Anon (1st cent.BC)

“OLD POEM”

At fifteen I went with the army,At fourscore I came home.On the way I met a man from the village,I asked him who there was at home.“That over there is your house,All covered over with trees and bushes.”Rabbits had run in at the dog-hole,Pheasants flew down from the beams of the roof.In the courtyard was growing some wild grain;And by the well, some wild mallows.I’ll boil the grain and make porridge,I’ll pluck the mallows and make soup.Soup and porridge are both cooked,But there is no one to eat them with.I went out and looked towards the east,While tears fell and wetted my clothes.

The Odes of Chou and the South (11 to 7th cent BC)

The Odes of Chou and the South

I

The Kuan Chü; mainly allusive. Celebrating the virtue of the bride of King Wên, his quest for her, and welcoming her to his palace.

1Hark! from the islet in the stream the voice
Of the fish hawks that o’er their nest rejoice!
From them our thoughts to that young lady go,
Modest and virtuous, loth herself to show.
Where could be found, to share our prince's state
So fair, so virtuous, and so fit a mate?
2See how the duckweed's stalks, or short or long,
Sway left and right, as moves the current strong!
So hard it was for him the maid to find!
By day, by night, our prince with constant mind p. 2
Sought for her long, but all his search was vain.
Awake, asleep, he ever felt the pain
Of longing thought, as when on restless bed,
Tossing about, one turns his fevered head.
3Here long, there short, afloat the duckweed lies;
But caught at last, we seize the longed-for prize.
The maiden modest, virtuous, coy, is found;
Strike every lute, and joyous welcome sound.
Ours now, the duckweed from the stream we bear,
And cook to use with other viands rare.
He has the maiden, modest, virtuous, bright;
Let bells and drums proclaim our great delight.

Li ShangYin (813-858)

After I climb the chill mountain's steep stone paths,
Deep in the white clouds there are homes of men.
I stop my carriage, and sit to admire the maple-grove at nightfall,
Whose frozen leaves are redder than the flowers of early Spring.

Ch'u Yuan (332-295BC)

BATTLE

By Ch’ü Yüan (332-295 B.C.), author of the famous poem “Li Sao,” or “Falling into Trouble.” Finding that he could not influence the conduct of his prince, he drowned himself in the river Mi-lo. The modern Dragon Boat Festival is supposed to be in his honour.

 

“We grasp our battle-spears: we don our breast-plates of hide.The axles of our chariots touch: our short swords meet.Standards obscure the sun: the foe roll up like clouds.Arrows fall thick: the warriors press forward.They menace our ranks: they break our line.The left-hand trace-horse is dead: the one on the right is smitten.The fallen horses block our wheels: they impede the yoke-horses!”

They grasp their jade drum-sticks: they beat the sounding drums.Heaven decrees their fall: the dread Powers are angry.

The warriors are all dead: they lie on the moor-field.They issued but shall not enter: they went but shall not return.[24] The plains are flat and wide: the way home is long.

Their swords lie beside them: their black bows, in their hand.Though their limbs were torn, their hearts could not be repressed.They were more than brave: they were inspired with the spirit of “Wu.”[2]Steadfast to the end, they could not be daunted.Their bodies were stricken, but their souls have taken Immortality—Captains among the ghosts, heroes among the dead.

[2] I.e., military genius.

Anon (1st cent.BC)

COCK-CROW SONG

Anon. (first century B.C.)

 

In the eastern quarter dawn breaks, the stars flicker pale.The morning cock at Ju-nan mounts the wall and crows.The songs are over, the clock[5] run down, but still the feast is set.[31] The moon grows dim and the stars are few; morning has come to the world.At a thousand gates and ten thousand doors the fish-shaped keys turn;Round the Palace and up by the Castle, the crows and magpies are flying.

[5] A water-clock.

Anon (3rd cent BC)

THE SICK WIFE

She had been ill for years and years;She sent for me to say something.She couldn’t say what she wantedBecause of the tears that kept coming of themselves.“I have burdened you with orphan children,With orphan children two or three.Don’t let our children go hungry or cold;If they do wrong, don’t slap or beat them.When you take out the baby, rock it in your arms.[30] Don’t forget to do that.”Last she said,“When I carried them in my arms they had no clothesAnd now their jackets have no linings.” [She dies.

I shut the doors and barred the windowsAnd left the motherless children.When I got to the market and met my friends, I wept.I sat down and could not go with them.I asked them to buy some cakes for my children.In the presence of my friends I sobbed and cried.I tried not to grieve, but sorrow would not cease.I felt in my pocket and gave my friends some money.When I got home I found my childrenCalling to be taken into their mother’s arms.I walked up and down in the empty roomThis way and that a long while.Then I went away from it and said to myself“I will forget and never speak of her again.”

Anon. (first cent.BC)

Anon. (first century B.C.)

 

To be an orphan,To be fated to be an orphan.How bitter is this lot!When my father and mother were aliveI used to ride in a carriage[28] With four fine horses.

But when they both died,My brother and sister-in-lawSent me out to be a merchant.In the south I travelled to the “Nine Rivers”And in the east as far as Ch’i and Lu.At the end of the year when I came homeI dared not tell them what I had suffered—Of the lice and vermin in my head,Of the dust in my face and eyes.My brother told me to get ready the dinner.My sister-in-law told me to see after the horses.I was always going up into the hallAnd running down again to the parlour.My tears fell like rain.

Xue Tao (768-831)

A Spring In Autumn

Behind a ribbon of evening mist, a chill sky distills,
and a melody of far waterfalls like ten silk strings
comes to my pillow to tug my feelings,
keeping me awake in sorrow past midnight.

 

Xue Tao :

Liu Yuxi (772-842)

秋風引 Summer Dying

何处秋风至？ Whence comes the autumn's whistling blast,
肃肃送雁群。 With flocks of wild geese hurrying past? . . . .
朝来入庭樹， Alas, when wintry breezes burst,
孤客最先闻。 The lonely traveller hears them first!