A Hundred and Seventy Chinese Poems Part 3

"I would have your Majesty consider which of us is the debauchee."

Sung Yu was not dismissed from court.

THE ORPHAN

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 alive I used to ride in a carriage With four fine horses.

But when they both died, My brother and sister-in-law Sent 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 home I 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 hall And running down again to the parlour.

My tears fell like rain.

In the morning they sent me to draw water, I didn't get back till night-fall.

My hands were all sore And I had no shoes.

I walked the cold earth Treading on thorns and brambles.

As I stopped to pull out the thorns, How bitter my heart was!

My tears fell and fell And I went on sobbing and sobbing.

In winter I have no great-coat; Nor in summer, thin clothes.

It is no pleasure to be alive.

I had rather quickly leave the earth And go beneath the Yellow Springs.[4]

The April winds blow And the gra.s.s is growing green.

In the third month--silkworms and mulberries, In the sixth month--the melon-harvest.

I went out with the melon-cart And just as I was coming home The melon-cart turned over.

The people who came to help me were few, But the people who ate the melons were many, All they left me was the stalks-- To take home as fast as I could.

My brother and sister-in-law were harsh, They asked me all sorts of awful questions.

Why does everyone in the village hate me?

I want to write a letter and send it To my mother and father under the earth, And tell them I can't go on any longer Living with my brother and sister-in-law.

[4] Hades.

THE SICK WIFE

She had been ill for years and years; She sent for me to say something.

She couldn't say what she wanted Because 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.

Don't forget to do that."

Last she said, "When I carried them in my arms they had no clothes And now their jackets have no linings." [_She dies._

I shut the doors and barred the windows And 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 children Calling to be taken into their mother's arms.

I walked up and down in the empty room This 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."

c.o.c.k-CROW SONG

Anon. (first century B.C.)

In the eastern quarter dawn breaks, the stars flicker pale.

The morning c.o.c.k at Ju-nan mounts the wall and crows.

The songs are over, the clock[5] run down, but still the feast is set.

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.

THE GOLDEN PALACE

Anon. (first century B.C.)

We go to the Golden Palace: We set out the jade cups.

We summon the honoured guests To enter at the Golden Gate.

They enter at the Golden Gate And go to the Golden Hall.

In the Eastern Kitchen the meat is sliced and ready-- Roast beef and boiled pork and mutton.

The Master of the Feast hands round the wine.

The harp-players sound their clear chords.

The cups are pushed aside and we face each other at chess: The rival p.a.w.ns are marshalled rank against rank.

The fire glows and the smoke puffs and curls; From the incense-burner rises a delicate fragrance.

The clear wine has made our cheeks red; Round the table joy and peace prevail.

May those who shared in this day's delight Through countless autumns enjoy like felicity.

"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.