No More Learning

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.

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
_emotions_. These he reserves entirely for friendship.

Accordingly we find that while our poets tend to lay stress on
physical courage and other qualities which normal women admire,
Po Chu-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.

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.

Readers of these translations may imagine that the culture represented
by Po Chu-i extended over the whole vast confines of China. This would,
I think, be an error. Culture is essentially a metropolitan product.
Chu-i was as much _depayse_ at a provincial town as Charles Lamb would
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. "

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.

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. "

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.

Love-poetry addressed by a man to a woman ceases after 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.

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. "

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.

Classical allusion, always the vice of Chinese poetry, finally destroyed
it altogether. In the later periods (from 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 Yu 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.

Such were the artificialities of later Chinese poetry.


TECHNIQUE

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.

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; the Greeks did not exploit it,
but seem to have tolerated it when it occurred accidentally.

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. "

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. [1]

[1] Not to be confused with the Four Tones of the Mandarin dialect, in
which the old names are used to describe quite different enunciations.

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 Sh? n Yo (A. D. 441-513) first propounded the
laws of tone-succession in poetry. From that time till the eighth
century the _Lu-shih_ or "strictly regulated poem" gradually evolved.
But poets continued (and continue till to-day), side by side with their
_lu-shih_, to write in the old metre which disregards tone, calling such
poems _Ku shih_, "old poems. " Previous European statements about
Chinese prosody should be accepted with great caution. Writers have
attempted to define the _lu-shih_ with far too great precision.

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. "

The reader will infer that the distinction between "old poems" and
irregular _lu-shih_ 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 _rhyme_, 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.

_Rhyme. _--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
_ywet_, "moon," rhymed with _sek_, "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.

The rhymes used in _lu-shih_ 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 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
_made_ rhyme with _maid_.

I will now attempt to distinguish between _Ku-shih_ (old style) and
_Lu-shih_ (new style).

_Ku-shih (Old Style). _

(_a_) 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.

(_b_) "Deflected" words are used for rhyming as freely as "flat" words.

(_c_) 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. )

_Lu-shih (New Style). _

(_a_) 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 _Lu-shih_ and a tendency in
this direction is found even in _Ku-shih_.

(_b_) There is a tendency to antithetical arrangement of tones in the
two lines of a couplet, especially in the last part of the lines.

(_c_) A tendency for the tones to go in _pairs_, _e. g. _ (A lat, B deflected): AA BBA or ABB AA, rather than in _threes_. Three like tones
only come together when divided by a "cesura," _e. g. _, the line BB / AAA
would be avoided, but not the line BBAA / ABB.

(_d_) Verbal parallelism in the couplet, _e. g. _:

After long illness one first realizes that seeking medicines is
a mistake;
In one's decaying years one begins to repent that one's study of
books was deferred.

This device, used with some discretion in T'ang, becomes an irritating
trick in the hands of the Sung poets.


THE RISE AND PROGRESS OF CHINESE POETRY

_The Odes. _--From the songs current in his day Confucius (551-479 B. C. )
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 _lyric_ 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.

_Elegies of the Land of Ch'u. _--We come next to Ch'u Yuan (third century
B. C. ) whose famous poem "Li Sao," 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 Chu Yuan'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 _propre nevrosite_.

"The Battle," his one thoroughly intelligible poem, has hitherto been
only very imperfectly translated. A literal version will be found on p.
23.

His nephew Sung Yu 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.

_The Han Dynasty. _--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 _shih_, which
were recited. Ch'in Chia's poem and his wife's reply (p. 54) are both
_shih_; but all the rest might, I think, be counted as songs.

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.

_The Chin Dynasty. _

(1) _Popular Songs_ (Songs of Wu). The popular songs referred to the Wu
(Soochow) district and attributed to the 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 _coplas_ of Spain,
_cf. _:

_El candil se esta apagando,
La alcuza no tiene aceite--
No te digo que te vayas, . . .
No te digo que te quedes. _

The brazier is going out,
The lamp has no more oil--
I do not tell you to go, . . .
I do not tell you to stay.

A Han song, which I will translate quite literally, seems to be the
forerunner of the Wu songs.

On two sides of river, wedding made:
Time comes; no boat.
Lusting heart loses hope
Not seeing what-it-desires.

(2) _The Taoists. _--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 A. D.
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.

They reduced to the simplest standard their houses, apparel, and food;
and discarded the load of book-learning which Confucianism imposed on
its adherents.

The greatest of these recluses was T'ao Ch'ien (A. D. 365-427), twelve of
whose poems will be found on p. 71, _seq. _ Something of his philosophy
may be gathered from the poem "Substance, Shadow, and Spirit" (p. 73),
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.

_Liang and Minor Dynasties. _--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. The Emperor Yuan-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. 90.
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. "

_T'ang. _--I have already described the technical developments of poetry
during this dynasty. Form was at this 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.

In the main, T'ang confines itself to a narrow range of stock subjects.
The _mise-en-scene_ 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
_ku-shih_ 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 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 Chu-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.

_Sung. _--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'? " 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'? " 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 Chu-i, for whom in his critical writings he expresses
boundless admiration.

A word must be said of the Fu (descriptive prose-poems) of this time.
They resemble the _vers libres_ 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 Yuan
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 Chu-i and Su Tung-p'o.

* * * * *

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.

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.




THE METHOD OF TRANSLATION


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.

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.

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.

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 the Chinese,
I have preferred to vary the metre of my version, rather than pad out
the line with unnecessary verbiage.

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.




BIBLIOGRAPHICAL NOTES


1. H. A. Giles, "Chinese Poetry in English Verse. " 1896. 212 pp.
Combines rhyme and literalness with wonderful dexterity.

2. Hervey St. Denys, "Poesies 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.

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 Chu-i _about_ Yang T'ai-ch? n is here given as a complete poem
and ascribed to "Yan-Ta-Tchen" as author. The poet Han Yu 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
_literatus_ whom Theophile Gautier befriended. But the credit for the
beauty of these often erroneous renderings must go to Mademoiselle
Gautier herself.

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.

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.

6. A. Pfizmaier, two articles (1886 and 1887) on Po Chu-i in "Denkschr.
d. Kais. Ak. in Wien. " So full of mistakes as to be of very little
value, except in so far as they served to call the attention of the
European reader to this poet.

7. L. Woitsch, "Aus den Gedichten Po Chu-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.

8. E. von Zachs, "Lexicographische Beitrage. " Vols. ii and iv.
Re-translation of two poems previously mistranslated by Pfizmaier.

9. S. Imbault-Huart, "La Poesie Chinoise du 14 au 19 siecle. " 1886. 93
pp.

10. S. Imbault-Huart, "Un Poete Chinois du 18 Siecle. " (Yuan Mei. )
Journ. of China Branch, Royal As. Soc. , N. S. , vol. xix, part 2, 42 pp.

11. S. Imbault-Huart, "Poesies Modernes. " 1892. 46 pp.

12. A. Forke, "Bluthen Chinesischer Dichtung. " 1899. Rhymed versions of
Li Po and pre-T'ang poems.

A fuller bibliography will be found in Cordier's "Bibliotheca Sinica. "




CHAPTER I


BATTLE

By Ch'u Yuan (332-295 B. C. ), 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.

"We grasp our battle-spears: we don our breast-plates of hide.
The axles of our chariots touch: our short swords meet.
Standards obscure the sun: the foe roll up like clouds.
Arrows fall thick: the warriors press forward.
They menace our ranks: they break our line.
The left-hand trace-horse is dead: the one on the right is smitten.
The fallen horses block our wheels: they impede the yoke-horses! "

They grasp their jade drum-sticks: they beat the sounding drums.
Heaven decrees their fall: the dread Powers are angry.

The warriors are all dead: they lie on the moor-field.
They issued but shall not enter: they went but shall not return.
The plains are flat and wide: the way home is long.

Their swords lie beside them: their black bows, in their hand.
Though their limbs were torn, their hearts could not be repressed.
They were more than brave: they were inspired with the spirit of
"Wu. "[2]
Steadfast to the end, they could not be daunted.
Their bodies were stricken, but their souls have taken Immortality--
Captains among the ghosts, heroes among the dead.

[2] _I. e. _, military genius.


THE MAN-WIND AND THE WOMAN-WIND

A "fu," or prose-poem, by Sung Yu (fourth century B. C. ), nephew of Ch'u
Yuan.

Hsiang, king of Ch'u, was feasting in the Orchid-tower Palace, with Sung
Yu 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 Yu 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 Sung answered: "The
wind is born in the ground. It rises in the extremities of the green
p'ing-flower.