Part 9

-- * A delicate compliment to the beautiful T`ai Chen, of which the meaning is that, as the Emperor Yang-ti of the Sui dynasty elevated his mistress Fei-yen to share with him the throne, so shall T`ai Chen become the Empress of Ming Huang. --

On the Banks of Jo-yeh

They gather lilies down the stream, A net of willows drooping low Hides boat from boat; and to and fro Sweet whispered confidences seem 'Mid laughing trills to flow.

In the green deeps a shaft of gold Limns their elaborate attire; Through silken sleeves the winds aspire, Embalmed, to stray, and, growing bold, Swell them to their desire.

But who are these, the cavaliers That gleam along the river-side? By three, by five they prance with pride Beyond the willow-line that sheers Over the trellised tide.

A charger neighs; one turns to start, Crushing the kingcups as he flies, And one pale maiden vainly tries To hush the tumult in her heart And veil the secret of her eyes.

Thoughts in a Tranquil Night

Athwart the bed I watch the moonbeams cast a trail So bright, so cold, so frail, That for a space it gleams Like hoar-frost on the margin of my dreams. I raise my head, -- The splendid moon I see: Then droop my head, And sink to dreams of thee -- My Fatherland, of thee!

The Guild of Good-fellowship

The universe is but a tenement Of all things visible. Darkness and day The passing guests of Time. Life slips away, A dream of little joy and mean content.

Ah! wise the old philosophers who sought To lengthen their long sunsets among flowers, By stealing the young night's unsullied hours And the dim moments with sweet burdens fraught.

And now Spring beckons me with verdant hand, And Nature's wealth of eloquence doth win Forth to the fragrant-bowered nectarine, Where my dear friends abide, a careless band.

There meet my gentle, matchless brothers, there I come, the obscure poet, all unfit To wear the radiant jewellery of wit, And in their golden presence cloud the air.

And while the thrill of meeting lingers, soon As the first courtly words, the feast is spread, While, couched on flowers 'mid wine-cups flashing red, We drink deep draughts unto The Lady Moon.

Then as without the touch of verse divine There is no outlet for the pent-up soul, 'Twas ruled that he who quaffed no fancy's bowl Should drain the "Golden Valley"* cups of wine.

-- * i.e. drink three cups of wine, the "Golden Valley" being the name of a garden, the owner of which enforced this penalty among his boon companions (`Gems of Chinese Literature', p. 113). --

Under the Moon

Under the crescent moon's faint glow The washerman's bat resounds afar, And the autumn breeze sighs tenderly. But my heart has gone to the Tartar war, To bleak Kansuh and the steppes of snow, Calling my husband back to me.

Drifting

We cannot keep the gold of yesterday; To-day's dun clouds we cannot roll away. Now the long, wailing flight of geese brings autumn in its train, So to the view-tower cup in hand to fill and drink again,

And dream of the greatest singers of the past, Their fadeless lines of fire and beauty cast. I too have felt the wild-bird thrill of song behind the bars, But these have brushed the world aside and walked amid the stars.

In vain we cleave the torrent's thread with steel, In vain we drink to drown the grief we feel; When man's desire with fate doth war this, this avails alone -- To hoist the sail and let the gale and the waters bear us on.

Wang Ch`ang-ling

Circa A.D. 750

This poet came from the district of Chiang-ning to the capital, where he obtained his doctor's degree and distinguished himself as a man of letters. For some time he filled a minor post, but was eventually disgraced and exiled to the province of Hunan. When the rebellion of An Lu-shan broke out, he returned to his native place, where he was cruelly murdered by the censor Lu Ch`in-hsiao. (See Hervey Saint-Denys, `Poe/sies des Thang', p. 224; Giles, `Biog. Dict.' p. 8087.)

The Song of the Nenuphars

Leaves of the Nenuphars and silken skirts the same pale green, On flower and laughing face alike the same rose-tints are seen; Like some blurred tapestry they blend within the lake displayed: You cannot part the leaves from silk, the lily from the maid. Only when sudden voices swell Do maidens of their presence tell.

Here long ago the girls of Sou, the darlings of the King, Dabbled their shining skirts with dew from the gracious blooms of Spring. When to the lake's sun-dimpled marge the bright procession wends, The languid lilies raise their heads as though to greet their friends; When down the river-banks they roam, The white moon-lady leads them home.