Chinese literature · Confucius
THE DECADE OF SEAOU MIN
As on the sacred heights you dwell, My place is in the willow dell, One is the other near. Before you, officers, I spread These lines by me, poor eunuch, made. Think not Mang-tsze severe. ~An Officer Deplores the Misery of the Time~ In the fourth month summer shines; In the sixth the heat declines. Nature thus grants men relief; Tyranny gives only grief. Were not my forefathers men? Can my suffering 'scape their ken? In the cold of autumn days Each plant shrivels and decays. Nature then is hard and stern; Living things sad lessons learn. Friends dispersed, all order gone, Place of refuge have I none. Winter days are wild and fierce; Rapid gusts each crevice pierce. Such is my unhappy lot, Unbefriended and forgot! Others all can happy be; I from misery ne'er am free. On the mountains are fine trees; Chestnuts, plum-trees, there one sees. All the year their forms they show; Stately more and more they grow. Noble turned to ravening thief! What the cause? This stirs my grief. Waters from that spring appear Sometimes foul, and sometimes clear, Changing oft as falls the rain, Or the sky grows bright again. New misfortunes every day Still befall me, misery's prey. Aid from mighty streams obtained, Southern States are shaped and drained. Thus the Keang and Han are thanked, And as benefactors ranked. Weary toil my vigor drains; All unnoticed it remains!
Hawks and eagles mount the sky; Sturgeons in deep waters lie. Out of reach, they safely get, Arrow fear not, nor the net. Hiding-place for me there's none; Here I stay, and make my moan. Ferns upon the hills abound; _Ke_ and _e_ in marshy ground. Each can boast its proper place, Where it grows for use or grace. I can only sing the woe, Which, ill-starred, I undergo. ~On the Alienation of a Friend~ Gently and soft the east wind blows, And then there falls the pelting rain. When anxious fears pressed round you close, Then linked together were we twain. Now happy, and your mind at rest, You turn and cast me from your breast. Gently and soft the east wind blows, And then there comes the whirlwind wild. When anxious fears pressed round you close, Your bosom held me as a child. Now happy, and in peaceful state, You throw me off and quite forget. Gently and soft the east wind blows, Then round the rocky height it storms. Each plant its leaves all dying shows; The trees display their withered forms. My virtues great forgotten all, You keep in mind my faults, though small.
Text from Project Gutenberg, public domain in the United States.