Chinese Poems Part 3

_A Maiden's Reverie_

T'SIN DYNASTY, A.D. 265-419

The plum-tree's flower awakens Thoughts of my lover now, And I would pluck some blossoms And send to far Si-chow.

But such a distant region The flowers might never reach, While if I go in person, How great the joy to each!

I'll brush my glossy tresses, More dark than raven's plume; I'll wear my plum silk mantle, And banish tears and gloom.

But where, alack, is Si-chow?

Far in the North, I know; Oh, when I've crossed the river I'll ask which way to go!

Ah me, the sun is setting, Si-chow is far away; The birds are homeward turning, I cannot start to-day.

I'll keep an evening vigil Beneath the cedar-tree That stands outside the porch-way; My love may come to me!

The jewels my hair adorning Are glistening with the dew; But still my lover tarries;-- What keeps him from my view?

A gentle breeze is blowing, The night is bright as day; I'll go and gather lilies, And meet him on the way.

In the early Autumn season The lotus lilies red Are in the south pool growing, And reach above my head.

My thoughts on old times musing, I stoop to pluck some seeds, In their s.h.i.+mmering greenness As water 'mongst the reeds.

I put some in my bosom, For the core is red as blood, As the heart of a true lover, When love is at the flood.

Pressed to my bosom closely-- No safer place, I wot, For tokens of betrothal; And yet my love comes not!

Above my head in batches The wild geese northward hie, And they will pa.s.s o'er Si-chow!

Oh, would that I could fly!

I'll mount the northern turret; Perhaps from that lofty height I'll see my lover coming, The herald of the light.

Although the tower is lofty, I cannot see afar To where my love is dwelling, Beneath the Northern Star.

From morn until the evening-- How long the hours do seem!-- I've paced around the turret, As in a weary dream.

Once more I'll raise the curtain, And show my lamp's pale light; My love may miss the pathway, And wander in the night.

How lofty are the heavens!

How vast the heaving sea!

Ah, life is sad and dreary When love comes not to me!

But though my heart is weary, I trust my lover's vow; The south wind knows my longings And will bear them to Si-chow.

And though the seas divide us Our hearts are one for ay, And in sweet dreams will mingle Until the meeting day.

_A Song of the Marches_

BY LI TAI-PEH

T'ANG DYNASTY

The Tien-shan peaks still glisten In robes of spotless white; To songs of Spring I listen, But see no flowers around.

The ground is bare and dreary, No voice of Spring I hear, Save the 'Willow Song',[2] so eerie, I play upon my flute.

At morn the fight will follow The sound of bugle call; Each man, in sleep, the hollow[3]

Across his saddle clasps.

And by his side unrusted, His sword is closely laid, With which he long has trusted The tyrant foe[4] to slay.

On n.o.ble chargers riding, And fleeter than the wind, All fears and risks deriding, They cross the river Wei.

Their bows are tautened tightly, Their quivers full of shafts, They face the danger lightly, And charge the haughty foe.

As rocks by lightning riven Their ranks are rent apart; As clouds by tempest driven They break and flee away.

Then on the sand, blood-streaming, The weary victors sleep, Their swords with h.o.a.r-frost gleaming, Their bows dark shadows cast.

The Pa.s.s has been defended, The foes are scattered far, The soldiers' wives untended May seek their homes again.

[2] The name of a tune.

[3] The Chinese saddle is curved upwards both in front and at the back, leaving a deep hollow in the centre where the rider sits.

[4] Tartar tribes beyond the frontiers.

_The Cowherd and the Spinning-Maid_[5]

BY LUH-KI

Brightly s.h.i.+nes the Starry River Flowing down the Heavenly glade; From the north-west comes the 'Herd-Boy', From the south-east looks the 'Maid'.

Quickly waves a white hand shapely, Sadly smiles her beauteous face, When she sees her faithful lover Far across the glittering s.p.a.ce.

Arms stretched out towards each other-- With impulsive feet they stand; Eyes with sorrow's tears bedewed-- On the Star-Stream's s.h.i.+ning strand.

But, alas, that bridgeless River Is the cause of all their pain, Dooming 'Spinning-Maid' and 'Herd-Boy'