Chinese Poems Part 8

I cannot sleep, the future weights my mind, The calls of office--cares of every kind Oppress me with a sense of coming woes-- A forlorn hope against unnumbered foes!

I fain would tune my harp and ballads sing, Some comfort to my sinking heart to bring; But such poor solace even is denied-- My hands are nerveless and my tongue is tied.

How can I leave my former happy life To mingle in ambition's worldly strife!

What care I for the spoils of rank and power, The petty triumphs of the pa.s.sing hour!

My office I'll resign and homeward turn To till my farm beside the rippling burn, Where I in happy freedom may once more The Muses and the Book of Nature pore.

There in my rustic lodge in leisure time, I'll cherish every thought and scene sublime, And following still the teachers of my youth A name I'll build upon eternal truth.

_The Fragrant Tree_

BY WEI YING-WUH

T'ANG DYNASTY

In a far-off fragrant garden Grows a tree of beauty rare, Whose reflection on the brooklet Makes a vision fair.

But when now I see this vision, Heart and mind are wrung with grief, Mourning hours of blissful meeting-- Every hour too brief.

Rich as ever is the foliage, Opal clouds the s.h.i.+mmering boughs, And the dewy leaves still glisten While the sun allows.

But, alas, Her presence lacking, What are all such things to me!

She will never more be plucking Blossoms from this tree.

Here beside the brook are traces Of her light and gladsome feet; But again we two shall never In this garden meet.

_A Song of the Snow_

BY LUH FANG-WENG

Three days it snowed on Chang-an[32] plain, With drifts the Pa.s.s[33] was stacked; The iron cows[34] could not be moved, The dew-pans[35] froze and cracked.

A traveller of handsome mien, And clad in white foxskin, With curled moustache and strong of limb, Came to the Pao-chan[36] inn.

At night he supped and drank full well Until he soundly slept; But in the early dawn he woke And on his strong horse leapt.

Then riding through the drifts of snow He reached the South Range bare, And hunted for a tiger fierce Which long had 'scaped the snare.

And when the crafty beast was met, An arrow from his bow Transfixed its bounding body huge, And reddened deep the snow.

With dying strength it beat the air, And uttered piercing yells, Which shook the hills and forest trees, And echoed through the dells.

The carcase then he dragged back Along a crowded course; The bones a pillow frame supplied, The skin adorned his horse.

But when confusion fills the land, And peace is under ban, Why don't such men of might come forth To help the King of Han!

[32] Now Si-ngan, the provincial capital of Shen-si, but in the Han Dynasty the capital of China.

[33] A very important mountain pa.s.s near Si-ngan.

[34] Vessels used in the conservancy of the Yellow River.

[35] Pans to hold dew, which was collected to provide the Emperor Wu of the Han Dynasty with bathing-and drinking-water and thus promote longevity.

[36] 'The Precious Hairpin,' merely the sign of the inn.

_The Old Temple among the Mountains_

BY CHANG WEN-CHANG

T'ANG DYNASTY (618-905 B.C.)

The temple courts with gra.s.ses rank abound, And birds throng in the forest trees around; But pilgrims few, though tablets still remain, Come to the shrine while revolutions reign.

The mice climb through the curtains--full of holes, And thick dust overspreads the broidered stoles; The temple pool in gloomy blackness lies To which the sleeping dragon[37] sometimes hies.

[37] The meaning of this expression is not clear; it has a political signification.

_A Soldier's Farewell to his Wife_

BY SU-WU[38]

HAN DYNASTY, OR EARLIER

My dear wife, you and I have been as one, No doubt has marred the faith, which love has won, Our chief desire throughout the married state Has been of love and joy to give and take.

But now, alas! the joy of Spring departs, And sorrow's shafts must enter both our hearts; I cannot sleep; I must arise and see The time; ah me, how quick the hours do flee!

Awake, my dearest, for the stars have set, The grief of parting must be bravely met; And yet the dreary marches weight my mind,-- As through defiles and desert plains they wind.

And then, at last, the awful battle-field, Where I must fight and naught to foemen yield; But, oh! the bitter, paralysing pain-- To think that we may never meet again!