No More Learning

He composes a memorial, but it is rejected and unread,
He is left stranded, like a fish in a dry pond.
Without--he has not a single farthing of salary:
Within--there is not a peck of grain in his larder.
His relations upbraid him for his lack of success:
His friends and callers daily decrease in number.
Su Ch'in used to go preaching in the North
And Li Ss? sent a memorandum to the West.
I once hoped to pluck the fruits of life:
But now alas, they are all withered and dry.
Though one drinks at a river, one cannot drink more than a bellyful;
Enough is good, but there is no use in satiety.
The bird in a forest can perch but on one bough,
And this should be the wise man's pattern.


THE DESECRATION OF THE HAN TOMBS

By Chang Tsai (third century A. D. )

At Pei-mang how they rise to Heaven,
Those high mounds, four or five in the fields!
What men lie buried under these tombs?
All of them were Lords of the Han world.
"Kung" and "W? n"[27] gaze across at each other:
The Yuan mound is all grown over with weeds.
When the dynasty was falling, tumult and disorder arose,
Thieves and robbers roamed like wild beasts.
Of earth[28] they have carried away more than one handful,
They have gone into vaults and opened the secret doors.
Jewelled scabbards lie twisted and defaced:
The stones that were set in them, thieves have carried away,
The ancestral temples are hummocks in the ground:
The walls that went round them are all levelled flat.
Over everything the tangled thorns are growing:
A herd-boy pushes through them up the path.
Down in the thorns rabbits have made their burrows:
The weeds and thistles will never be cleared away.
Over the tombs the ploughshare will be driven
And peasants will have their fields and orchards there.
They that were once lords of a thousand hosts
Are now become the dust of the hills and ridges.
I think of what Yun-m? n[29] said
And am sorely grieved at the thought of "then" and "now. "

[27] Names of two tombs.

[28] 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.

[29] Yun-m? n said to M? ng Ch'ang-chun (died 279 B. C. ), "Does it not
grieve you to think that after a hundred years this terrace will be cast
down and this pond cleared away? " M? ng Ch'ang-chun wept.


BEARER'S SONG

By Miu Hsi (died A. D. 245). _Cf. _ the "Han Burial Songs," p. 38.

When I was alive, I wandered in the streets of the Capital:
Now that I am dead, I am left to lie in the fields.
In the morning I drove out from the High Hall:
In the evening I lodged beneath the Yellow Springs. [30]
When the white sun had sunk in the Western Chasm
I hung up my chariot and rested my four horses.
Now, even the mighty Maker of All
Could not bring the life back to my limbs.
Shape and substance day by day will vanish:
Hair and teeth will gradually fall away.
Forever from of old men have been so:
And none born can escape this thing.

[30] Hades.


THE VALLEY WIND

By Lu Yun (fourth century A. D. )

Living in retirement beyond the World,
Silently enjoying isolation,
I pull the rope of my door tighter
And stuff my window with roots and ferns.
My spirit is tuned to the Spring-season:
At the fall of the year there is autumn in my heart.
Thus imitating cosmic changes
My cottage becomes a Universe.




CHAPTER III

POEMS BY T'AO CH'IEN


(1)

Shady, shady the wood in front of the Hall:
At midsummer full of calm shadows.
The south wind follows summer's train:
With its eddying-puffs it blows open my coat.
I am free from ties and can live a life of retirement.
When I rise from sleep, I play with books and harp.
The lettuce in the garden still grows moist:
Of last year's grain there is always plenty left.
Self-support should maintain strict limits:
More than enough is not what I want.
I grind millet and make good wine:
When the wine is heated, I pour it out for myself.
My little children are playing at my side,
Learning to talk, they babble unformed sounds.
These things have made me happy again
And I forget my lost cap of office.
Distant, distant I gaze at the white clouds:
With a deep yearning I think of the Sages of Antiquity.


