Chinese Poems Part 12

_Muh-Lan_[45]

Muh-Lan's swift fingers flying to and fro Crossed warp with woof in deft and even row, As by the side of spinning-wheel and loom She sat at work without the women's room.[46]

But tho' her hand the shuttle swiftly plies The whir cannot be heard for Muh-Lan's sighs; When neighbours asked what ills such mood had wrought, And why she worked in all-absorbing thought; She answered not, for in her ears did ring The summons of last evening from the King, Calling to arms more warriors for the west, The name of Muh-Lan's father heading all the rest.

But he was ill--no son to take his place, Excuses meant suspicion and disgrace; Her father's honour must not be in doubt; Nor friend, nor foe, his stainless name shall flout; She would herself his duty undertake And fight the Northern foe for honour's sake.

Her purpose fixed, the plan was soon evolved, But none should know it, this she was resolved; Alone, unknown, she would the danger face, Relying on the prowess of her race.

A charger here, a saddle there, she bought, And next a bridle and a whip she sought; With these equipped she donned the soldier's gear, Arming herself with bow and glittering spear.

And then before the sun began his journey steep She kissed her parents in their troubled sleep, Caressing them with fingers soft and light, She quietly pa.s.sed from their unconscious sight; And mounting horse she with her comrades rode Into the night to meet what fate forbode; And as her secret not a comrade knew, Her fears soon vanished as the morning dew.

That day they galloped westward fast and far, Nor paused until they saw the evening star; Then by the Yellow River's rus.h.i.+ng flood They stopped to rest and cool their fevered blood.

The turbid stream swept on with swirl and foam Dispelling Muh-Lan's dreams of friends and home; Muh-Lan! Muh-Lan! she heard her mother cry-- The waters roared and thundered in reply!

Muh-Lan! Muh-Lan! she heard her father sigh-- The river surged in angry billows by!

The second night they reach the River Black, And on the range which feeds it, bivouac; Muh-Lan! Muh-Lan! she hears her father pray-- While on the ridge the Tartars' horses neigh; Muh-Lan! Muh-Lan! her mother's lips let fall!

The Tartars' camp sends forth a bugle call!

The morning dawns on men in armed array Aware that death may meet them on that day; The Winter sun sends forth a pallid light Through frosty air on knights in armour bright; While bows strung tight, and spears in glittering rows, Forebode the struggle of contending foes.

And soon the trumpets blare--the fight's begun; A deadly _melee_--and the Pa.s.s is won!

The war went on, and many a battle-field Revealed Muh-Lan both bow and spear could wield; Her skill and courage won her widespread fame, And comrades praised, and leaders of great name.

Then after several years of march and strife, Muh-Lan and others, who had 'scaped with life From fields of victory drenched with patriots' blood, Returned again to see the land they loved.

And when at last the Capital[47] was reached, The warriors, who so many forts had breached, Were summoned to the presence of the King, And courtiers many did their praises sing; Money and presents on them, too, were showered, And some with rank and office were empowered; While Muh-Lan, singled out from all the rest, Was offered fief and guerdon of the best.

But gifts and honours she would gladly lose If she might only be allowed to choose Some courier camels, strong and fleet of pace, To bear her swiftly to her native place.

And now, at last, the journey nears the end, And father's, mother's voices quickly blend In--'Muh-Lan, Muh-Lan! welcome, welcome, dear!'

And this time there was naught but joy to fear.

Her younger sisters decked the house with flowers, And loving words fell sweet as summer showers; Her little brother shouted Muh-Lan's praise, For many proud and happy boastful days!

The greetings o'er, she slipped into her room-- Radiant with country flowers in fragrant bloom-- And changed her soldier's garb for woman's dress: Her head adorned with simple maiden's tress-- A single flower enriched her l.u.s.trous hair-- And forth she came, fresh, maidenly, and fair!

Some comrades in the war had now come in, Who durst not mingle in the happy din; But there in awe and admiration stood, As brave men do before true womanhood; For not the boldest there had ever dreamed, On toilsome march, or when swords flashed and gleamed In marshalled battle, or on sudden raid, That their brave comrade was a beauteous maid.

[45] Muh-Lan was a famous heroine of the Liang Dynasty (A.D. 502-556) who, when her father was summoned to serve as a soldier in the wars on the north-western frontier, and was unable to obey the order on account of sickness, put on a soldier's dress and took his place in the army for several years. She fought in many battles, winning great praise for her bravery, and ever since she has been regarded as the ideal of daughterly devotion and feminine courage.

[46] In the porch of the women's apartment.

[47] The capital of China at that time was Chang-an, now Si-an-Fu the provincial capital of Shen-si.

_The Old Fisherman_

BY LUH FANG-WEN

T'ANG DYNASTY

While wandering up the river-side alone To view the landscape of my new-found home, Away from cities and the haunts of men Where I midst nature's scenes can quietly roam,

I came upon a fisher's lonely hut Ensconced within a winding of the stream, And in a boat the fisherman himself; While on his sail the sunlight sent a gleam.

Across the river stands a stately mountain Which wandering artists oft have tried to paint, But none could seize the subtle blend of colours-- Of purple blues and rose-dawn flushes faint.

Alas! the fisherman through summers many, Has gazed upon the glory of this scene, And yet his mind's unwakened to its beauty, His hand unskilled to limn its tints and sheen.

And my hand, too, alas! has lost its cunning And cannot serve my brain as in my youth, So men will lose another glorious picture Of Nature with her beauty and her truth.

_Midnight in the Garden_

BY LIU TSONG-YUEN

T'ANG DYNASTY (ANCIENT STYLE)

The midnight hours were pa.s.sing And sleep still past me flew; My mind--so keenly working-- Could hear the dropping dew.

So from my bed arising I open wide the door-- The western park revealing, And hills that heavenward soar.

Across the Eastern ranges The clear moon coldly s.h.i.+nes On bamboos, loosely scattered, And trailing mountain vines.

And so intense the stillness, That from the distant hills I hear the pigeons cooing, And murmuring streams and rills.

For hours I have been thinking, As in a silent dream, And now beyond the mountains I see the dawn's first gleam.

_Reflections on the Brevity of Life_

POET'S NAME UNKNOWN: HAN DYNASTY OR EARLIER (206 B.C.-220 A.D.)

We sought the city by the Eastern gate, Our chariot moving at a leisured rate, Along the road on which the sunlight weaves The trembling of the willow's rustling leaves.

And far away are pine-trees towering high, Beneath whose shade the graves of heroes lie; In Hades now their last long sleep they take, From which a mortal never more shall wake.

How vast the gulf between the quick and dead!

Yet as the morning dew our life is sped; The rocks and hills enduring strength retain, But mortals pa.s.s in fast and endless train.

Alas! the sages are inert to trace Beyond the grave the future of our race; Alchemic nostrums, too, are used in vain, They cannot turn life's ills to endless gain.

Then let us drain the goblet while we live, And take the best the fleeting hour can give.

In life a little pleasure may be won, To-morrow we must die and there'll be none.