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.

BOOK VI

THE DECADE OF PIH SHAN

A Picture of Husbandry

  Various the toils which fields so large demand! 
  We choose the seed; we take our tools in hand. 
  In winter for our work we thus prepare;
  Then in the spring, bearing the sharpened ’share,
  We to the acres go that south incline,
  And to the earth the different seeds consign. 
  Soon, straight and large, upward each plant aspires;—­
  All happens as our noble lord desires.

  The plants will ear; within their sheath confined,
  The grains will harden, and be good in kind. 
  Nor darnel these, nor wolf’s-tail grass infests;
  From core and leaf we pick the insect pests,
  And pick we those that eat the joints and roots:—­
  So do we guard from harm the growing fruits. 
  May the great Spirit, whom each farmer names,
  Those insects take, and cast them to the flames!