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">“In a deep fold of the sea-hills<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I saw a terrace and tower.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">In the midst there stood a Fairy Temple<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With one niche empty.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They all told me this was waiting<br /></span>
<span class="i0">For Lo-t’ien to come.”<br /></span>
</div><div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">Traveller, I have studied the Empty Gate;<a name="FNanchor_97_97" id="FNanchor_97_97"></a><a href="#Footnote_97_97" class="fnanchor">[97]</a><br /></span>
<span class="i0">I am no disciple of Fairies<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The story you have just told<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Is nothing but an idle tale.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">The hills of ocean shall never be<br /></span>
<span class="i0">Lo-t’ien’s home.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When I leave the earth it will be to go<br /></span>
<span class="i0">To the Heaven of Bliss Fulfilled.<a name="FNanchor_98_98" id="FNanchor_98_98"></a><a href="#Footnote_98_98" class="fnanchor">[98]</a><br /></span>
</div></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_97_97" id="Footnote_97_97"></a><a href="#FNanchor_97_97"><span class="label">[97]</span></a> Buddhism. The poem is quite frivolous, as is shown by his claim
to Bodhisattva-hood.</p></div>
<div class="footnote">
<p><a name="Footnote_98_98" id="Footnote_98_98"></a><a href="#FNanchor_98_98"><span class="label">[98]</span></a> The “tushita” Heaven, where Bodhisattvas wait till it is time for
them to appear on earth as Buddhas.</p></div>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span></p>
<h4 class="title">LAST POEM</h4>
<div class="poem"><div class="stanza">
</div>
<hr class="tb" />
<div class="stanza">
<span class="i0">They have put my bed beside the unpainted screen;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">They have shifted my stove in front of the blue curtain.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I listen to my grandchildren, reading me a book;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I watch the servants, heating up my soup.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">With rapid pencil I answer the poems of friends;<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I feel in my pockets and pull out medicine-money.<br /></span>
<span class="i0">When this superintendence of trifling affairs is done,<br /></span>
<span class="i0">I lie back on my pillows and sleep with my face to the<br /></span>
<span class="i0">South.<br /></span>
</div></div>
<p class="p4 center">THE END</p>
<p class="p4 center">
CHISWICK PRESS: PRINTED BY CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO.<br />
TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.
</p>
<div class="p4 transnote">
<h2>Transcriber’s Note</h2>
<p>The half-title page has been removed from the text.</p>
<p>The following printed errata have been incorporated into the text:</p>
<div class="center">
<table class="tdl" border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="">
<tr><td>P. 21, heading,</td><td>for</td><td><span class="smcap lowercase">BIOGRAPHICAL</span></td><td>read</td><td><span class="smcap lowercase">BIBLIOGRAPHICAL</span>.</td></tr>
<tr><td>P. 27, l. 7</td><td align="center">„</td><td><i>single of</i></td><td align="center">„</td><td><i>single one of</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td>P. 29, l. 9</td><td align="center">„</td><td><i>eat</i></td><td align="center">„</td><td><i>ate</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td>P. 32, l. 23</td><td align="center">„</td><td><i>houses</i></td><td align="center">„</td><td><i>house</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td>P. 65, l. 3</td><td align="center">„</td><td><i>standing</i></td><td align="center">„</td><td><i>stand</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td>P. 88, l. 15</td><td align="center">„</td><td><i>pillar</i></td><td align="center">„</td><td><i>pillow</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td>P. 109, l. 22</td><td align="center">„</td><td><i>Memories</i></td><td align="center">„</td><td><i>Mémoires</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td>P. 116, last line,</td><td align="center">„</td><td><i>Turn</i></td><td align="center">„</td><td><i>Turns</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td>P. 134, l. 10</td><td align="center">„</td><td><i>and of Wu</i></td><td align="center">„</td><td><i>and Wu</i>.</td></tr>
<tr><td>P. 165, l. 13</td><td align="center">„</td><td><i>the things</i></td><td align="center">„</td><td><i>these things</i>.</td></tr>
</table></div>
<p>The following additional errors have been corrected:</p>
<ul>
<li>p. v “Fu jēn” changed to “Fu-jēn”</li>
<li>p. v “Chicago)” changed to “(Chicago)”</li>
<li>p. 21 “Two articles of” changed to “Two articles on”</li>
<li>p. 23 ““Li Sao,” changed to ““Li Sao,””</li>
<li>p. 26 “next door” changed to “next door.”</li>
<li>p. 33 “the night.” changed to “the night.””</li>
<li>p. 56 “again.” changed to “again.””</li>
<li>p. 62 “Hsien-mēn” changed to “Hsien-mēn[23]”</li>
<li>p. 106 “as he tells us” changed to “as he tells us,”</li>
<li>p. 118 “wrote your letter” changed to “wrote your letter.”</li>
<li>p. 131 “Yin and Yang.”” changed to “Yin and Yang.”[61]”</li></ul>
<p>The following are used inconsistently in the text:</p>
<ul><li>forename and fore-name</li>
<li>fourscore and four-score</li>
<li>goodbye and good-bye</li>
<li>hairpins and hair-pins</li>
<li>Hangchow and Hang-chow</li>
<li>Hsüan-liang and Hsuan-liang</li>
<li>lifetime and life-time</li>
<li>roadside and road-side</li>
<li>siècle and Siècle</li>
<li>Yangtze and Yang-tze</li></ul>
<p>Some lines have been left as printed, with no end punctuation:</p>
<ul><li>p. 49 “mid-stream white waves rise”</li>
<li>p. 78 “over the story of King Chou”</li>
<li>p. 121 ““medium’s” advice”</li>
<li>p. 122 “The wind stirs and sighs”</li>
<li>p. 156 “which was difficult”</li>
<li>p. 160 “them thrown away”</li>
<li>p. 167 “disciple of Fairies”</li></ul>
<p>Other possible errors have been left as printed:</p>
<ul><li>p. 117 “And threw you my clothes”</li>
<li>p. 143 (note) “Giles, 2526”</li>
<li>p. 141 “village of Hsin-fēng?”</li></ul>
</div>
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 42290 ***</div>
</body>
</html>
|
