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Humane treatment of the lower animals is not generally supposed
to be a
characteristic of the Chinese. They have no Society for the
Prevention
of Cruelty to Animals, which may perhaps account for some of
their
shortcomings in this direction. Han Yu was above all things of
a
kindly, humane nature, and although the following piece cannot be
taken
seriously, it affords a useful index to his general
feelings:--
“_Oh, spare the busy morning fly,
Spare the
mosquitos of the night!
And if their wicked trade they ply,
Let a
partition stop their flight._
“_Their span is brief from birth to
death;
Like you, they bite their little day;
And then, with autumn’s
earliest breath,
Like you, too, they are swept away._”
The
following lines were written on the way to his place of exile
in
Kuangtung:--
“_Alas! the early season flies,
Behold the
remnants of the spring!
My boat in landlocked water lies,
At dawn I
hear the wild birds sing._
“_Then, through clouds lingering on the
slope,
The rising sun breaks on to me,
And thrills me with a
fleeting hope,--
A prisoner longing to be free._
“_My flowing
tears are long since dried,
Though care clings closer than it
did.
But stop! All care we lay aside
When once they close the coffin
lid._”
[Sidenote: PO CHU-I]
Another famous poet, worthy to be
mentioned even after Han Yu,
was PO CHU-I (A.D. 772-846). As a child he was
most precocious,
knowing a considerable number of the written characters at
the
early age of seven months, after having had each one pointed
out only
once by his nurse. He graduated at the age of seventeen, and
rose to high
office in the State, though at one period of his life
he was banished to a
petty post, which somewhat disgusted him with
officialdom. To console
himself, he built a retreat at Hsiang-shan,
by which name he is sometimes
called; and there, together with eight
congenial companions, he gave himself
up to poetry and speculations
upon a future life. To escape recognition and
annoyance, all names were
dropped, and the party was generally known as the
Nine Old Gentlemen of
Hsiang-shan. This reaching the ears of the Emperor, he
was transferred
to be Governor of Chung-chou; and on the accession of Mu
Tsung in
821 he was sent as Governor to Hangchow. There he built one of
the
great embankments of the beautiful Western Lake, still known as
Po’s
Embankment. He was subsequently Governor of Soochow, and finally
rose
in 841 to be President of the Board of War. His poems were
collected
by Imperial command and engraved upon tablets of stone, which
were
set up in a garden he had made for himself in imitation of his
former
beloved retreat at Hsiang-shan. He disbelieved in the genuineness
of
the _Tao-Te-Ching_, and ridiculed its preposterous claims as
follows:--
“_‘Who know, speak not; who speak, know naught,’
Are
words from Lao Tzŭ’s lore.
What then becomes of Lao Tzŭ’s own
‘Five
thousand words and more’?_”
Here is a charming poem from his pen, which
tells the story of a poor
lute-girl’s sorrows. This piece is ranked very high
by the commentator
Lin Hsi-chung, who points out how admirably the wording is
adapted to
echo the sense, and declares that such workmanship raises the
reader
to that state of mental ecstasy known to the Buddhists as
_samadhi_,
and can only be produced once in a thousand autumns. The “guest”
is the
poet himself, setting out a second time for his place of banishment,
as
mentioned above, from a point about half-way thither, where he had
been
struck down by illness:--
“By night, at the riverside, adieus
were spoken: beneath the maple’s
flower-like leaves, blooming amid autumnal
decay. Host had dismounted
to speed the parting guest, already on board his
boat. Then a
stirrup-cup went round, but no flute, no guitar, was heard. And
so, ere
the heart was warmed with wine, came words of cold farewell beneath
the
bright moon, glittering over the bosom of the broad stream ...
when
suddenly across the water a lute broke forth into sound. Host
forgot
to go, guest lingered on, wondering whence the music, and asking
who
the performer might be. At this, all was hushed, but no answer given.
A
boat approached, and the musician was invited to join the party.
