Kitabı oku: «Chinese Literature», sayfa 10

BOOK VII
THE ODES OF CH'ING

~The People's Admiration for Duke Woo~

 
  The black robes well your form befit;
    When they are worn we'll make you new.
  Now for your court! oh! there we'll sit,
    And watch how you your duties do.
      And when we to our homes repair,
      We'll send to you our richest fare,
      Such is the love to you we bear!
 
 
  Those robes well with your virtue match;
    When they are worn we'll make you new.
  Now for your court! There will we watch,
    Well pleased, how you your duties do.
      And when we to our homes repair,
      We'll send to you our richest fare,
      Such is the love to you we bear!
 
 
  Those robes your character beseem;
    When they are worn we'll make you new.
  Now for your court! oh! there we deem
    It pleasure great your form to view.
      And when we to our homes repair,
      We'll send to you our richest fare,
      Such is the love to you we bear!
 

~A Wife Consoled by Her Husband's Arrival~

 
  Cold is the wind, fast falls the rain,
    The cock aye shrilly crows.
  But I have seen my lord again;—
    Now must my heart repose.
 
 
  Whistles the wind, patters the rain,
    The cock's crow far resounds.
  But I have seen my lord again,
    And healed are my heart's wounds.
 
 
  All's dark amid the wind and rain,
    Ceaseless the cock's clear voice!
  But I have seen my lord again;—
    Should not my heart rejoice?
 

~In Praise of Some Lady~

 
  There by his side in chariot rideth she,
  As lovely flower of the hibiscus tree,
  So fair her face; and when about they wheel,
  Her girdle gems of Ken themselves reveal.
  For beauty all the House of Këang have fame;
  Its eldest daughter—she beseems her name.
 
 
  There on the path, close by him, walketh she,
  Bright as the blossom of hibiscus tree,
  And fair her face; and when around they flit,
  Her girdle gems a tinkling sound emit.
  Among the Keang she has distinguished place,
  For virtuous fame renowned, and peerless grace.
 

~A Man's Praise of His Wife~

 
  My path forth from the east gate lay,
  Where cloud-like moved the girls at play.
  Numerous are they, as clouds so bright,
  But not on them my heart's thoughts light.
  Dressed in a thin white silk, with coiffure gray
  Is she, my wife, my joy in life's low way.
 
 
  Forth by the covering wall's high tower,
  I went, and saw, like rush in flower,
  Each flaunting girl. Brilliant are they,
  But not with them my heart's thoughts stay.
  In thin white silk, with head-dress madder-dyed,
  Is she, my sole delight, 'foretime my bride.
 

~An Entreaty~

 
  Along the great highway,
    I hold you by the cuff.
  O spurn me not, I pray,
    Nor break old friendship off.
 
 
  Along the highway worn,
    I hold your hand in mine.
  Do not as vile me scorn;
    Your love I can't resign.
 

~A Woman Scorning Her Lover~

 
  O dear! that artful boy
    Refuses me a word!
  But, Sir, I shall enjoy
    My food, though you're absurd!
 
 
  O dear! that artful boy
    My table will not share!
  But, Sir, I shall enjoy
    My rest, though you're not there!
 

~A Lady Mourns the Absence of Her Student Lover~

 
  You student, with the collar blue,
    Long pines my heart with anxious pain.
  Although I do not go to you,
    Why from all word do you refrain?
 
 
  O you, with girdle strings of blue,
    My thoughts to you forever roam!
  Although I do not go to you,
    Yet why to me should you not come?
 
 
  How reckless you, how light and wild,
    There by the tower upon the wall!
  One day, from sight of you exiled,
    As long as three long months I call.
 

[NOTESelections from Books IV., V., and VI., have been omitted.—EDITOR.]

BOOK VIII
THE ODES OF TS'E

~A Wife Urging Her Husband to Action~

 
  His lady to the marquis says,
     "The cock has crowed; 'tis late.
  Get up, my lord, and haste to court.
     'Tis full; for you they wait."
  She did not hear the cock's shrill sound,
  Only the blueflies buzzing round.
 
