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BOOK III.: THE ODES OF P‘EI. - Misc (Confucian School), The Shi King, the Old “Poetry Classic” of the Chinese [1891]

Edition used:

The Shi King, the Old “Poetry Classic” of the Chinese. A Close Metrical Translation, with Annotations by William Jennings (London: George Routledge and Sons, 1891).

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BOOK III.

THE ODES OF P‘EI.

P‘ei was one of three principalities which King Wu created after he overthrew the dynasty of Shang. It was in the north; and the two others were—Yung in the south, and Wei in the west. P‘ei and Yung were, after a short time, absorbed in Wei, which had a long history. We have, in Books III., IV. and V. titles taken from all three; but evidently the division is only artificial: the three Books might all have been included properly under the title Wei, since it is that State with which all are connected.

I. iii. 1.

DERELICT.*

    • The cedar boat is drifting,
    • On currents never still.
    • Sleepless I lie, vexed inly,
    • As with some unknown ill.
    • ’Tis not that wine is wanting,
    • Or leave to roam at will.
    • My heart is no mere mirror
    • That cannot comprehend.
    • Brothers I have, but may not
    • On brothers e’en depend.
    • Tush! when I go complaining
    • ’Tis only to offend.
    • No stone this heart of mine is,
    • That may be turned and rolled;
    • No mat this heart of mine is,
    • To fold or to unfold.
    • Steadfast and strict my life is;
    • Nought ’gainst it can be told.
    • Yet here I sit in sorrow,
    • Scorned by a rabble crew.
    • My troubles have been many,
    • My insults not a few.
    • Calmly I think—then, starting,
    • I beat my breast anew.
    • O moon, why now the brighter?*
    • O sun, why now dost wane?
    • My heart wears grief as garments
    • Inured to soil and stain.
    • Calmly I think—then, starting,
    • Would fly—but all in vain.

I. iii. 2.

SUPPLANTED.

    • Green now my robe!*
    • Green, lined with yellow.
    • Ah! when shall Grief
    • Be not my fellow!
    • Green is the robe;
    • Yellow the skirt!
    • Ah! when shall Grief
    • Nevermore hurt!
    • Green is the silk;
    • Ruled so by you.—
    • Guide me, ye ancients!
    • Harm lest I do.
    • Lawn, fine or coarse,
    • Chills in the wind.—
    • Guide me, ye ancients!
    • Save me my mind.

I. iii. 3.

FRIENDS IN DISTRESS.*

    • O the swallows onward flying,
    • Wings aslant, irregular!
    • O the lady homeward hieing;
    • O’er the wilds escort her far.
    • Gaze I till I gaze in vain,
    • And my tears are like the rain.
    • O the swallows onward flying,
    • Soaring upward, darting low!
    • O the lady homeward hieing;
    • Far then let her escort go.
    • Gaze I till I gaze in vain;
    • Long I stand and weep amain.
    • O the swallows onward flying,
    • High and low, with twittering mouth!
    • O the lady homeward hieing;
    • Far escort her to the South.
    • Gaze I till I gaze in vain,
    • And my heart scarce bears the pain.
    • Lady Chung —on love relying,
    • And of feelings true and deep,
    • Ever sweet and much-complying,
    • Strict, yet, self-respect to keep—
    • Thoughtful of the dead was she:
    • Bright example to poor me!

I. iii. 4.

CLOUDS GATHERING.*

    • O sun, O moon, ye downwards turn
    • To earth your glorious gaze.
    • But ah! that men there be like this,
    • Forsaking ancient ways!
    • Where can be peace? Alas, his glance
    • From me for ever strays!
    • O sun, O moon, this earth below
    • Hath you as crown above.
    • But ah, that men there be like this,
    • That give not love for love!
    • Where can be peace? Alas that he
    • Should so responseless prove!
    • O sun, O moon, that morn and eve
    • Rise in yon Eastern sky.
    • Alas that men there be like this,
    • Whose deeds fair words belie.
    • Where can be peace? Ah, better now
    • If memory could but die!
    • O sun, O moon, that morn and eve
    • Rise yonder in the East.
    • O parents mine! your charge of me
    • Hath not for ever ceased.
    • Where can be peace? For to my love
    • Responds he not the least.

I. iii. 5.

THE STORM.