Cups
were refilled, lamps trimmed again, and preparations for
festivity
renewed. At length, after much pressing, she came forth, hiding
her
face behind her lute; and twice or thrice sweeping the
strings,
betrayed emotion ere her song was sung. Then every note she
struck
swelled with pathos deep and strong, as though telling the tale of
a
wrecked and hopeless life, while with bent head and rapid finger
she
poured forth her soul in melody. Now softly, now slowly, her
plectrum
sped to and fro; now this air, now that; loudly, with the crash
of
falling rain; softly, as the murmur of whispered words; now loud
and
soft together, like the patter of pearls and pearlets dropping upon
a
marble dish. Or liquid, like the warbling of the mango-bird in the
bush;
trickling, like the streamlet on its downward course. And then,
like the
torrent, stilled by the grip of frost, so for a moment was
the music lulled,
in a passion too deep for sound. Then, as bursts the
water from the broken
vase, as clash the arms upon the mailed horseman,
so fell the plectrum once
more upon the strings with a slash like the
rent of silk.
“Silence on
all sides: not a sound stirred the air. The autumn moon
shone silver athwart
the tide, as with a sigh the musician thrust her
plectrum beneath the strings
and quietly prepared to take leave. ‘My
childhood,’ said she, ‘was spent at
the capital, in my home near the
hills. At thirteen, I learnt the guitar, and
my name was enrolled
among the _primas_ of the day. The _maestro_ himself
acknowledged my
skill: the most beauteous of women envied my lovely face. The
youths
of the neighbourhood vied with each other to do me honour: a
single
song brought me I know not how many costly bales. Golden ornaments
and
silver pins were smashed, blood-red skirts of silk were stained
with
wine, in oft-times echoing applause. And so I laughed on from year
to
year, while the spring breeze and autumn moon swept over my
careless
head.
“‘Then my brother went away to the wars: my mother
died. Nights passed
and mornings came; and with them my beauty began to fade.
My doors were
no longer thronged; but few cavaliers remained. So I took a
husband
and became a trader’s wife. He was all for gain, and little recked
of
separation from me. Last month he went off to buy tea, and I
remained
behind, to wander in my lonely boat on moon-lit nights over the
cold
wave, thinking of the happy days gone by, my reddened eyes telling
of
tearful dreams.’
“The sweet melody of the lute had already moved my
soul to pity, and
now these words pierced me to the heart again. ‘O lady,’ I
cried, ‘we
are companions in misfortune, and need no ceremony to be friends.
Last
year I quitted the Imperial city, and fever-stricken reached this
spot,
where in its desolation, from year’s end to year’s end, no flute
or
guitar is heard. I live by the marshy river-bank, surrounded by
yellow
reeds and stunted bamboos. Day and night no sounds reach my ears
save
the blood-stained note of the nightjar, the gibbon’s mournful
wail.
Hill songs I have, and village pipes with their harsh discordant
twang.
But now that I listen to thy lute’s discourse, methinks ’tis the
music
of the gods. Prithee sit down awhile and sing to us yet again, while
I
commit thy story to writing.’
“Grateful to me (for she had been
standing long), the lute-girl
sat down and quickly broke forth into another
song, sad and soft,
unlike the song of just now. Then all her hearers melted
into tears
unrestrained; and none flowed more freely than mine, until my
bosom was
wet with weeping.”
Perhaps the best known of all the works
of Po Chu-i is a narrative
poem of some length entitled “The Everlasting
Wrong.” It refers to the
ignominious downfall of the Emperor known as Ming
Huang (A.D.
685-762), who himself deserves a passing notice. At his
accession
to the throne in 712, he was called upon to face an attempt on
the
part of his aunt, the T’ai-p’ing Princess, to displace him; but
this
he succeeded in crushing, and entered upon what promised to be
a
glorious reign. He began with economy, closing the silk factories
and
forbidding the palace ladies to wear jewels or embroideries,
considerable
quantities of which were actually burnt. Until 740 the
country was fairly
prosperous. The administration was improved, the
empire was divided into
fifteen provinces, and schools were established
in every village. The Emperor
was a patron of literature, and himself
a poet of no mean capacity. He
published an edition of the Classic of
Filial Piety, and caused the text to
be engraved on four tablets of
stone, A.D. 745. His love of war, however, and
his growing
extravagance, led to increased taxation. Fond of music, he
founded a
college for training youth of both sexes in this art. He
surrounded
himself by a brilliant Court, welcoming such men as the poet Li
Po,
at first for their talents alone, but afterwards for their
readiness
to participate in scenes of revelry and dissipation provided for
the
amusement of the Imperial concubine, the ever-famous Yang
Kuei-fei.