 
  Again she wakes him with the words,
     "The east, my lord, is bright.
  A crowded court your presence seeks;
     Get up and hail the light."
  'Twas not the dawning light which shone,
  But that which by the moon was thrown.
 
 
  He sleeping still, once more she says,
     "The flies are buzzing loud.
  To lie and dream here by your side
     Were pleasant, but the crowd
  Of officers will soon retire;
  Draw not on you and me their ire!"
 

~The Folly of Useless Effort~

 
  The weeds will but the ranker grow,
    If fields too large you seek to till.
  To try to gain men far away
    With grief your toiling heart will fill,
 
 
  If fields too large you seek to till,
    The weeds will only rise more strong.
  To try to gain men far away
    Will but your heart's distress prolong.
 
 
  Things grow the best when to themselves
    Left, and to nature's vigor rare.
  How young and tender is the child,
    With his twin tufts of falling hair!
  But when you him ere long behold,
    That child shall cap of manhood wear!
 

~The Prince of Loo~

 
  A grand man is the prince of Loo,
    With person large and high.
  Lofty his front and suited to
    The fine glance of his eye!
  Swift are his feet. In archery
    What man with him can vie?
  With all these goodly qualities,
    We see him and we sigh!
 
 
  Renowned through all the land is he,
    The nephew of our lord.
  With clear and lovely eyes, his grace
    May not be told by word.
  All day at target practice,
    He'll never miss the bird.
  Such is the prince of Loo, and yet
    With grief for him we're stirred!
 
 
  All grace and beauty he displays,
    High forehead and eyes bright.
  And dancing choice! His arrows all
    The target hit aright.
  Straight through they go, and every one
    Lights on the self-same spot.
  Rebellion he could well withstand,
    And yet we mourn his lot!
 

BOOK IX
THE ODES OF WEI

~On the Misgovernment of the State~

 
  A fruit, small as the garden peach,
    May still be used for food.
  A State, though poor as ours, might thrive,
    If but its rule were good.
  Our rule is bad, our State is sad,
    With mournful heart I grieve.
  All can from instrument and voice
    My mood of mind perceive.
  Who know me not, with scornful thought,
    Deem me a scholar proud.
  "Those men are right," they fiercely say,
    "What mean your words so loud?"
  Deep in my heart my sorrows lie,
    And none the cause may know.
  How should they know who never try
    To learn whence comes our woe?
 
 
  The garden jujube, although small,
    May still be used for food.
  A State, though poor as ours, might thrive,
    If but its rule were good.
  Our rule is bad, our State is sad,
    With mournful heart I grieve.
  Methinks I'll wander through the land,
    My misery to relieve.
  Who know me not, with scornful thought,
    Deem that wild views I hold.
  "Those men are right," they fiercely say,
    "What mean your words so bold?"
 
 
  Deep in my heart my sorrows lie,
  And none the cause may know.
  How can they know, who never try
  To learn whence comes our woe?
 

~The Mean Husband~

 
  Thin cloth of dolichos supplies the shoes,
    In which some have to brave the frost and cold.
  A bride, when poor, her tender hands must use,
    Her dress to make, and the sharp needle hold.
  This man is wealthy, yet he makes his bride
    Collars and waistbands for his robes provide.
 
 
  Conscious of wealth, he moves with easy mien;
    Politely on the left he takes his place;
  The ivory pin is at his girdle seen:—
    His dress and gait show gentlemanly grace.
  Why do we brand him in our satire here?
    'Tis this–his niggard soul provokes the sneer.
 

~A Young Soldier on Service~

 
  To the top of that tree-clad hill I go,
    And towards my father I gaze,
  Till with my mind's eye his form I espy,
    And my mind's ear hears how he says:—
  "Alas for my son on service abroad!
    He rests not from morning till eve.
  May he careful be and come back to me!
    While he is away, how I grieve!"
 
 
  To the top of that barren hill I climb,
    And towards my mother I gaze,
  Till with my mind's eye her form I espy,
    And my mind's ear hears how she says:—
  "Alas for my child on service abroad!
    He never in sleep shuts an eye.
  May he careful be, and come back to me!
    In the wild may his body not lie!"
 