    • Long, long the stormwind blew, and wild.—
    • He turned to look at me: he smiled;
    • But mockery was there, and scorn.
    • Ah, how my very heart was torn!
    • Long, long it blew, with dust for rain.—
    • “Be kind, and come to me again.”
    • He came not, neither went his way;
    • And long in pensive thought I lay.
    • On still it blew, with storm-clouds black;
    • Scarce light there was, so dense the pack.
    • Wakeful I lay, nor closed mine eyes;
    • And anxious thought brought fitful sighs.
    • Black and more black yet grew the gloom;
    • Then came loud thunder, boom on boom.
    • Awake I lay, all sleep was fled,
    • And anxious thought my fever fed.

I. iii. 6.

THE SOLDIER SIGHS FOR WIFE AND HOME.

    • When the beating of drums was heard around,
    • How we sprang to our weapons with leap and bound!
    • But the fields must have some, and the walls of Ts‘o* ;—
    • We alone to the South must a-marching go.
    • So we followed our leader Sun Tse-Chung,
    • And a peace there was made with Ch‘in and Sung.
    • But of homeward march is no sign as yet,
    • And our hearts are heavy, and pine and fret.
    • Ah! here we are lingering; here we stay;
    • And our steeds go wandering far astray;
    • And quest of them all must needs be made
    • Away in the depths of the woodland shade.
    • But, though far to be severed in death or life,
    • We are bound by the pledge each gave to his wife;
    • And we vowed, as we stood then hand in hand,
    • By each other in life’s last years to stand.
    • Alas! now wide is the gulf between!
    • And life to us now is a blank, I ween.
    • And, alas, for the plighted troth—so vain!
    • Untrue to our words we must aye remain.

I. iii. 7.

THE DISCONTENTED MOTHER.*

    • From the South the gladdening breezes blow
    • On the heart of that bush of thorn;
    • And the inmost leaves in it gaily grow.—
    • But the mother with care is worn.
    • From the South the gladdening breezes blow
    • On the twigs of that thorny tree.
    • And the mother is wise and good, but oh!
    • Bad and worthless men are we.
    • From the spring ’neath the walls of Tsun there runs
    • A cool and refreshing rill.
    • But the mother, though hers be seven sons,
    • Unrelieved here toils on still.
    • And the golden bright-eyed orioles
    • Wake their tuneful melodie.
    • But the mother’s heart no son consoles,
    • Though we seven around her be.

I. iii. 8.

SEPARATION.*

    • The male pheasant has taken his flight,
    • Yet leisurely moved he his wings!
    • Ah, to thee, my beloved, thyself
    • What sorrow this severance brings!
    • The male pheasant has taken his flight;
    • From below, from aloft, yet he cried.
    • Ah, true was my lord; and my heart
    • With its burden of sorrow is tried.
    • As I gaze at the sun and the moon,
    • Free rein to my thoughts I allow.
    • O the way, so they tell me, is long:
    • Tell me, how can be come to me now?
    • Wot ye not, then, ye gentlemen all,
    • Of his virtue and rectitude?
    • From all envy and enmity free,
    • What deed doth he other than good?

I. iii. 9.

UNTIMELY UNIONS.

    • The leaves of the gourd are yet sour* to the taste,
    • And the way through the ford is deep” (quoth she).
    • —“Deep be it, our garments we’ll raise to the waist,
    • Or shallow, then up to the knee” (quoth he).
    • “But the ford is full, and the waters rise.
    • Hark! a pheasant there, in alarm she cries.”
    • —“Nay, the ford when full would no axle wet;
    • And the pheasant but cackles to fetch her mate.”
    • “More sweet were the wildgoose’ cries to hear,
    • When the earliest streaks of the dawn appear;
    • And that is how men should seek their brides,—
    • (In the early spring) ere the ice divides.
    • The ferryman beckons and points to his boat:—
    • Let others cross over, I shall not.
    • The others may cross, but I say nay.
    • For a (true) companion here I stay.”

I. iii. 10.

LAMENT OF A DISCARDED WIFE.

