[NOTE:  Selections from Books IV., V., and VI., have been omitted.—­EDITOR.]

BOOK VIII

THE ODES OF TS’E

A Wife Urging Her Husband to Action

  His lady to the marquis says,
     “The cock has crowed; ’tis late. 
  Get up, my lord, and haste to court. 
     ’Tis full; for you they wait.” 
  She did not hear the cock’s shrill sound,
  Only the blueflies buzzing round.

  Again she wakes him with the words,
     “The east, my lord, is bright. 
  A crowded court your presence seeks;
     Get up and hail the light.” 
  ’Twas not the dawning light which shone,
  But that which by the moon was thrown.

  He sleeping still, once more she says,
     “The flies are buzzing loud. 
  To lie and dream here by your side
     Were pleasant, but the crowd
  Of officers will soon retire;
  Draw not on you and me their ire!”

The Folly of Useless Effort

  The weeds will but the ranker grow,
    If fields too large you seek to till. 
  To try to gain men far away
    With grief your toiling heart will fill,

  If fields too large you seek to till,
    The weeds will only rise more strong. 
  To try to gain men far away
    Will but your heart’s distress prolong.

  Things grow the best when to themselves
    Left, and to nature’s vigor rare. 
  How young and tender is the child,
    With his twin tufts of falling hair! 
  But when you him ere long behold,
    That child shall cap of manhood wear!

The Prince of Loo

  A grand man is the prince of Loo,
    With person large and high. 
  Lofty his front and suited to
    The fine glance of his eye! 
  Swift are his feet.  In archery
    What man with him can vie? 
  With all these goodly qualities,
    We see him and we sigh!

  Renowned through all the land is he,
    The nephew of our lord. 
  With clear and lovely eyes, his grace
    May not be told by word. 
  All day at target practice,
    He’ll never miss the bird. 
  Such is the prince of Loo, and yet
    With grief for him we’re stirred!

  All grace and beauty he displays,
    High forehead and eyes bright. 
  And dancing choice!  His arrows all
    The target hit aright. 
  Straight through they go, and every one
    Lights on the self-same spot. 
  Rebellion he could well withstand,
    And yet we mourn his lot!

BOOK IX

THE ODES OF WEI

On the Misgovernment of the State