 
  Up the lofty ridge I, toiling, ascend,
    And towards my brother I gaze,
  Till with my mind's eye his form I espy,
    And my mind's ear hears how he says:—
  "Alas! my young brother, serving abroad,
    All day with his comrades must roam.
  May he careful be, and come back to me,
    And die not away from his home."
 

BOOK X
THE ODES OF TANG

~The King Goes to War~

 
  The wild geese fly the bushy oaks around,
  With clamor loud. Suh-suh their wings resound,
  As for their feet poor resting-place is found.
  The King's affairs admit of no delay.
  Our millet still unsown, we haste away.
  No food is left our parents to supply;
  When we are gone, on whom can they rely?
  O azure Heaven, that shinest there afar,
  When shall our homes receive us from the war?
 
 
  The wild geese on the bushy jujube-trees
  Attempt to settle and are ill at ease;—
  Suh-suh their wings go flapping in the breeze.
  The King's affairs admit of no delay;
  Our millet still unsown, we haste away.
  How shall our parents their requirements get?
  How in our absence shall their wants be met?
  O azure Heaven, that shinest there afar,
  When shall our homes receive us from the war?
 
 
  The bushy mulberry-trees the geese in rows
  Seek eager and to rest around them close—
  With rustling loud, as disappointment grows.
  The King's affairs admit of no delay;
  To plant our rice and maize we cannot stay.
  How shall our parents find their wonted food?
  When we are gone, who will to them be good?
  O azure Heaven, that shinest there afar,
  When shall our homes receive us from the war?
 

~Lament of a Bereaved Person~

 
  A russet pear-tree rises all alone,
  But rich the growth of leaves upon it shown!
  I walk alone, without one brother left,
  And thus of natural aid am I bereft.
  Plenty of people there are all around,
  But none like my own father's sons are found.
  Ye travellers, who forever hurry by,
  Why on me turn the unsympathizing eye?
  No brother lives with whom my cause to plead;—
  Why not perform for me the helping deed?
 
 
  A russet pear-tree rises all alone,
  But rich with verdant foliage o'ergrown.
  I walk alone, without one brother's care,
  To whom I might, amid my straits repair.
  Plenty of people there are all around,
  But none like those of my own name are found.
  Ye travellers, who forever hurry by,
  Why on me turn the unsympathizing eye?
  No brother lives with whom my cause to plead;—
  Why not perform for me the helping deed?
 

~The Drawbacks of Poverty~

 
  On the left of the way, a russet pear-tree
  Stands there all alone—a fit image of me.
  There is that princely man! O that he would come,
  And in my poor dwelling with me be at home!
  In the core of my heart do I love him, but say,
  Whence shall I procure him the wants of the day?
 
 
  At the bend in the way a russet pear-tree
  Stands there all alone—a fit image of me.
  There is that princely man! O that he would come,
  And rambling with me be himself here at home!
  In the core of my heart I love him, but say,
  Whence shall I procure him the wants of the day?
 

~A Wife Mourns for Her Husband~

 
  The dolichos grows and covers the thorn,
    O'er the waste is the dragon-plant creeping.
  The man of my heart is away and I mourn—
    What home have I, lonely and weeping?
 
 
  Covering the jujubes the dolichos grows,
    The graves many dragon-plants cover;
  But where is the man on whose breast I'd repose?
    No home have I, having no lover!
 
 
  Fair to see was the pillow of horn,
    And fair the bed-chamber's adorning;
  But the man of my heart is not here, and I mourn
    All alone, and wait for the morning.
 
 
  While the long days of summer pass over my head,
    And long winter nights leave their traces,
  I'm alone! Till a hundred of years shall have fled,
    And then I shall meet his embraces.
 
 
  Through the long winter nights I am burdened with fears,
    Through the long summer days I am lonely;
  But when time shall have counted its hundreds of years
    I then shall be his—and his only!
 

BOOK XI
THE ODES OF TS'IN

~Celebrating the Opulence of the Lords of Ts'in~

 
  Our ruler to the hunt proceeds;
  And black as iron are his steeds
  That heed the charioteer's command,
  Who holds the six reins in his hand.
  His favorites follow to the chase,
  Rejoicing in his special grace.
 