(2)

In the quiet of the morning I heard a knock at my door:
I threw on my clothes and opened it myself.
I asked who it was who had come so early to see me:
He said he was a peasant, coming with good intent.
He brought a present of wine and rice-soup,
Believing that I had fallen on evil days.
"You live in rags under a thatched roof
And seem to have no desire for a better lot.
The rest of mankind have all the same ambitions:
You, too, must learn to wallow in their mire. "
"Old man, I am impressed by what you say,
But my soul is not fashioned like other men's.
To drive in their rut I might perhaps learn:
To be untrue to myself could only lead to muddle.
Let us drink and enjoy together the wine you have brought:
For my course is set and cannot now be altered. "


(3)

A long time ago
I went on a journey,
Right to the corner
Of the Eastern Ocean.
The road there
Was long and winding,
And stormy waves
Barred my path.
What made me
Go this way?
Hunger drove me
Into the World.
I tried hard
To fill my belly:
And even a little
Seemed a lot.
But this was clearly
A bad bargain,
So I went home
And lived in idleness.


(4)

SUBSTANCE, SHADOW, AND SPIRIT

High and low, wise and simple, all busily hoard up the
moments of life. How greatly they err!

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.

_Substance speaks to Shadow_:

Heaven and Earth exist for ever:
Mountains and rivers never change.
But herbs and trees in perpetual rotation
Are renovated and withered by the dews and frosts:
And Man the wise, Man the divine--
Shall he alone escape this law?
Fortuitously appearing for a moment in the World
He suddenly departs, never to return.
How can he know that the friends he has left
Are missing him and thinking of him?
Only the things that he used remain;
They look upon them and their tears flow.
Me no magical arts can save,
Though you may hope for a wizard's aid.
I beg you listen to this advice--
When you can get wine, be sure to drink it.

_Shadow replies_:

There is no way to preserve life.
Drugs of Immortality are instruments of folly.
I would gladly wander in Paradise,
But it is far away and there is no road.
Since the day that I was joined to you
We have shared all our joys and pains.
While you rested in the shade, I left you a while:
But till the end we shall be together.
Our joint existence is impermanent:
Sadly together we shall slip away.
That when the body decays Fame should also go
Is a thought unendurable, burning the heart.
Let us strive and labour while yet we may
To do some deed that men will praise.
Wine may in truth dispel our sorrow,
But how compare it with lasting Fame?

_Spirit expounds_:

God can only set in motion:
He cannot control the things he has made.
Man, the second of the Three Orders,
Owes his precedence to Me.
Though I am different from you,
We were born involved in one another:
Nor by any means can we escape
The intimate sharing of good and ill.
The Three Emperors were saintly men,
Yet to-day--where are they?
P'? ng[31] lived to a great age,
Yet he went at last, when he longed to stay.
And late or soon, all go:
Wise and simple have no reprieve.
Wine may bring forgetfulness,
But does it not hasten old-age?
If you set your heart on noble deeds,
How do you know that any will praise you?
By all this thinking you do Me injury:
You had better go where Fate leads--
Drift on the Stream of Infinite Flux,
Without joy, without fear:
When you must go--then go,
And make as little fuss as you can.

[31] The Chinese Methuselah.


(5)

Chill and harsh the year draws to its close:
In my cotton dress I seek sunlight on the porch.
In the southern orchard all the leaves are gone:
In the north garden rotting boughs lie heaped.
I empty my cup and drink it down to the dregs:
I look towards the kitchen, but no smoke rises.
Poems and books lie piled beside my chair:
But the light is going and I shall not have time to read them.
My life here is not like the Agony in Ch'? n,[32]
But often I have to bear bitter reproaches.
Let me then remember, to calm my heart's distress,
That the Sages of old were often in like case.

[32] Confucius was maltreated in Ch'? n.


(6)

BLAMING SONS

(AN APOLOGY FOR HIS OWN DRUNKENNESS)

White hair covers my temples,
I am wrinkled and seared beyond repair,
And though I have got five sons,
They all hate paper and brush.
A-shu is eighteen:
For laziness there is none like him.
A-hsuan does his best,
But really loathes the Fine Arts.
Yung-tuan is thirteen.
But does not know "six" from "seven. "[33]
T'ung-tz? in his ninth year
Is only concerned with things to eat.
If Heaven treats me like this,
What can I do but fill my cup?

[33] Written in Chinese with two characters very easy to distinguish.


(7)

I built my hut in a zone of human habitation,
Yet near me there sounds no noise of horse or coach.
Would you know how that is possible?
A heart that is distant creates a wilderness round it.
I pluck chrysanthemums under the eastern hedge,
Then gaze long at the distant summer hills.
The mountain air is fresh at the dusk of day:
The flying birds two by two return.
In these things there lies a deep meaning;
Yet when we would express it, words suddenly fail us.


(8)

MOVING HOUSE

My old desire to live in the Southern Village
Was not because I had taken a fancy to the house.
But I heard it was a place of simple-minded men
With whom it were a joy to spend the mornings and evenings.
Many years I had longed to settle here:
Now at last I have managed to move house.
I do not mind if my cottage is rather small
So long as there's room enough for bed and mat.
Often and often the neighbours come to see me
And with brave words discuss the things of old.
Rare writings we read together and praise:
Doubtful meanings we examine together and settle.


(9)

RETURNING TO THE FIELDS

When I was young, I was out of tune with the herd:
My only love was for the hills and mountains.
Unwitting I fell into the Web of the World's dust
And was not free until my thirtieth year.
The migrant bird longs for the old wood:
The fish in the tank thinks of its native pool.
I had rescued from wildness a patch of the Southern Moor
And, still rustic, I returned to field and garden.
My ground covers no more than ten acres:
My thatched cottage has eight or nine rooms.
Elms and willows cluster by the eaves:
Peach trees and plum trees grow before the Hall.
Hazy, hazy the distant hamlets of men.
Steady the smoke of the half-deserted village,
A dog barks somewhere in the deep lanes,
A cock crows at the top of the mulberry tree.
At gate and courtyard--no murmur of the World's dust:
In the empty rooms--leisure and deep stillness.
Long I lived checked by the bars of a cage:
Now I have turned again to Nature and Freedom.


(10)

READING THE BOOK OF HILLS AND SEAS

In the month of June the grass grows high
And round my cottage thick-leaved branches sway.
There is not a bird but delights in the place where it rests:
And I too--love my thatched cottage.
I have done my ploughing:
I have sown my seed.
Again I have time to sit and read my books.
In the narrow lane there are no deep ruts:
Often my friends' carriages turn back.
In high spirits I pour out my spring wine
And pluck the lettuce growing in my garden.
A gentle rain comes stealing up from the east
And a sweet wind bears it company.
My thoughts float idly over the story of King Chou
My eyes wander over the pictures of Hills and Seas.
At a single glance I survey the whole Universe.
He will never be happy, whom such pleasures fail to please!


(11)

FLOOD

The lingering clouds, rolling, rolling,
And the settled rain, dripping, dripping,
In the Eight Directions--the same dusk.
The level lands--one great river.
Wine I have, wine I have:
Idly I drink at the eastern window.
Longingly--I think of my friends,
But neither boat nor carriage comes.


(12)

NEW CORN

Swiftly the years, beyond recall.
Solemn the stillness of this fair morning.
I will clothe myself in spring-clothing
And visit the slopes of the Eastern Hill.
By the mountain-stream a mist hovers,
Hovers a moment, then scatters.
There comes a wind blowing from the south
That brushes the fields of new corn.




CHAPTER IV


INVITING GUESTS

By Ch'? ng-kung Sui (died A. D. 273)

I sent out invitations
To summon guests.
I collected together
All my friends.
Loud talk
And simple feasting:
Discussion of philosophy,
Investigation of subtleties.
Tongues loosened
And minds at one.
Hearts refreshed
By discharge of emotion!


CLIMBING A MOUNTAIN

By Tao-yun (_circa_ A. D. 400), wife of General Wang Ning-chih. The
general was so stupid that she finally deserted him.

High rises the Eastern Peak
Soaring up to the blue sky.
Among the rocks--an empty hollow,
Secret, still, mysterious!
Uncarved and unhewn,
Screened by nature with a roof of clouds.
Times and Seasons, what things are you
Bringing to my life ceaseless change?
I will lodge for ever in this hollow
Where Springs and Autumns unheeded pass.


SAILING HOMEWARD

By Chan Fang-sh? ng (fourth century A. D. )

Cliffs that rise a thousand feet
Without a break,
Lake that stretches a hundred miles
Without a wave,
Sands that are white through all the year,
Without a stain,
Pine-tree woods, winter and summer
Ever-green,
Streams that for ever flow and flow
Without a pause,
Trees that for twenty thousand years
Your vows have kept,
You have suddenly healed the pain of a traveller's heart,
And moved his brush to write a new song.


FIVE "TZ? -YEH" SONGS

At the time when blossoms
Fall from the cherry-tree:
On a day when yellow birds
Hovered in the branches--
You said you must stop,
Because your horse was tired:
I said I must go,
Because my silkworms were hungry.

All night I could not sleep
Because of the moonlight on my bed.
I kept on hearing a voice calling:
Out of Nowhere, Nothing answered "yes. "

I will carry my coat and not put on my belt;
With unpainted eyebrows I will stand at the front window.
My tiresome petticoat keeps on flapping about;
If it opens a little, I shall blame the spring wind.

I heard my love was going to Yang-chou
And went with him as far as Ch'u-shan.
For a moment when you held me fast in your outstretched arms
I thought the river stood still and did not flow.

I have brought my pillow and am lying at the northern window,
So come to me and play with me awhile.
With so much quarrelling and so few kisses
How long do you think our love can last?


THE LITTLE LADY OF CH'ING-HSI

(A CHILDREN'S SONG)

Her door opened on the white water
Close by the side of the timber bridge:
That's where the little lady lived
All alone without a lover.


PLUCKING THE RUSHES

(A BOY AND GIRL ARE SENT TO GATHER RUSHES FOR THATCHING)

Anon. (fourth century)

Green rushes with red shoots,
Long leaves bending to the wind--
You and I in the same boat
Plucking rushes at the Five Lakes.
We started at dawn from the orchid-island:
We rested under the elms till noon.
You and I plucking rushes
Had not plucked a handful when night came!


BALLAD OF THE WESTERN ISLAND IN THE NORTH COUNTRY

"Seeing the plum-tree I thought of the Western Island
And I plucked a branch to send to the North Country.
I put on my dress of apricot-yellow silk
And bound up my hair black as the crow's wing.
But which is the road that leads to the Western Island?
I'll ask the man at the ferry by the Bridge of Boats.
But the sun is sinking and the orioles flying home:
And the wind is blowing and sighing in the walnut-tree.
I'll stand under the tree just beside the gate:
I'll stand by the door and show off my enamelled hair-pins. "
She's opened the gate, but her lover has not come:
She's gone out at the gate to pluck red lotus.
As she plucks the lotus on the southern dyke in autumn,
The lotus flowers stand higher than a man's head.
She bends down--and plays with the lotus seeds,
The lotus seeds are green like the lake-water.
She gathers the flowers and puts them into her gown--
The lotus-bud that is red all through.
She thinks of her lover, her lover that does not come:
She looks up and sees the wild geese flying--
The Western Island is full of wild geese.
To look for her lover she climbs the Blue Tower.
The tower is high: she looks, but cannot see:
All day she leans on the balcony rails.
The rail is twisted into a twelve-fold pattern.
She lets fall her hand white like the colour of jade.
She rolls up the awning, she sees the wide sky,
And the sea-water waving its vacant blue.
"The sea shall carry my dreams far away,
So that you shall be sorry at last for my sorrow.
If the South wind--only knew my thoughts
It would blow my dreams till they got to the Western Island. "


SONG

By Tsang Chih (sixth century)

I was brought up under the Stone Castle:
My window opened on to the castle tower.
In the castle were beautiful young men
Who waved to me as they went in and out.


SONG OF THE MEN OF CHIN-LING

(MARCHING BACK INTO THE CAPITAL)

By Hsieh T'iao (fifth century A. D. )

Chiang-nan is a glorious and beautiful land,
And Chin-ling an exalted and kingly province!
The green canals of the city stretch on and on
And its high towers stretch up and up.
Flying gables lean over the bridle-road:
Drooping willows cover the Royal Aqueduct.
Shrill flutes sing by the coach's awning,
And reiterated drums bang near its painted wheels.
The names of the deserving shall be carved on the Cloud Terrace. [34]
And for those who have done valiantly rich reward awaits.

[34] The Record Office.


THE SCHOLAR RECRUIT

By Pao Chao (died A. D. 466)

Now late
I follow Time's Necessity:[35]
Mounting a barricade I pacify remote tribes.
Discarding my sash I don a coat of rhinoceros-skin:
Rolling up my skirts I shoulder a black bow.
Even at the very start my strength fails:
What will become of me before it's all over?

[35] _I. e. _, "enlist. "


THE RED HILLS

By Pao Chao

Red hills lie athwart us as a menace in the west,
And fiery mountains glare terrible in the south.
The body burns, the head aches and throbs:
If a bird light here, its soul forthwith departs.
Warm springs
Pour from cloudy pools
And hot smoke issues between the rocks.
The sun and moon are perpetually obscured:
The rain and dew never stay dry.
There are red serpents a hundred feet long,
And black snakes ten girths round.
The sand-spitters shoot their poison at the sunbeams:
The flying insects are ill with the shifting glare.
The hungry monkeys dare not come down to eat:
The morning birds dare not set out to fly.
At the Ching river many die of poison:
Crossing the Lu one is lucky if one is only ill.
Our living feet walk on dead ground:
Our high wills surmount the snares of Fate.
The Spear-boat General[36] got but little honour:
The Wave-subduer[37] met with scant reward.
If our Prince still grudges the things that are easy to give,[38]
Can he hope that his soldiers will give what is hardest to give? [39]

[36] Hou Yen (first century B. C. ).

[37] Ma Yuan (first century A. D. ).

[38] Rewards and titles.

[39] Life.


DREAMING OF A DEAD LADY

"I heard at night your long sighs
And knew that you were thinking of me. "
As she spoke, the doors of Heaven opened
And our souls conversed and I saw her face.
She set me a pillow to rest on
And she brought me meat and drink.

* * * * *

I stood beside her where she lay,
But suddenly woke and she was not there:
And none knew how my soul was torn,
How the tears fell surging over my breast.


THE LIBERATOR

A POLITICAL ALLEGORY

By Wu-ti, emperor of the Liang dynasty (A. D. 464-549)

In the high trees--many doleful winds:
The ocean waters--lashed into waves.
If the sharp sword be not in your hand,
How can you hope your friends will remain many?
Do you not see that sparrow on the fence?
Seeing the hawk it casts itself into the snare.
The fowler to catch the sparrow is delighted:
The Young Man to see the sparrow is grieved.
He takes his sword and cuts through the netting:
The yellow sparrow flies away, away.
Away, away, up to the blue sky
And down again to thank the Young Man.


LO-YANG

By the Emperor Ch'ien W? n-ti (sixth century)

A beautiful place is the town of Lo-yang:
The big streets are full of spring light.
The lads go driving out with harps in their hands:
The mulberry girls go out to the fields with their baskets.
Golden whips glint at the horses' flanks.
Gauze sleeves brush the green boughs.
Racing dawn, the carriages come home,--
And the girls with their high baskets full of fruit.


WINTER NIGHT

My bed is so empty that I keep on waking up:
As the cold increases, the night-wind begins to blow.
It rustles the curtains, making a noise like the sea:
Oh that those were waves which could carry me back to you!


THE REJECTED WIFE

By Yuan-ti (508-554). See page 15.

Entering the Hall, she meets the new wife:
Leaving the gate, she runs into her former husband.
Words stick: she does not manage to say anything:
She presses her hands together and hesitates.
Agitates moon-like fan--sheds pearl-like tears--
Realizes she loves him just as much as ever:
That her present pain will never come to an end.


PEOPLE HIDE THEIR LOVE

By Wu-ti

Who says
That it's by my desire,
This separation, this living so far from you?
My dress still smells of the lavender you gave:
My hand still holds the letter that you sent.
Round my waist I wear a double sash:
I dream that it binds us both with a same-heart knot.
Did not you know that people hide their love,
Like a flower that seems too precious to be picked?


THE FERRY

By the Emperor Ch'ien W? n-ti, of the Liang dynasty, who reigned
during the year A. D. 500.

Of marsh-mallows my boat is made,
The ropes are lily-roots.
The pole-star is athwart the sky:
The moon sinks low.
It's at the ferry I'm plucking lilies.
But it might be the Yellow River--
So afraid you seem of the wind and waves,
So long you tarry at the crossing. [40]

[40] 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.


THE WATERS OF LUNG-T'OU

(THE NORTH-WEST FRONTIER)

By Hsu Ling (A. D. 507-583)

The road that I came by mounts eight thousand feet:
The river that I crossed hangs a hundred fathoms.
The brambles so thick that in summer one cannot pass!
The snow so high that in winter one cannot climb!
With branches that interlace Lung Valley is dark:
Against cliffs that tower one's voice beats and echoes.
I turn my head, and it seems only a dream
That I ever lived in the streets of Hsien-yang.


FLOWERS AND MOONLIGHT ON THE SPRING RIVER

By Yang-ti (605-617), emperor of the Sui dynasty

The evening river is level and motionless--
The spring colours just open to their full.
Suddenly a wave carries the moon[41] away
And the tidal water comes with its freight of stars. [41]

[41] _I. e. _, the reflection in the water.


TCHIREK SONG

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:

Kao Huan, that son of a mouse
Dared to attack King Pi.
But at the first stroke of sword and bow,
The aggressor's plot recoiled on himself.

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:

Tchirek River
Lies under the Dark Mountains:
Where the sky is like the sides of a tent
Stretched down over the Great Steppe.
The sky is gray, gray:
And the steppe wide, wide:
Over grass that the wind has battered low
Sheep and oxen roam.

"Altun" means "gold" in Tartar. No one could teach him to write the
Chinese character for _gold_, 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.




CHAPTER V


BUSINESS MEN

By Ch'? n Tz? -ang (A. D. 656-698)

Business men boast of their skill and cunning
But in philosophy they are like little children.
Bragging to each other of successful depredations
They neglect to consider the ultimate fate of the body.
What should they know of the Master of Dark Truth
Who saw the wide world in a jade cup,
By illumined conception got clear of Heaven and Earth:
On the chariot of Mutation entered the Gate of Immutability?


TELL ME NOW

By Wang Chi (_circa_ A. D. 700)

"Tell me now, what should a man want
But to sit alone, sipping his cup of wine? "
I should like to have visitors come and discuss philosophy
And not to have the tax-collector coming to collect taxes:
My three sons married into good families
And my five daughters wedded to steady husbands.
Then I could jog through a happy five-score years
And, at the end, need no Paradise.


ON GOING TO A TAVERN

By Wang Chi

These days, continually fuddled with drink,
I fail to satisfy the appetites of the soul.
But seeing men all behaving like drunkards,[42]
How can I alone remain sober?

[42] Written during the war which preceded the T'ang dynasty.


STONE FISH LAKE

By Yuan Chieh (flourished _circa_ A. D. 740-770).

Yuan 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.

I loved you dearly, Stone Fish Lake,
With your rock-island shaped like a swimming fish!
On the fish's back is the Wine-cup Hollow
And round the fish,--the flowing waters of the Lake.
The boys on the shore sent little wooden ships,
Each made to carry a single cup of wine.
The island-drinkers emptied the liquor-boats
And set their sails and sent them back for more.
On the shores of the Lake were jutting slabs of rock
And under the rocks there flowed an icy stream.
Heated with wine, to rinse our mouths and hands
In those cold waters was a joy beyond compare!

* * * * *

Of gold and jewels I have not any need;
For Caps and Coaches I do not care at all.
But I wish I could sit on the rocky banks of the Lake
For ever and ever staring at the Stone Fish.


CIVILIZATION

By Yuan Chieh

To the south-east--three thousand leagues--
The Yuan and Hsiang form into a mighty lake.
Above the lake are deep mountain valleys,
And men dwelling whose hearts are without guile.
Gay like children, they swarm to the tops of the trees;
And run to the water to catch bream and trout.
Their pleasures are the same as those of beasts and birds;
They put no restraint either on body or mind.
Far I have wandered throughout the Nine Lands;
Wherever I went such manners had disappeared.
I find myself standing and wondering, perplexed,
Whether Saints and Sages have really done us good.


A PROTEST IN THE SIXTH YEAR OF CH'IEN FU (A. D. 879)

By Ts'ao Sung (flourished _circa_ A. D. 870-920)

The hills and rivers of the lowland country
You have made your battle-ground.
How do you suppose the people who live there
Will procure "firewood and hay"? [43]
Do not let me hear you talking together
About titles and promotions;
For a single general's reputation
Is made out of ten thousand corpses.

[43] The necessaries of life.


ON THE BIRTH OF HIS SON

By Su Tung-p'o (A. D. 1036-1101)

Families, when a child is born
Want it to be intelligent.
I, through intelligence,
Having wrecked my whole life,
Only hope the baby will prove
Ignorant and stupid.
Then he will crown a tranquil life
By becoming a Cabinet Minister.


THE PEDLAR OF SPELLS

By Lu Yu (A. D. 1125-1209)

An old man selling charms in a cranny of the town wall.
He writes out spells to bless the silkworms and spells to protect
the corn.
With the money he gets each day he only buys wine.
But he does not worry when his legs get wobbly,
For he has a boy to lean on.


BOATING IN AUTUMN

By Lu Yu

Away and away I sail in my light boat;
My heart leaps with a great gust of joy.
Through the leafless branches I see the temple in the wood;
Over the dwindling stream the stone bridge towers.
Down the grassy lanes sheep and oxen pass;
In the misty village cranes and magpies cry.

* * * * *

Back in my home I drink a cup of wine
And need not fear the greed[44] of the evening wind.

[44] Which "eats" men.


THE HERD-BOY

By Lu Yu

In the southern village the boy who minds the ox
With his naked feet stands on the ox's back.
Through the hole in his coat the river wind blows;
Through his broken hat the mountain rain pours.
On the long dyke he seemed to be far away;
In the narrow lane suddenly we were face to face.

* * * * *

The boy is home and the ox is back in its stall;
And a dark smoke oozes through the thatched roof.


HOW I SAILED ON THE LAKE TILL I CAME TO THE EASTERN STREAM

By Lu Yu

Of Spring water,--thirty or forty miles:
In the evening sunlight,--three or four houses.
Youths and boys minding geese and ducks:
Women and girls tending mulberries and hemp.
The place,--remote: their coats and scarves old:
The year,--fruitful: their talk and laughter gay.
The old wanderer moors his flat boat
And staggers up the bank to pluck wistaria flowers.


A SEVENTEENTH-CENTURY CHINESE POEM

Ch'? n Tz? -lung was born in 1607. He became a soldier, and in 1637
defeated the rebel, Hsu 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.

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.


THE LITTLE CART

The little cart jolting and banging through the yellow haze of dusk.
The man pushing behind: the woman pulling in front.