Eunuchs were appointed to official posts, and the grossest forms
of
religious superstition were encouraged. Women ceased to veil
themselves
as of old. Gradually the Emperor left off concerning himself
with
affairs of State; a serious rebellion broke out, and his Majesty
sought
safety in flight to Ssŭch’uan, returning only after having
abdicated
in favour of his son. The accompanying poem describes the rise
of
Yang Kuei-fei, her tragic fate at the hands of the soldiery, and
her
subsequent communication with her heart-broken lover from the world
of
shadows beyond the grave:--
ENNUI.--_His Imperial Majesty, a
slave to beauty,
longed for a “subverter of
empires;”[15]
For years he had sought in
vain
to secure such a treasure for his
palace...._
BEAUTY.--_From the Yang family came a
maiden,
just grown up to womanhood,
Reared
in the inner apartments,
altogether unknown to
fame.
But nature had amply endowed her
with
a beauty hard to conceal,
And one day she was
summoned
to a place at the monarch’s side.
Her sparkling eye and merry laughter
fascinated every
beholder,
And among the powder and paint of the
harem
her loveliness reigned supreme.
In the
chills of spring, by Imperial mandate,
she bathed in the
Hua-ch’ing Pool,
Laving her body in the glassy
wavelets
of the fountain perennially warm.
Then, when she came forth, helped by attendants,
her
delicate and graceful movements
Finally gained for her gracious
favour,
captivating his Majesty’s
heart._
REVELRY.--_Hair like a cloud, face like a
flower,
headdress which quivered as she
walked,
Amid the delights of the Hibiscus
Pavilion
she passed the soft spring
nights.
Spring nights, too short alas! for
them,
albeit prolonged till dawn,--
From
this time forth no more audiences
in the hours of early
morn.
Revels and feasts in quick
succession,
ever without a break,
She
chosen always for the spring excursion,
chosen for the
nightly carouse.
Three thousand peerless beauties
adorned
the apartments of the monarch’s
harem,
Yet always his Majesty reserved
his
attentions for her alone.
Passing her life in a “golden
house,”[16]
with fair girls to wait on
her,
She was daily wafted to ecstasy
on
the wine fumes of the banquet-hall.
Her sisters and her brothers,
one and all,
were raised to the rank of
nobles.
Alas! for the ill-omened
glories
which she conferred on her
family.
For thus it came about that fathers and
mothers
through the length and breadth of the
empire
Rejoiced no longer over the birth of
sons,
but over the birth of daughters.
In
the gorgeous palace
piercing the grey clouds
above,
Divine music, borne on the
breeze,
is spread around on all sides;
Of
song and the dance
to the guitar and
flute,
All through the live long day,
his
Majesty never tires.
But suddenly comes the
roll
of the fish-skin war-drums,
Breaking
rudely upon the air
of the “Rainbow Skirt and Feather
Jacket.”_
FLIGHT.--_Clouds of dust envelop
the
lofty gates of the capital.
A thousand war-chariots and ten
thousand horses
move towards the south-west.
Feathers and jewels among the throng,
onwards and then a
halt.
A hundred ~li~ beyond the western
gate,
leaving behind them the city walls,
The soldiers refuse to advance;
nothing remains to be
done
Until she of the moth-eyebrows
perishes
in sight of all.
On the ground lie gold
ornaments
with no one to pick them up,
Kingfisher wings, golden birds,
and hairpins of costly
jade.
The monarch covers his face,
powerless
to save;
And as he turns to look back,
tears
and blood flow mingled together._
EXILE.--_Across vast stretches of
yellow sand
with whistling winds,
Across
cloud-capped mountain-tops
they make their
way.
Few indeed are the travellers
who reach
the heights of Mount Omi;
The bright gleam of the
standards
grows fainter day by day.
Dark the
Ssŭch’uan waters,
dark the Ssŭch’uan
hills;
Daily and nightly his Majesty
is
consumed by bitter grief.
Travelling along, the very
brightness
of the moon saddens his heart,
And
the sound of a bell through the evening rain
severs his
viscera in twain._
RETURN.--_Time passes, days go by, and once
again
he is there at the well-known spot,
And there he lingers on, unable
to tear himself wholly
away.
But from the clods of earth
at the
foot of the Ma-wei hill,
No sign of her lovely face
appears,
only the place of death.
The eyes
of sovereign and minister meet,
and robes are wet with
tears,
Eastward they depart and hurry on
to
the capital at full speed._
HOME.--_There is the pool and there are the
flowers,
as of old.
There is the hibiscus of the
pavilion,
there are the willows of the palace.
In the hibiscus he sees her face,
in the willow he sees her
eyebrows:
How in the presence of these
should
tears not flow,--
In spring amid the flowers
of
the peach and plum,
In autumn rains when the
leaves
of the ~wu t’ung~ fall?
To the south of
the western palace
are many trees,
And when
their leaves cover the steps,
no one now sweeps them
away.
The hair of the Pear-Garden musicians
is
white as though with age;
The guardians of the Pepper
Chamber[17]
seem to him no longer young.
Where
fireflies flit through the hall,
he sits in silent
grief;
Alone, the lamp-wick burnt out,
he is
still unable to sleep.
Slowly pass the watches,
for the nights are now too long,
And brightly shine the
constellations,
as though dawn would never come.
Cold settles upon the duck-and-drake tiles,[18]
and thick
hoar-frost,
The kingfisher coverlet is chill,
with none to share its warmth.
Parted by life and
death,
time still goes on,
But never once does
her spirit come back
to visit him in
dreams._
SPIRIT-LAND.--_A Taoist priest of
Lin-ch’ung,
of the Hung-tu
school,
Was able, by his perfect art, to
summon
the spirits of the
dead.
Anxious to relieve the fretting
mind
of his sovereign,
This
magician receives orders
to urge a diligent
quest.
Borne on the clouds, charioted upon
ether,
he rushes with the speed of
lightning
High up to heaven, low down to
earth,
seeking everywhere.
Above,
he searches the empyrean;
below, the Yellow
Springs,
But nowhere in these vast
areas
can her place be found.
At
length he hears of an Isle of the Blest
away in
mid-ocean,
Lying in realms of
vacuity,
dimly to be
descried.
There gaily decorated
buildings
rise up like rainbow
clouds,
And there many gentle and beautiful
Immortals
pass their days in
peace.
Among them is one whose
name
sounds upon lips as
Eternal,
And by her snow-white skin and flower-like
face
he knows that this is
she.
Knocking at the jade door
at
the western gate of the golden palace,
He bids a fair
waiting-maid announce him
to her mistress, fairer
still.
She, hearing of this
embassy
sent by the Son of
Heaven,
Starts up from her
dreams
among the tapestry
curtains.
Grasping her clothes and pushing away the
pillow,
she arises in haste,
And
begins to adorn herself
with pearls and
jewels.
Her cloud-like coiffure,
dishevelled,
shows that she has just risen from
sleep,
And with her flowery head-dress
awry,
she passes into the
hall.
The sleeves of her immortal
robes
are filled out by the
breeze,
As once more she seems to
dance
to the “Rainbow Skirt and Feather
Jacket.”
Her features are fixed and
calm,
though myriad tears
fall,
Wetting a spray of
pear-bloom,
as it were with the raindrops of
spring.
Subduing her emotions, restraining her
grief,
she tenders thanks to his
Majesty,
Saying how since they
parted
she has missed his form and
voice;
And how, although their love on
earth
has so soon come to an
end,
The days and months among the
Blest
are still of long
duration.
And now she turns and
gazes
towards the abode of
mortals,
But cannot discern the Imperial
city
lost in the dust and
haze.
Then she takes out the old
keepsakes,
tokens of undying
love,
A gold hairpin, an enamel
brooch,
and bids the magician carry these
back.
One half of the hairpin she
keeps,
and one half of the enamel
brooch,
Breaking with her hands the yellow
gold,
and dividing the enamel in
two.