 
  The season's males, alarmed, arise—
  The season's males, of wondrous size.
  Driven by the beaters, forth they spring,
  Soon caught within the hunters' ring.
  "Drive on their left," the ruler cries;
  And to its mark his arrow flies.
 
 
  The hunting done, northward he goes;
  And in the park the driver shows
  The horses' points, and his own skill
  That rules and guides them at his will.
  Light cars whose teams small bells display,
  The long-and short-mouthed dogs convey.
 

~A Complaint~

 
  He lodged us in a spacious house,
    And plenteous was our fare.
  But now at every frugal meal
    There's not a scrap to spare.
  Alas! alas that this good man
  Could not go on as he began!
 

~A Wife's Grief Because of Her Husband's Absence~

 
  The falcon swiftly seeks the north,
  And forest gloom that sent it forth.
  Since I no more my husband see,
  My heart from grief is never free.
  O how is it, I long to know,
  That he, my lord, forgets me so?
 
 
  Bushy oaks on the mountain grow,
  And six elms where the ground is low.
  But I, my husband seen no more,
  My sad and joyless fate deplore.
  O how is it, I long to know,
  That he, my lord, forgets me so?
 
 
  The hills the bushy wild plums show,
  And pear-trees grace the ground below.
  But, with my husband from me gone,
  As drunk with grief, I dwell alone.
  O how is it, I long to know,
  That he, my lord, forgets me so?
 

~Lament for Three Brothers~

 
  They flit about, the yellow birds,
    And rest upon the jujubes find.
  Who buried were in duke Muh's grave,
    Alive to awful death consigned?
 
 
  'Mong brothers three, who met that fate,
    'Twas sad the first, Yen-seih to see.
  He stood alone; a hundred men
    Could show no other such as he.
  When to the yawning grave he came,
  Terror unnerved and shook his frame.
 
 
  Why thus destroy our noblest men,
    To thee we cry, O azure Heaven!
  To save Yen-seih from death, we would
    A hundred lives have freely given.
 
 
  They flit about, the yellow birds,
    And on the mulberry-trees rest find.
  Who buried were in duke Muh's grave,
    Alive to awful death consigned?
 
 
  'Mong brothers three, who met that fate,
    'Twas sad the next, Chung-hang to see.
  When on him pressed a hundred men,
    A match for all of them was he.
  When to the yawning grave he came,
  Terror unnerved and shook his frame.
 
 
  Why thus destroy our noblest men,
    To thee we cry, O azure Heaven!
  To save Chung-hang from death, we would
    A hundred lives have freely given.
 
 
  They flit about, the yellow birds,
    And rest upon the thorn-trees find.
  Who buried were in duke Muh's grave,
    Alive to awful death consigned?
 
 
  'Mong brothers three, who met that fate,
    'Twas sad the third, K'ëen-foo, to see.
  A hundred men in desperate fight
    Successfully withstand could he.
  When to the yawning grave he came,
  Terror unnerved and shook his frame.
 
 
  Why thus destroy our noblest men,
    To thee we cry, O azure Heaven!
  To save K'ëen-foo from death, we would
    A hundred lives have freely given.
 

[NOTE.—The incident related in this poem occurred in the year B.C. 620, when the duke of Muh died after playing an important part in the affairs of Northwest China. Muh required the three officers here celebrated, to be buried with him, and according to the "Historical Records" this barbarous practice began with duke Ching, Muh's predecessor. In all, 170 individuals were buried with Muh. The death of the last distinguished man of the Ts'in dynasty, the Emperor I, was subsequently celebrated by the entombment with him of all the inmates of his harem.]

~In Praise of a Ruler of Ts'in~

 
  What trees grow on the Chung-nan hill?
    The white fir and the plum.
  In fur of fox, 'neath 'broidered robe,
    Thither our prince is come.
  His face glows with vermilion hue.
  O may he prove a ruler true!
 
 
  What find we on the Chung-nan hill?
    Deep nook and open glade.
  Our prince shows there the double Ke
    On lower robe displayed.
  His pendant holds each tinkling gem,
  Long life be his, and deathless fame!
 

~The Generous Nephew~

 
  I escorted my uncle to Tsin,
    Till the Wei we crossed on the way.
      Then I gave as I left
      For his carriage a gift
  Four steeds, and each steed was a bay.
 
