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[Pg 171]
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!"
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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
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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!
[Pg 174]
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,
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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!
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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."
