The Wisdom of Confucius Part 29

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 n.i.g.g.ard 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!

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."

BOOK X

_The Odes of T'ang_

THE KING GOES TO WAR

The wild geese fly the bushy oaks around, With clamor loud. _Suh-suh_ their wings resound, As for their feet poor resting-place is found.

The King's affairs admit of no delay.

Our millet still unsown, we haste away.

No food is left our parents to supply; When we are gone, on whom can they rely?

O azure Heaven, that shinest there afar, When shall our homes receive us from the war?

The wild geese on the bushy jujube-trees Attempt to settle and are ill at ease;-- _Suh-suh_ their wings go flapping in the breeze.

The King's affairs admit of no delay; Our millet still unsown, we haste away.

How shall our parents their requirements get?

How in our absence shall their wants be met?

O azure Heaven, that shinest there afar, When shall our homes receive us from the war?

The bushy mulberry-trees the geese in rows Seek eager and to rest around them close-- With rustling loud, as disappointment grows.

The King's affairs admit of no delay; To plant our rice and maize we cannot stay.

How shall our parents find their wonted food?

When we are gone, who will to them be good?

O azure Heaven, that shinest there afar, When shall our homes receive us from the war?

LAMENT OF A BEREAVED PERSON

A russet pear-tree rises all alone, But rich the growth of leaves upon it shown!

I walk alone, without one brother left, And thus of natural aid am I bereft.

Plenty of people there are all around, But none like my own father's sons are found.

Ye travellers, who forever hurry by, Why on me turn the unsympathizing eye?

No brother lives with whom my cause to plead;-- Why not perform for me the helping deed?

A russet pear-tree rises all alone, But rich with verdant foliage o'ergrown.

I walk alone, without one brother's care, To whom I might, amid my straits repair.

Plenty of people there are all around, But none like those of my own name are found.

Ye travellers, who forever hurry by, Why on me turn the unsympathizing eye?

No brother lives with whom my cause to plead;-- Why not perform for me the helping deed?

THE DRAWBACKS OF POVERTY

On the left of the way, a russet pear-tree Stands there all alone--a fit image of me.

There is that princely man! O that he would come, And in my poor dwelling with me be at home!

In the core of my heart do I love him, but say, Whence shall I procure him the wants of the day?

At the bend in the way a russet pear-tree Stands there all alone--a fit image of me.

There is that princely man! O that he would come, And rambling with me be himself here at home!

In the core of my heart I love him, but say, Whence shall I procure him the wants of the day?

A WIFE MOURNS FOR HER HUSBAND

The dolichos grows and covers the thorn, O'er the waste is the dragon-plant creeping.

The man of my heart is away and I mourn-- What home have I, lonely and weeping?

Covering the jujubes the dolichos grows, The graves many dragon-plants cover; But where is the man on whose breast I'd repose?

No home have I, having no lover!

Fair to see was the pillow of horn, And fair the bed-chamber's adorning; But the man of my heart is not here, and I mourn All alone, and wait for the morning.

While the long days of summer pa.s.s over my head, And long winter nights leave their traces, I'm alone! Till a hundred of years shall have fled, And then I shall meet his embraces.

Through the long winter nights I am burdened with fears, Through the long summer days I am lonely; But when time shall have counted its hundreds of years I then shall be his--and his only!