 
  I escorted my uncle to Tsin,
    And I thought of him much in my heart.
      Pendent stones, and with them
     Of fine jasper a gem,
  I gave, and then saw him depart.
 

BOOK XII
THE ODES OF CH'IN

~The Contentment of a Poor Recluse~

 
My only door some pieces of crossed wood,
  Within it I can rest enjoy.
I drink the water wimpling from the spring;
  Nor hunger can my peace destroy.
 
 
Purged from ambition's aims I say, "For fish.
  We need not bream caught in the Ho;
Nor, to possess the sweets of love, require
  To Ts'e, to find a Keang, to go.
 
 
"The man contented with his lot, a meal
  Of fish without Ho carp can make;
Nor needs, to rest in his domestic joy,
  A Tsze of Sung as wife to take."
 

~The Disappointed Lover~

 
Where grow the willows near the eastern gate,
  And 'neath their leafy shade we could recline,
She said at evening she would me await,
  And brightly now I see the day-star shine!
 
 
Here where the willows near the eastern gate
  Grow, and their dense leaves make a shady gloom,
She said at evening she would me await.
  See now the morning star the sky illume!
 

~A Love-Song~

 
The moon comes forth, bright in the sky;
A lovelier sight to draw my eye
  Is she, that lady fair.
She round my heart has fixed love's chain,
But all my longings are in vain.
  'Tis hard the grief to bear.
 
 
The moon comes forth, a splendid sight;
More winning far that lady bright,
  Object of my desire!
Deep-seated is my anxious grief;
In vain I seek to find relief;
  While glows the secret fire.
 
 
The rising moon shines mild and fair;
More bright is she, whose beauty rare
  My heart with longing fills.
With eager wish I pine in vain;
O for relief from constant pain,
  Which through my bosom thrills!
 

~The Lament of a Lover~

 
There where its shores the marsh surround,
Rushes and lotus plants abound.
Their loveliness brings to my mind
The lovelier one that I would find.
In vain I try to ease the smart
Of wounded love that wrings my heart.
In waking thought and nightly dreams,
From every pore the water streams.
 
 
All round the marsh's shores are seen
Valerian flowers and rushes green.
But lovelier is that Beauty rare,
Handsome and large, and tall and fair,
I wish and long to call her mine,
Doomed with the longing still to pine.
Nor day nor night e'er brings relief;
My inmost heart is full of grief.
 
 
Around the marsh, in rich display,
Grow rush and lotus flowers, all gay.
But not with her do they compare,
So tall and large, majestic, fair.
Both day and night, I nothing speed;
Still clings to me the aching need.
On side, on back, on face, I lie,
But vain each change of posture.
 

THE ODES OF KWEI

~The Wish of an Unhappy Man~

 
  Where the grounds are wet and low,
  There the trees of goat-peach grow,
  With their branches small and smooth,
  Glossy in their tender youth.
  Joy it were to me, O tree,
  Consciousness to want like thee.
 
 
  Where the grounds are wet and low,
  There the trees of goat-peach grow.
  Soft and fragrant are their flowers,
  Glossy from the vernal showers.
  Joy it were to me, O tree,
  Ties of home to want like thee.
 
 
  Where the grounds are wet and low,
  There the trees of goat-peach grow,
  What delicious fruits they bear,
  Glossy, soft, of beauty rare!
  Joy it were to me, O tree,
  Household cares to want like thee.
 

BOOK XIV
THE ODES OF TS'AOU

~Against Frivolous Pursuits~

 
  Like splendid robes appear the wings
    Of the ephemeral fly;
  And such the pomp of those great men,
    Which soon in death shall lie!
  I grieve! Would they but come to me!
    To teach them I should try.
 
 
  The wings of the ephemeral fly
    Are robes of colors gay;
  And such the glory of those men,
    Soon crumbling to decay!
  I grieve! Would they but rest with me,
    They'd learn a better way!
 
 
  The ephemeral fly bursts from its hole,
    With gauzy wings like snow;
  So quick the rise, so quick the fall,
    Of those great men we know!
  I grieve! Would they but lodge with me,
    Forth they would wiser go.