Part 7 (1/2)

At the rise of summer a hundred beasts and trees Join in gladness that the Season bids them thrive.

Stags and does frolic in the deep woods; Snakes and insects are pleased by the rank gra.s.s.

Winged birds love the thick leaves; Scaly fish enjoy the fresh weeds.

But to one place Summer forgot to come; I alone am left like a withered straw ...

Banished to the world's end; Flesh and bone all in distant ways.

From my native-place no tidings come; Rebel troops flood the land with war.

Sullen grief, in the end, what will it bring?

I am only wearing my own heart away.

Better far to let both body and mind Blindly yield to the fate that Heaven made.

Hsun-yang abounds in good wine; I will fill my cup and never let it be dry.

On Pen River fish are cheap as mud; Early and late I will eat them, boiled and fried.

With morning rice at the temple under the hill, And evening wine at the island in the lake ...

Why should my thoughts turn to my native land?

For in this place one could well end one's age.

[32] VISITING THE HSI-LIN TEMPLE

[_Written during his exile_]

I dismount from my horse at the Hsi-lin Temple; I throw the porter my slender riding-whip.

In the morning I work at a Government office-desk; In the evening I become a dweller in the Sacred Hills.

In the second month to the north of Kuang-lu The ice breaks and the snow begins to melt.

On the southern plantation the tea-plant thrusts its sprouts; Through the northern sluice the veins of the spring ooze.

This year there is war in An-hui, In every place soldiers are rus.h.i.+ng to arms.

Men of learning have been summoned to the Council Board; Men of action are marching to the battle-line.

Only I, who have no talents at all, Am left in the mountains to play with the pebbles of the stream.

[33] PROSE LETTER TO YuAN CHEN

[_A.D. 818_]

Night of the tenth day of the fourth month. Lo-t'ien[1] says: O Wei-chih,[2] Wei-chih, it is three years since I saw your face and almost two years since I had a letter from you. Is man's life so long that he can afford such partings? Much less should hearts joined by glue be set in bodies remote as Hu and Yueh.[3] In promotion we could not be together; and in failure we cannot forget each other. s.n.a.t.c.hed and wrenched apart, separately each of us grows grey. O Wei-chih, what is to be done? But this is the work of Heaven and there is no use in speaking of it.

When I first arrived at Hsun-yang, Hsiung Ju-teng[4] came with the letter which you had written the year before, when you were so ill.

First you told me of the progress of your illness, next of your feelings while you were ill and last you spoke of all our meetings and partings, and of the occasion of your own difficulties and dangers. You had no time to write more, but sent a bundle of your writings with a note attached, which said, ”Later on I will send a message by Po Min-chung.[5] Ask him for news and that will do instead of a letter.”

Alas! Is it thus that Wei-chih treats me? But again, I read the poem you wrote when you heard I had been banished: