More Translations from the Chinese Part 8

I remembered the days when I served before the Throne Pencil in hand, on duty at the Ch'eng-ming;[1]

At the height of spring, when I paused an instant from work, Morning and evening, was _this_ the voice I heard?

Now in my exile the oriole sings again In the dreary stillness of Hsun-yang town ...

The bird's note cannot really have changed; All the difference lies in the listener's heart.

If he could but forget that he lives at the World's end, The bird would sing as it sang in the Palace of old.

[1] Name of a palace at Ch'ang-an.

[35] DREAMING THAT I WENT WITH LU AND YU TO VISIT YuAN CHEN

[_Written in exile_]

At night I dreamt I was back in Ch'ang-an; I saw again the faces of old friends.

And in my dreams, under an April sky, They led me by the hand to wander in the spring winds.

Together we came to the village of Peace and Quiet; We stopped our horses at the gate of Yuan Chen.

Yuan Chen was sitting all alone; When he saw me coming, a smile came to his face.

He pointed back at the flowers in the western court; Then opened wine in the northern summer-house.

He seemed to be saying that neither of us had changed; He seemed to be regretting that joy will not stay; That our souls had met only for a little while, To part again with hardly time for greeting.

I woke up and thought him still at my side; I put out my hand; there was nothing there at all.

[36] THE FIFTEENTH VOLUME

[_Having completed the fifteenth volume of his works, the poet sends it to his friends Yuan Chen and Li Chien, with a jesting poem._]

[_Written in 818_]

My long poem, the "Eternal Grief,"[1] is a beautiful and moving work; My ten "Songs of Shensi" are models of tunefulness.

I cannot prevent Old Yuan from stealing my best rhymes; But I earnestly beg Little Li to respect my ballads and songs.

While I am alive riches and honour will never fall to my lot; But well I know that after I am dead the fame of my books will live.

This random talk and foolish boasting forgive me, for to-day I have added Volume Fifteen to the row that stands to my name.

[1] See Giles, "Chinese Literature," p. 169.

[37] INVITATION TO HSIAO CHu-s.h.i.+H[1]

[_Written when Governor of Chung-Chou_]

Within the Gorges there is no lack of men; They are people one meets, not people one cares for.

At my front door guests also arrive; They are people one sits with, not people one knows.

When I look up, there are only clouds and trees; When I look down--only my wife and child.

I sleep, eat, get up or sit still; Apart from that, nothing happens at all.

But beyond the city Hsiao the hermit dwells; And with _him_ at least I find myself at ease.

For _he_ can drink a full flagon of wine And is good at reciting long-line poems.

Some afternoon, when the clerks have all gone home, At a season when the path by the river bank is dry, I beg you, take up your staff of bamboo-wood And find your way to the parlour of the Government House.

[1] Nos. 37, 38, 39, and 40 were written when the poet was Governor of a remote part of Ssechuan,--in the extreme west of China.

[38] TO LI CHIEN

[_A.D. 818_]

The province I govern is humble and remote; Yet our festivals follow the Courtly Calendar.

At rise of day we sacrificed to the Wind G.o.d, When darkly, darkly, dawn glimmered in the sky.

Officers followed, hors.e.m.e.n led the way; They brought us out to the wastes beyond the town, Where river mists fall heavier than rain, And the fires on the hill leap higher than the stars.

Suddenly I remembered the early levees at Court When you and I galloped to the Purple Yard.

As we walked our horses up Dragon Tail Street We turned our heads and gazed at the Southern Hills.

Since we parted, both of us have been growing old; And our minds have been vexed by many anxious cares.

Yet even now I fancy my ears are full Of the sound of jade tinkling on your bridle-straps.

[39] THE SPRING RIVER

[_A.D. 820_]

Heat and cold, dusk and dawn have crowded one upon the other; Suddenly I find it is two years since I came to Chung-chou.

Through my closed doors I hear nothing but the morning and evening drum; From my upper windows all I see is the s.h.i.+ps that come and go.[1]

In vain the orioles tempt me with their song to stray beneath the flowering trees; In vain the gra.s.ses lure me by their colour to sit beside the pond.

There is one thing and one alone I never tire of watching-- The spring river as it trickles over the stones and babbles past the rocks.

[1] "The Emperor Saga of j.a.pan [reigned A.D. 810-23] one day quoted to his Minister, Ono no Takamura, the couplet:

'Through my closed doors I hear nothing but the morning and evening drum; From my upper windows in the distance I see s.h.i.+ps that come and go.'

Takamura, thinking these were the Emperor's own verses, said: 'If I may venture to criticize an august composition, I would suggest that the phrase "in the distance" be altered.' The Emperor was delighted, for he had purposely changed 'all I see' to 'in the distance I see.' At that time there was only one copy of Po Chu-i's poems in j.a.pan and the Emperor, to whom it belonged, had allowed no one to see it."--From the _Kodansho_ [twelfth century].

[40] AFTER COLLECTING THE AUTUMN TAXES