THE ODES OF P'EI
Project Gutenberg EPUB edition
Wilson, Epiphanius, Confucius, Faxian, Mencius, Davis, John Francis, Sir, Jennings, William, and Legge, James
~An Officer Bewails the Neglect with which He is Treated~
It floats about, that boat of cypress wood, Now here, now there, as by the current borne. Nor rest nor sleep comes in my troubled mood; I suffer as when painful wound has torn The shrinking body. Thus I dwell forlorn, And aimless muse, my thoughts of sorrow full. I might with wine refresh my spirit worn; I might go forth, and, sauntering try to cool The fever of my heart; but grief holds sullen rule.
My mind resembles not a mirror plate, Reflecting all the impressions it receives. The good I love, the bad regard with hate; I only cherish whom my heart believes. Colleagues I have, but yet my spirit grieves, That on their honor I cannot depend. I speak, but my complaint no influence leaves Upon their hearts; with mine no feelings blend; With me in anger they, and fierce disdain contend.
My mind is fixed, and cannot, like a stone, Be turned at will indifferently about; And what I think, to that, and that alone, I utterance give, alike within, without; Nor can like mat be rolled and carried out. With dignity in presence of them all, My conduct marked, my goodness who shall scout? My foes I boldly challenge, great and small, If there be aught in me they can in question call.
How full of trouble is my anxious heart! With hate the blatant herd of creatures mean Ceaseless pursue. Of their attacks the smart Keeps my mind in distress. Their venomed spleen Aye vents itself; and with insulting mien They vex my soul; and no one on my side A word will speak. Silent, alone, unseen, I think of my sad case; then opening wide My eyes, as if from sleep, I beat my breast, sore-tried.
Thy disc, O sun, should ever be complete, While thine, O changing moon, doth wax and wane. But now our sun hath waned, weak and effete, And moons are ever full. My heart with pain Is firmly bound, and held in sorrow's chain, As to the body cleaves an unwashed dress. Silent I think of my sad case; in vain I try to find relief from my distress. Would I had wings to fly where ills no longer press!
~A Wife Deplores the Absence of Her Husband~
Away the startled pheasant flies, With lazy movement of his wings. Borne was my heart's lord from my eyes;— What pain the separation brings!
The pheasant, though no more in view, His cry, below, above, forth sends. Alas! my princely lord, 'tis you— Your absence, that my bosom rends.
At sun and moon I sit and gaze, In converse with my troubled heart. Far, far from me my husband stays! When will he come to heal its smart?
Ye princely men who with him mate, Say, mark ye not his virtuous way. His rule is—covet nought, none hate;— How can his steps from goodness stray?
~The Plaint of a Rejected Wife~
The east wind gently blows, With cloudy skies and rain. 'Twixt man and wife should ne'er be strife, But harmony obtain. Radish and mustard plants Are used, though some be poor; While my good name is free from blame, Don't thrust me from your door.
I go along the road, Slow, with reluctant heart. Your escort lame to door but came, There glad from me to part. Sow-thistle, bitter called, As shepherd's purse is sweet; With your new mate you feast elate, As joyous brothers meet.
Part clear, the stream of King Is foul beside the Wei. You feast elate with your new mate, And take no heed of me. Loose mate, avoid my dam, Nor dare my basket move! Person slighted, life all blighted, What can the future prove?
The water deep, in boat, Or raft-sustained, I'd go; And where the stream did narrow seem, I dived or breasted through. I labored to increase Our means, or great or small; When 'mong friends near death did appear, On knees to help I'd crawl.
No cherishing you give, I'm hostile in your eyes. As pedler's wares for which none cares, My virtues you despise.
When poverty was nigh, I strove our means to spare; You, now rich grown, me scorn to own; To poison me compare.
The stores for winter piled Are all unprized in spring. So now, elate with your new mate, Myself away you fling. Your cool disdain for me A bitter anguish hath. The early time, our love's sweet prime, In you wakes only wrath.
~Soldiers of Wei Bewail Separation from Their Families~
List to the thunder and roll of the drum! See how we spring and brandish the dart! Some raise Ts'aou's walls; some do field work at home; But we to the southward lonely depart.
Our chief, Sun Tsze-chung, agreement has made, Our forces to join with Ch'in and with Sung. When shall we back from this service be led? Our hearts are all sad, our courage unstrung.
Here we are halting, and there we delay; Anon we soon lose our high-mettled steeds. The forest's gloom makes our steps go astray; Each thicket of trees our searching misleads.
For death as for life, at home or abroad, We pledged to our wives our faithfulest word. Their hands clasped in ours, together we vowed, We'd live to old age in sweetest accord.
This march to the South can end but in ill; Oh! never shall we our wives again meet. The word that we pledged we cannot fulfil; Us home returning they never will greet.
~An Officer Tells of His Mean Employment~
With mind indifferent, things I easy take; In every dance I prompt appearance make:— Then, when the sun is at his topmost height, There, in the place that courts the public sight.
With figure large I in the courtyard dance, And the duke smiles, when he beholds me prance. A tiger's strength I have; the steeds swift bound; The reins as ribbons in my hands are found.
See how I hold the flute in my left hand; In right the pheasant's plume, waved like a wand; With visage red, where rouge you think to trace, While the duke pleased, sends down the cup of grace!
Hazel on hills; the ling in meadow damp;— Each has its place, while I'm a slighted scamp. My thoughts go back to th' early days of Chow, And muse upon its chiefs, not equalled now. O noble chiefs, who then the West adorned, Would ye have thus neglected me and scorned?
~An Officer Sets Forth His Hard Lot~
My way leads forth by the gate on the north; My heart is full of woe. I hav'n't a cent, begged, stolen, or lent, And friends forget me so. So let it be! 'tis Heaven's decree. What can I say—a poor fellow like me?
The King has his throne, sans sorrow or moan; On me fall all his cares, And when I come home, resolved not to roam, Each one indignant stares. So let it be! 'tis Heaven's decree. What can I say—a poor fellow like me?
Each thing of the King, and the fate of the State, On me come more and more. And when, sad and worn, I come back forlorn, They thrust me from the door. So let it be! 'tis Heaven's decree. What can I say—a poor fellow like me?
~The Complaint of a Neglected Wife~
When the upper robe is green, With a yellow lining seen, There we have a certain token, Right is wronged and order broken. How can sorrow from my heart In a case like this depart?
Color green the robe displays; Lower garment yellow's blaze. Thus it is that favorite mean In the place of wife is seen. Vain the conflict with my grief; Memory denies relief.
Yes, 'twas you the green who dyed, You who fed the favorite's pride. Anger rises in my heart, Pierces it as with a dart. But on ancient rules lean I, Lest to wrong my thoughts should fly.
Fine or coarse, if thin the dress, Cold winds always cause distress. Hard my lot, my sorrow deep, But my thoughts in check I keep. Ancient story brings to mind Sufferers who were resigned.
[NOTE.—Yellow is one of the five "correct" colors of the Chinese, while green is one of the "intermediate" colors that are less esteemed. Here we have the yellow used merely as a lining to the green, or employed in the lower, or less honorable, part of the dress;—an inversion of propriety, and intimating how a favorite had usurped the place of the rightful wife and thrust her down.]