“Tell him,” she said, “to be firm of
heart,
as this gold and
enamel,
And then in heaven or on earth
below
we two may meet once
more.”
At parting, she confided to the
magician
many earnest messages of
love,
Among the rest recalling a
pledge
mutually understood;
How on
the seventh day of the seventh moon,
in the Hall of
Immortality,
At midnight, when none were
near,
he had whispered in her
ear,
“I swear that we will ever
fly
like the one-winged
birds,[19]
Or grow united like the
tree
with branches which twine
together.”[20]
Heaven and Earth, long-lasting as they
are,
will some day pass away;
But
this great wrong shall stretch out for ever,
endless,
for ever and ay._
[Sidenote: LI HO]
A precocious and short-lived
poet was LI HO, of the ninth
century. He began to write verses at the age of
seven. Twenty years
later he met a strange man riding on a hornless dragon,
who said to
him, “God Almighty has finished his Jade Pavilion, and has sent
for you
to be his secretary.” Shortly after this he died. The following is
a
specimen of his poetry:--
“_With flowers on the ground like
embroidery spread,
At twenty, the soft glow of wine in my head,
My
white courser’s bit-tassels motionless gleam
While the gold-threaded willow
scent sweeps o’er the stream.
Yet until ~she~ has smiled, all these flowers
yield no ray;
When her tresses fall down the whole landscape is
gay;
My hand on her sleeve as I gaze in her eyes,
A kingfisher hairpin
will soon be my prize._”
CHANG CHI, who also flourished in the ninth
century, was
eighty years old when he died. He was on terms of close
friendship with
Han Yu, and like him, too, a vigorous opponent of both
Buddhism and
Taoism. The following is his most famous poem, the beauty of
which,
says a commentator, lies beyond the words:--
“_Knowing, fair
sir, my matrimonial thrall,
Two pearls thou sentest me, costly
withal.
And I, seeing that Love thy heart possessed,
I wrapped them
coldly in my silken vest._
“_For mine is a household of high
degree,
My husband captain in the King’s army;
And one with wit like
thine should say,
‘The troth of wives is for ever and ay.’_
“_With
thy two pearls I send thee back two tears:
Tears--that we did not meet in
earlier years._”
Many more poets of varying shades of excellence must
here be set aside,
their efforts often brightened by those quaint conceits
which are so
dear to the Chinese reader, but which approach so perilously
near to
bathos when they appear in foreign garb. A few specimens, torn
from
their setting, may perhaps have an interest of their own. Here is
a
lady complaining of the leaden-footed flight of time as marked by
the
water-clock:--
“_It seems that the clepsydra
has
been filled up with the sea,
To make the long, long night
appear
an endless night to me!_”
The second line in the next
example is peculiarly characteristic:--
“_Dusk comes, the east wind
blows, and birds
pipe forth a mournful sound;
Petals, like nymphs
from balconies,
come tumbling to the ground._”
The next refers
to candles burning in a room where two friends are
having a last talk on the
night before parting for a long period:--
“_The very wax sheds
sympathetic tears,
And gutters sadly down till dawn appears._”
This
last is from a friend to a friend at a distance:--
“_Ah, when shall we
ever snuff candles again,
And recall the glad hours of that evening of
rain?_”
[Sidenote: LI SHE]
A popular poet of the ninth century was
LI SHE, especially
well known for the story of his capture by highwaymen. The
chief knew
him by name and called for a sample of his art, eliciting the
following
lines, which immediately secured his release:--
“_The
rainy mist sweeps gently o’er the village by the stream,
When from the
leafy forest glades the brigand daggers gleam....
And yet there is no need
to fear, nor step from out their way,
For more than half the world consists
of bigger rogues than they!_”
A popular physician in great request, as
well as a poet, was MA TZŬ-JAN
(_d._ A.D. 880). He studied Taoism in a
hostile sense, as would appear
from the following poem by him; nevertheless,
according to tradition,
he was ultimately taken up to heaven
alive:--
“_In youth I went to study ~TAO~ at its living
fountain-head,
And then lay tipsy half the day upon a gilded
bed.
‘What oaf is this,’ the Master cried, ‘content with human
lot?’
