Japanese Literature Part 32

But where is his native hamlet?

Strange hamlets line the strand.

Where is his mother's cottage?

Strange cots rise on either hand.

"What, in three short years since I left it,"

He cries in his wonder sore, "Has the home of my childhood vanished?

Is the bamboo fence no more?

"Perchance if I open the casket Which the maiden gave to me, My home and the dear old village Will come back as they used to be."

And he lifts the lid, and there rises A fleecy, silvery cloud, That floats off to the Evergreen Country:-- And the fisher-boy cries aloud;

He waves the sleeve of his tunic, He rolls over on the ground, He dances with fury and horror, Running wildly round and round.[132]

But a sudden chill comes o'er him That bleaches his raven hair, And furrows with h.o.a.ry wrinkles The form erst so young and fair.

His breath grows fainter and fainter, Till at last he sinks dead on the sh.o.r.e; And I gaze on the spot where his cottage Once stood, but now stands no more.

_Anon_.

ON SEEING A DEAD BODY

Methinks from the hedge round the garden His bride the fair hemp hath ta'en, And woven the fleecy raiment That ne'er he threw off him again.

For toilsome the journey he journeyed To serve his liege and lord,[133]

Till the single belt that encircled him Was changed to a thrice-wound cord;

And now, methinks, he was faring Back home to the country-side, With thoughts all full of his father, Of his mother, and of his bride.

But here 'mid the eastern mountains, Where the awful pa.s.s climbs their brow, He halts on his onward journey And builds him a dwelling low;

And here he lies stark in his garments, Dishevelled his raven hair, And ne'er can he tell me his birthplace, Nor the name that he erst did bear.

_Sakimaro_.

THE MAIDEN OF UNaHI[134]

In Ashinoya village dwelt The Maiden of Unahi, On whose beauty the next-door neighbors e'en Might cast no wandering eye;

For they locked her up as a child of eight, When her hair hung loosely still; And now her tresses were gathered up, To float no more at will.[135]

And the men all yearned that her sweet face Might once more stand reveal'd, Who was hid from gaze, as in silken maze The chrysalis lies concealed.

And they formed a hedge round the house, And, "I'll wed her!" they all did cry; And the Champion of Chinu he was there, And the Champion of Unahi.

With jealous love these champions twain The beauteous girl did woo, Each had his hand on the hilt of his sword, And a full-charged quiver, too,

Was slung o'er the back of each champion fierce, And a bow of snow-white wood Did rest in the sinewy hand of each; And the twain defiant stood.

Crying, "An 'twere for her dear sake, Nor fire nor flood I'd fear!"

The maiden heard each daring word, But spoke in her mother's ear:--

"Alas! that I, poor country girl, Should cause this jealous strife!

As I may not wed the man I love What profits me my life?

"In Hades' realm I will await The issue of the fray."

These secret thoughts, with many a sigh, She whisper'd and pa.s.s'd away.

To the Champion of Chinu in a dream Her face that night was shown; So he followed the maid to Hades' shade, And his rival was left alone;

Left alone--too late! too late!

He gapes at the vacant air, He shouts, and he yells, and gnashes his teeth, And dances in wild despair.

"But no! I'll not yield!" he fiercely cries, "I'm as good a man as he!"

And girding his poniard, he follows after, To search out his enemy.

The kinsmen then, on either side, In solemn conclave met, As a token forever and evermore-- Some monument for to set,

That the story might pa.s.s from mouth to mouth, While heav'n and earth shall stand; So they laid the maiden in the midst, And the champions on either hand.

And I, when I hear the mournful tale, I melt into bitter tears, As though these lovers I never saw Had been mine own compeers.

_Mushimaro_.

THE GRAVE OF THE MAIDEN OF UNaHI

I stand by the grave where they buried The Maiden of Unahi, Whom of old the rival champions Did woo so jealously.

The grave should hand down through ages Her story for evermore, That men yet unborn might love her, And think on the days of yore.

And so beside the causeway They piled up the bowlders high; Nor e'er till the clouds that o'ershadow us Shall vanish from the sky,

May the pilgrim along the causeway Forget to turn aside, And mourn o'er the grave of the Maiden; And the village folk, beside,

Ne'er cease from their bitter weeping, But cl.u.s.ter around her tomb; And the ages repeat her story, And bewail the Maiden's doom.

Till at last e'en I stand gazing On the grave where she now lies low, And muse with unspeakable sadness On the old days long ago.