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_A Lowly Flower_
BY BAY SIE T'IAO
T'ANG DYNASTY
A flowering gra.s.s I rise From the side of a far-spread lake, Whose waters lave and fertilize, And all my thirsty tissues slake.
The dews of Spring with gentle power Evolve my glossy emerald leaves; The colours of my fragrant flower The rime of early Autumn weaves.
And yet in trembling fear I grow, Lest root and stem should be uptorn By sudden storm or rus.h.i.+ng flow, And leave me helpless and forlorn.
So here contented will I lie, Although a plant of humble birth; Nor try to soar to realms on high Above the confines of the earth.
For never yet has living soul By strength or wisdom changed his fate; All things are under heaven's control, Who allocates to each his state.
_On returning to a Country Life_
BY TAO TSIEN
My youth was spent amidst the simple charms Of country scenes--secure from worldly din, And then, alas! I fell into the net Of public life, and struggled long therein.
The captive bird laments its forest home; The fish in tanks think of the sea's broad strands; And I oft longed, amidst official cares, To till a settler's plot in sunny lands.
And now I have my plot of fifteen 'mow',[42]
With house thereon of rustic build and thatch; The elm and willow cast a grateful shade, While plum-and peach-trees fill the entrance patch.
Away from busy towns and dusty marts, The dog barks in the silent country lane; While chickens cluck among the mulberry-trees, And life is healthy and the mind is sane.
Here in my house--with room for friend or two, On my own farm--won from the barren plain, Escaped from cares of office and routine, I live a free and natural life again.
[42] A Chinese acre, a measure of land equal to about one-fifth of an English acre.
_The Brevity of Life_
POET UNKNOWN: HAN DYNASTY, OR EARLIER
Our years on earth are brief, But few a hundred win; A thousand years of grief Are packed therein.
The day quick takes its flight, The dark is sad and long; Then let us cheer the night With feast and song.
The n.i.g.g.ard thinks it wise To save and live by rule; But sages may arise To call him fool!
_Conscripts leaving for the Frontier_[43]
BY TU-FU
T'ANG DYNASTY
Chariots rumbling; horses neighing; Soldiers shouting martial cries; Drums are sounding; trumpets braying; Seas of glittering spears arise.
On each warrior's back are hanging Deadly arrows, mighty bows; Pipes are blowing, gongs are clanging, On they march in serried rows.
Age-bowed parents, sons and daughters Crowd beside in motley bands; Here one stumbles, there one falters Through the clouds of blinding sands.
Wives and mothers sometimes clinging To their loved ones in the ranks, Or in grief their bodies flinging On the dusty crowded flanks.
Mothers', wives', and children's weeping Rises sad above the din,-- Through the clouds to Heaven creeping-- Justice begging for their kin.
'To what region are they going?'
Asks a stranger pa.s.sing by; 'To the Yellow River, flowing Through the desert bare and dry!
'Forced conscription daily snapping Ties which bind us to our clan; Forced conscription slowly sapping All the manhood of the Han.'
And the old man went on speaking To the stranger from afar: ''Tis the Emperor, glory seeking, Drives them 'neath his baleful star.
'Guarding river; guarding pa.s.ses On the frontier, wild and drear; Fighting foes in savage ma.s.ses-- Scant of mercy, void of fear.
'Proclamations, without pity, Rain upon us day by day, Till from village, town, and city All our men are called away.
'Called away to swell the flowing Of the streams of human blood, Where the bitter north wind blowing Petrifies the ghastly flood.
'Guarding pa.s.ses through the mountains, Guarding rivers in the plain; While in sleep, in youth's clear fountain, Scenes of home come back again.
'But, alas! the dream is leaded With the morn's recurring grief, Only few return--grey-headed-- To their homes, for days too brief.
'For the Emperor, still unheeding Starving homes and lands untilled, On his fatuous course proceeding, Swears his camps shall be refilled.
'Hence new levies are demanded, And the war goes on apace, Emperor and foemen banded In the slaughter of the race.
'All the region is denuded Of its men and hardy boys, Only women left, deluded Of life's promise and its joys.
'Yet the prefects clamour loudly That the taxes must be paid,-- Ride about and hector proudly!