    • When East winds blow unceasingly,
    • They bring but gloominess and rain.
    • Strive, strive to live unitedly,
    • And every angry thought restrain.
    • Some plants we gather for their leaves,
    • But leave the roots untouched beneath;
    • So, while unsullied was my name,
    • I should have lived with you till death.
    • With slow, slow step I took the road,
    • My inmost heart rebelling sore.
    • You came not far with me indeed,
    • You only saw me to the door.
    • Who calls the lettuce bitter fare?
    • The cress is not a whit more sweet.
    • Ay, feast there with your new-found bride,
    • Well-pleased, as when fond brothers meet.
    • The Wei, made turbid by the King,
    • Grows limpid by the islets there.
    • There, feasting with your new-found bride,
    • For me no longer now you care.
    • Yet leave to me my fishing-dam;
    • My wicker-nets—remove them not.
    • My person spurned,—some vacant hour
    • May bring compassion for my lot.
    • Where ran the river full and deep,
    • With raft or boat I paddled o’er;
    • And, where it flowed in shallower stream,
    • I dived or swam from shore to shore.
    • And what we had, or what we lost,
    • For that I strained my every nerve;
    • When other folks had loss, I’d crawl
    • Upon my knees, if aught ’twould serve.
    • And you can show me no kind care,
    • Nay, treated like a foe am I!
    • My virtue stood but in your way,
    • Like traders’ goods that none will buy.
    • Once it was feared we could not live;
    • In your reverses then I shared;
    • And now, when fortune smiles on you,
    • To very poison I’m compared.
    • I have laid by a goodly store,—
    • For winter’s use it was to be;—
    • Feast on there with your new-found bride,—
    • I was for use in poverty!
    • Rude fits of anger you have shown,
    • Now left me to be sorely tried.
    • Ah, you forget those days gone by,
    • When you came nestling to my side!

I. iii. 11.

A PRINCE AND HIS OFFICERS IN TROUBLE.*

    • Fallen so low, so low!
    • Wherefore not homeward go?
    • And we,—how could we for our chief refuse
    • Exposure to the nightly dews?
    • Fallen so low, so low!
    • Wherefore not homeward go?
    • And did we not our chief himself require,
    • How lived we here in mud and mire?

I. iii. 12.

LI FINDS NO HELP IN WEI.*

    • How have the creepers on the crested slope
    • Crept with their tendrils far and wide!
    • And O, ye foster-fathers of our land,
    • How have our days here multiplied!
    • Why is there never movement made?
    • Comes surely some expected aid.
    • Why is this long, protracted pause?
    • ’Tis surely not without a cause.
    • With foxfurs worn and frayed, without our cars,
    • Came we not Eastward here to you?
    • O ye, the foster-fathers of our land,
    • Will ye have nought with us to do?
    • A shattered remnant, last of all our host,
    • But waifs and vagabonds are we!
    • And ye, the foster-fathers of our land,
    • Smile on, but deaf ye seem to be!

I. iii. 13.

BUFFOONERY AT COURT.

    • Calm and cool, see him advance!
    • Now for posturing and dance,—
    • While the sun’s in middle sky,—
    • There in front of platform high!
    • See him, corpulent and tall,
    • Capering in that ducal hall!
    • Tiger-like in strength of limb,—
    • Reins like ribbons were to him!
    • Left hand now the flute assumes,*
    • Right hand grasps the pheasant’s plumes;
    • Red, as though with rouge, the face.
    • “Give him liquor!” cries His Grace.
    • There are hazels on the hill,
    • There is fungus in the fen.
    • Say to whom my thoughts then flee.—
    • To those fine West-country men.
    • Those are admirable men!
    • The West-country men for me!

I. iii. 14.

HOMESICK.§

    • Fain are those waters to be free,
    • Leaving their spring to join the K‘i.
    • So yearns my heart for thee, dear Wei;—
    • No day but there in thought I fly.
    • Here are my cousins, kind are they:
    • O, before these my plans I’ll lay.
    • On leaving home I lodged in Tsi.
    • And drank the god-speed cup in Ni.*
    • Maids, when their wedding trip they take,
    • Parents and brothers all forsake.
    • Yet let me go my aunts to greet;
    • Let me my elder sisters meet.
    • And, leaving here, I’d lodge in Kan,
    • Then drink the god-speed cup in Yen.
    • Oil me then well my axles, O!
    • Back in my carriage let me go.
    • Soon should I be in Wei;—but oh!
    • Were I not wrong in acting so?
    • Ah!—For that land of fertile streams
    • Long do I sigh in waking dreams.
    • So when I think of Siu and Ts‘o,
    • Full is my heart, to overflow.
    • Drove I but forth to wander there,
    • Then were unbosomed all my care.

I. iii. 15.

OFFICIAL HARDSHIPS.

    • Out by the northern gate§ I go my way,
    • Bearing a load of sorrow and of care;
    • Vulgarly poor am I, and sore bestead,
    • And of my hardships all are unaware.
    • Ah, so indeed!
    • Yet Heaven hath so decreed;
    • What therefore can I say?
    • On me devolves the business of the king,
    • On me official burdens fast encroach;
    • On me, at home, arriving from abroad,
    • My household all conspire to heap reproach
    • Ah, so indeed!
    • Yet Heaven hath so decreed;
    • What therefore can I say?
    • All urgent is the business of the king;
    • Official cares press on me more and more.
    • And when at home, arriving from abroad,
    • My household one and all thrust at me sore.
    • Ah, so indeed,
    • Yet Heaven hath so decreed;
    • What therefore can I say?

