Chinese Poems Part 4

Nevermore to meet again.

[5] According to a Chinese legend the stars K'ien-Niu (Cowherd) and Chih-Nu (Spinning-Maid) are two lovers, doomed by the G.o.ds to live on opposite sides of the 'River of Stars' (Milky Way). As there is no bridge over this river, the two lovers can only stand afar and gaze at each other. (See note to 'The Swallow's Song'.)

_The Old Soldier's Return_

AN ANCIENT POEM: POET UNKNOWN

I was but fifteen when I left my friends For distant climes to fight our Country's foe, And now I'm eighty--back for the first time To see the home I left so long ago.

Where is the house? I should be near it now, Yet possibly I may have gone astray; Long years abroad have blurred the youthful brain, I'll ask this countryman to point the way.

'The house is yonder--midst those gra.s.sy mounds, Beneath the shade of fir and cypress trees, And there lie buried all the kith and kin Of former tillers of these fallow leas.'

The veteran sighed and wandered to the house, And found it overgrown and desolate; A startled hare fled through the kennel's hole, And pheasants flew from ceiling beams ornate.

Exhausted by the journey and his grief, The old man plucked some grain from patches wild, And mallows from around the courtyard well, As in the days when but a little child.

But when the homely fare was cooked and spread, And not a friend to cheer the lonely place, He rose, and going out to eastward gazed, While tears flowed down his worn and furrowed face.

_On the Lake near the Western Mountains_

BY CH'ANG KIEN.

T'ANG DYNASTY (ANCIENT STYLE)

Here at the foot-hills of the Western Mountains My boat rides idly on the current's trail, And in the lengthening radiance of the sunset It seems to chase its own reflected sail.

While in the rarer light that heralds evening The forms of all things clearer seem to grow; The forests and the glades and mountain ranges Catch added beauty from the afterglow.

The graceful minarets in cloudland floating From jadestone green take on a sombre hue, But still flush rose tints in the darkness falling, Although the sun has disappeared from view.

The shadows of the islands and the islets Stretch far across the surface of the lake; The evening mists that float above the waters Are bright as rain-clouds after showers break.

In the distance Tsu's[6] abounding forests Reveal their sombre outlines in the gloom; While on the farther sh.o.r.e the gates of King-chow Within the growing darkness faintly loom.

The atmosphere with nightfall groweth clearer, A north wind blows with shrill voice through the land; While on the sandy stretches by the waters The swan and stork in dreamy silence stand.

The waters now have ceased from restless heaving, My little boat is screened by rushes green; The moon emerging from the lake's horizon A soft light sheds upon the silent scene.

Amid the silence and the ghostly beauty I touch my lute to plaintive songs of old, And soon the pleasant strains and long-drawn cadence Have seized my senses in their subtle hold.

Thus in such ecstasy the hours pa.s.s quickly, And midnight comes with undetected speed; But now the heavy dew upon me falling Recalls my senses to the body's need.

Ah me! my body's but a fragile vessel Upon the ever-moving sea of life, Where light and shade and fitful joys and sorrows Control me in their everchanging strife.

[6] The name of a large feudal State in the Cheu Dynasty; it included Hupeh and Hunan and parts of Honan and Kiangsu. King-chow on the Yangtze was the capital.

_The Happy Farmer_

BY CHU Kw.a.n.g-HI

T'ANG DYNASTY

I've a hundred mulberry trees And thirty 'mow' of grain, With sufficient food and clothes, And friends my wine to drain.

The fragrant grain of 'Ku-mi' seed Provides our Summer fare; Our Autumn brew of aster wine Is rich beyond compare.

My goodwife comes with smiling face To welcome all our guests; My children run with willing feet To carry my behests.

When work is done and evening come, We saunter to the park, And there, 'neath elm and willow trees We're blithe as soaring lark.

With wine and song the hours fly by Till each in cloudland roams, And then, content with all the world, We wander to our homes.

Through lattice-window steals a breeze, As on my couch I lie, While overhead the 'Silver Stream'

Flows through a splendid sky.

And as I gaze it comes to mind-- A dozen jars at least Of the aster-scented wine remain To grace to-morrow's feast.

_An Old House Unroofed by an Autumn Gale_

BY TU FU

T'ANG DYNASTY

The roof of my house has been blown away By the fiercest of Autumn winds to-day; It was merely of gra.s.s and branches built-- Yet my only shelter save a wadded quilt.

Across the river it scurried and whirled, In tangled tufts, by the hurricane hurled, Ascending in gusts till caught by the trees, Or falling in ponds and on furrowed leas.

In great delight the village urchins shout, And say I'm old and cannot run about; And now before my face the rogues begin To steal things, and then run away and grin.

At last I drive them off and hobble back To find my home is shelterless, alack!

My lips are parched, my tongue is stiff and dry; My strength is gone, I can but rest and sigh.