And bade me to the world get back and call myself a sot.
But
wherefore seek immortal life by means of wondrous pills?
Noise is not in
the market-place, nor quiet on the hills.
The secret of perpetual youth is
already known to me:
Accept with philosophic calm whatever fate may
be._”
HSU AN-CHEN, of the ninth century, is entitled to a place among
the
T’ang poets, if only for the following piece:--
“_When the Bear
athwart was lying,
And the night was just on dying,
And the moon was
all but gone,
How my thoughts did ramble on!_
“_Then a sound of
music breaks
From a lute that some one wakes,
And I know that it is
she,
The sweet maid next door to me._
“_And as the strains steal
o’er me
Her moth-eyebrows rise before me,
And I feel a gentle
thrill
That her fingers must be chill._
“_But doors and locks
between us
So effectually screen us
That I hasten from the
street
And in dreamland pray to meet._”
The following lines by TU
CH’IN-NIANG, a poetess of the ninth century,
are included in a collection of
300 gems of the T’ang dynasty:--
“_I would not have thee grudge those
robes
which gleam in rich array,
But I would have thee grudge
the hours
of youth which glide away.
Go, pluck the blooming
flower betimes,
lest when thou com’st again
Alas! upon the
withered stem
no blooming flowers remain!_”
[Sidenote:
SSŬ-K’UNG T’U]
It is time perhaps to bring to a close the long list,
which might be
almost indefinitely lengthened. SSŬ-K’UNG T’U (A.D. 834-908)
was a
secretary in the Board of Rites, but he threw up his post and
became
a hermit. Returning to Court in 905, he accidentally dropped
part
of his official insignia at an audience,--an unpardonable breach
of
Court etiquette,--and was allowed to retire once more to the
hills,
where he ultimately starved himself to death through grief at
the
murder of the youthful Emperor. He is commonly known as the Last
of
the T’angs; his poetry, which is excessively difficult to
understand,
ranking correspondingly high in the estimation of Chinese
critics. The
following philosophical poem, consisting of twenty-four
apparently
unconnected stanzas, is admirably adapted to exhibit the form
under
which pure Taoism commends itself to the mind of a cultivated
scholar:--
i.--ENERGY--ABSOLUTE.
“_Expenditure of force
leads to outward decay,
Spiritual existence means inward fulness.
Let
us revert to Nothing and enter the Absolute,
Hoarding up strength for
Energy.
Freighted with eternal principles,
Athwart the mighty
void,
Where cloud-masses darken,
And the wind blows ceaseless
around,
Beyond the range of conceptions,
Let us gain the
Centre,
And there hold fast without violence,
Fed from an
inexhaustible supply._”
ii.--TRANQUIL REPOSE.
“_It dwells in
quietude, speechless,
Imperceptible in the cosmos,
Watered by the
eternal harmonies,
Soaring with the lonely crane.
It is like a gentle
breeze in spring,
Softly bellying the flowing robe;
It is like the
note of the bamboo flute,
Whose sweetness we would fain make our
own.
Meeting by chance, it seems easy of access,
Seeking, we find it
hard to secure.
Ever shifting in semblance,
It shifts from the grasp
and is gone._”
iii.--SLIM--STOUT.
“_Gathering the
water-plants
From the wild luxuriance of spring,
Away in the depth of
a wild valley
Anon I see a lovely girl.
With green leaves the
peach-trees are loaded,
The breeze blows gently along the
stream,
Willows shade the winding path,
Darting orioles collect in
groups.
Eagerly I press forward
As the reality grows upon
me....
’Tis the eternal theme
Which, though old, is ever
new._”
iv.--CONCENTRATION.
“_Green pines and a rustic
hut,
The sun sinking through pure air,
I take off my cap and stroll
alone,
Listening to the song of birds.
No wild geese fly
hither,
And she is far away;
But my thoughts make her present
As
in the days gone by.
Across the water dark clouds are whirled,
Beneath
the moonbeams the eyots stand revealed,
And sweet words are
exchanged
Though the great River rolls
between._”
v.--HEIGHT--ANTIQUITY.
“_Lo the Immortal, borne
by spirituality,
His hand grasping a lotus flower,
Away to Time
everlasting,
Trackless through the regions of Space!