I. iii. 16.

EMIGRANTS.*

    • Cold north winds are blowing,
    • Heavy falls the snow.
    • Friend, thy hand, if thou art friendly!
    • Forth together let us go.
    • Long, too long, we loiter here:
    • Times are too severe.
    • How the north wind whistles,
    • Driving snow and sleet!
    • Friend, thy hand, if thou art friendly!
    • Let us, thou and I, retreat.
    • Long, too long, we loiter here:
    • Times are too severe.
    • Nothing red, but foxes!*
    • Nothing black, but crows!
    • Friend, thy hand, if thou art friendly!
    • Come with me—my waggon goes.
    • Long, too long, we loiter here:
    • Times are too severe.

I. iii. 17.

IRREGULAR LOVE-MAKING.

    • A modest maiden, passing fair to see,
    • Waits at the corner of the wall for me.
    • I love her, yet I have no interview:—
    • I scratch my head—I know not what to do.
    • The modest maid—how winsome was she then,
    • The day she gave me her vermilion pen!
    • Vermilion pen was never yet so bright,—
    • The maid’s own loveliness is my delight.
    • Now from the pasture lands she sends a shoot
    • Of couchgrass fair; and rare it is, to boot.
    • Yet thou, my plant (when beauties I compare),
    • Art but the fair one’s gift, and not the Fair!

I. iii. 18.

THE NEW TOWER.*

    • Past the New Tower, so spick and span,
    • The Ho majestic rolled.
    • There she who sought a gallant mate
    • Found one deformed and old.
    • ’Neath the New Tower’s high battlements
    • The Ho ran smooth and still.
    • She sought a gallant mate, and lo!
    • A shapeless imbecile!
    • The net was ready for a fish,
    • A goose there came instead.
    • And she who sought a gallant mate,
    • Must with this hunchback wed.

I. iii. 19.

THE TWO SONS.

    • Two youths there were, each took his boat,
    • That floated, mirrored in the stream;—
    • And O the fear for those two youths,
    • And O the anxiety extreme!
    • Two youths they were, each took his boat,
    • And floated on the stream away;—
    • And O the fear for those two youths;
    • If harmed, yet innocent were they.

[* ]It is very probable that the first five Odes in this Book, and the third of the Odes of Wei (Bk. V.), are to be taken as referring to the same lady,—the wife of Duke Ch‘wang, of Wei (who ruled that state bc 756-734). Putting the six together, and the last first—as the Epithalamium—we have part of the story of this admirable and beautiful lady (Ch‘wang Kiang), as given in one or two histories of those times. The chief points in that story may be stated here. Ch‘wang Kiang had had the misfortune to be childless, and was in consequence rudely treated, and at length supplanted by another wife. The second wife, another lady of rank, bore a son, but he died in childhood. There was, however, another son (Hwan) by a concubine, the cousin of Ch‘wang Kiang, whom the duke looked upon as his successor, and Ch‘wang Kiang, at his wish, readily adopted the child as her own. On the death of the duke, a third son, Chow-Yu, the child of a concubine of meaner birth, brought trouble into the family, and in course of time murdered Hwan, and tried, but without success, to usurp his position.

The lamentations in many of these Odes are the usual tale of the misery resulting upon Eastern polygamy and concubinage; yet they reveal much that is noble and good in the character of the lady Ch‘wang.

[* ]See Ode 4. The reference to the sun and moon changing positions seems to point to her own abandonment for another.

[* ]This is truly Chinese. Ch‘wang Kiang feels her degraded position, and the expression of her grief takes a very metaphorical turn. Green is a colour less esteemed than yellow. All things are inverted, and out of place.

[]Lit., I muse upon the ancients,—i.e., the examples of great women of old time.

[]Grass-cloth. She must even now wear a cold dress in cold weather.

[* ]The supplanted wife seems to have lived harmoniously, and even very amicably, with the lady who took her place. In this Ode she pours out her grief at the departure of the latter, who after the murder of her son Hwan returned home to her parents.

[]Chung is properly the “second” sister or daughter. Her name was Tai Kwei.

[]Lit., the former lord. From this we learn that the husband was now dead.

[* ]This and the following piece ought properly to have been placed before Ode 3.

[* ]A city in Wei.

[]Chow-yu (see note on Ode 1 of this Book), after his murder of Hwan, found the people disaffected towards him, and sought popularity by directing an expedition against Ch‘in, in the South, for which he obtained the co-operation of these two States, Ch‘in and Sung.