With the moon he
issues from the Ladle,[21]
Speeding upon a favourable gale;
Below,
Mount Hua looms dark,
And from it sounds a clear-toned bell.
Vacantly
I gaze after his vanished image,
Now passed beyond the bounds of
mortality....
Ah, the Yellow Emperor and Yao,
They, peerless, are his
models._”
vi.--REFINEMENT.
“_A jade kettle with a purchase
of spring,[22]
A shower on the thatched hut
Wherein sits a gentle
scholar,
With tall bamboos growing right and left,
And white clouds in
the newly-clear sky,
And birds flitting in the depths of trees.
Then
pillowed on his lute in the green shade,
A waterfall tumbling
overhead,
Leaves dropping, not a word spoken,
The man placid, like a
chrysanthemum,
Noting down the flower-glory of the season,--
A book
well worthy to be read._”
vii.--WASH--SMELT.
“_As iron from
the mines,
As silver from lead,
So purify thy heart,
Loving the
limpid and clean.
Like a clear pool in spring,
With its wondrous
mirrored shapes,
So make for the spotless and true,
And, riding the
moonbeam, revert to the Spiritual.
Let your gaze be upon the stars of
heaven,[23]
Let your song be of the hiding hermit;[23]
Like flowing
water is our to-day,
Our yesterday, the bright
moon._”[24]
viii.--STRENGTH.
“_The mind as though in the
void,
The vitality as though of the rainbow,
Among the thousand-ell
peaks of Wu,
Flying with the clouds, racing with the wind;
Drink of
the spiritual, feed on force,
Store them for daily use, guard them in your
heart,
Be like Him in His might,[25]
For this is to preserve your
energy;
Be a peer of Heaven and Earth,
A co-worker in Divine
transformation....
Seek to be full of these,
And hold fast to them
alway._”
ix.--EMBROIDERIES.
“_If the mind has wealth and
rank,
One may make light of yellow gold.
Rich pleasures pall ere
long,
Simple joys deepen ever.
A mist-cloud hanging on the river
bank,
Pink almond-flowers along the bough,
A flower-girt cottage
beneath the moon,
A painted bridge half seen in shadow,
A golden
goblet brimming with wine,
A friend with his hand on the lute....
Take
these and be content;
They will swell thy heart beneath thy
robe._”
x.--THE NATURAL.
“_Stoop, and there it is;
Seek
it not right and left.
All roads lead thither,--
One touch and you
have spring![26]
As though coming upon opening flowers,
As though
gazing upon the new year,
Verily I will not snatch it,
Forced, it will
dwindle away.
I will be like the hermit on the hill,
Like duckweed
gathered on the stream,[27]
And when emotions crowd upon me,
I will
leave them to the harmonies of heaven._”
xi.--SET
FREE.
“_Joying in flowers without let,
Breathing the
empyrean,
Through ~TAO~ reverting to ether,
And there to be wildly
free,
Wide-spreading as the wind of heaven,
Lofty as the peaks of
ocean,
Filled with a spiritual strength,
All creation by my
side,
Before me the sun, moon, and stars,
The phœnix following
behind.
In the morning I whip up my leviathans
And wash my feet in
Fusang._”[28]
xii.--CONSERVATION.
“_Without a word writ
down,
All wit may be attained.
If words do not affect the
speaker,
They seem inadequate to sorrow.[29]
Herein is the First
Cause,
With which we sink or rise,
As wine in the strainer mounts
high,
As cold turns back the season of flowers.
The wide-spreading
dust-motes in the air,
The sudden spray-bubbles of ocean,
Shallow,
deep, collected, scattered,--
You grasp ten thousand, and secure
one._”
xiii.--ANIMAL SPIRITS.
“_That they might come back
unceasingly,
That they might be ever with us!--
The bright river,
unfathomable,
The rare flower just opening,
The parrot of the verdant
spring,
The willow-trees, the terrace,
The stranger from the dark
hills,
The cup overflowing with clear wine....
Oh, for life to be
extended,
With no dead ashes of writing,
Amid the charms of the
Natural,--
Ah, who can compass it?_” |
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