[* ]Seven sons accuse themselves of being the cause of their mother’s discontent and fretfulness. It is supposed the fault was her own, and that, although having so many sons, she desired more; and the sons, in making these lines, and laying the blame on themselves, wished delicately to recall her to a sense of duty. The Ode is said by the Chinese commentators to illustrate the licentious manners of Wei. The opening lines of each verse point, by way of contrast, to the glad content of nature all around her.

[* ]The wife of some officer tells of their mutual regret at his absence on foreign service.

[]The husband’s comrades.

[]Lit., coveteousness.

[* ]i.e., the gourds (the shells of which were used in crossing rivers) were not yet ripe.

[]The proper custom, when a man wished to have a day fixed for the bringing home of his bride, was to send a live goose to her parents’ house at the early dawn.

[]Marriages took place in the spring, and the ceremony of sending the goose was to be observed some time before, ere the winter’s ice began to break up. It may be that this explains the allusion to the swollen ford.

The whole piece is very difficult of interpretation, and I see in it no more than the expostulation of a lady against her lover, who seems to have desired to dispense with the usual formalities.

[* ]In explanation of this piece we are told that in the time of Duke Swân, of Wei, the chief of the adjoining state of Li had been driven out of his territory by the Tih hordes, and had sought help in Wei; but was long detained there by false promises, and was reduced to great straits, and evidently treated with indignity. His officers, while showing attachment to him, complain of his hardships and their own, and urge him to return to Li.

[* ]See note on the last Ode. The officers of the Chief of Li complain of the delay and indifference of their brother officers of Wei in their extremity.

[]Lit., O ye younger and elder uncles.

[]Satire. The Duke of Wei was employing his best men as buffoons.

[* ]and

[]These refer to various dances. See I. vi. 3, and II. vi. 4.

[]In the West-country was the seat of Chow, where the rulers knew better than to use such a man as this merely as a dancer.

[§ ]A princess of Wei, married to the chief of some other State, desires to visit her native land. This it would have been permissible to do, had her parents been still living; but these being dead, she could not do so. She forms her plans for the journey, and thinks that a visit to her relatives might not be objected to, but again shrinks back in doubt as to the propriety of so doing.

[]One of the chief rivers of Wei.

[]The ladies of the palace, who had come with her.

[* ]Places in Wei through which she had passed on her wedding journey. The terms translated “god-speed cup” refer to the parting feast which was usual on the return of the escorting friends. At this feast an offering was first made to propitiate “the spirits of the way.”

[]Lit., “I think of the Fei-ts‘ün, and for it am perpetually sighing.” Fei-ts‘un is said to be the name of a river in Wei; but the words signify fertile springs.

[]Cities of Wei. We have met with the latter in Ode 6.

[§ ]An officer of Wei, hard pressed by work and poor pay, sets forth his grievances and his meek submission to them as the will of Heaven, yet slyly means the whole to be a rebuke to the Governwent. “Passing out by the north gate” is an apt introduction to what follows, as symbolizing the way to cold and darkness. Cf. beginning of next Ode.

[* ]In a time of tyranny and confusion in Wei, the peasants felt compelled to emigrate to another State.

[]The opening lines are merely symbolical of the oppression felt by the people.

[* ]The fox and the crow were regarded as ill omens.

[]This is said to be directed against the times; therefore, according to this view, the opening words, “the modest maiden,” must be understood from the lover’s point of view.

[]The city wall.

[* ]Duke Swân, one of the most dissolute of the rulers of Wei, had contracted for the marriage of his son Kĭ with a lady of T‘si. But when the father saw her, he became so enamoured of her beauty that he took her himself, and lodged her in a tower which he caused to be built on an island in the Ho. She is afterwards known by the name of Swân-Kiang.

[]Quite a romantic story is attached to this piece, which may be told in the words of the commentator Chu-Hi. Swân-Kiang (see note on last Ode) became the mother of two sons, Sheu and Sŏ. Sŏ and his mother brought some charge against Kĭ, the son of a former wife of the Duke (see again note to last Ode); and the Duke, believing it, sent him on some errand to T‘si, and employed some ruffians to waylay and murder him. Sheu heard of this, and warned Kĭ of his danger. Kĭ answered: “The Duke has given me a command, and I cannot disobey it.” Whereupon Sheu secretly disguised himself and took the journey himself, and was killed in the place of his brother. When Kĭ came to the spot he cried: “The Duke gave orders that I should be killed. What wrong has Sheu committed?” The murderers killed him also. The country folks were hurt at this, and made this Ode.