No More Learning

Gay like children, they swarm to the tops of the trees;
And run to the water to catch bream and trout.
Their pleasures are the same as those of beasts and birds;
They put no restraint either on body or mind.
Far I have wandered throughout the Nine Lands;
Wherever I went such manners had disappeared.
I find myself standing and wondering, perplexed,
Whether Saints and Sages have really done us good.


A PROTEST IN THE SIXTH YEAR OF CH'IEN FU (A. D. 879)

By Ts'ao Sung (flourished _circa_ A. D. 870-920)

The hills and rivers of the lowland country
You have made your battle-ground.
How do you suppose the people who live there
Will procure "firewood and hay"? [43]
Do not let me hear you talking together
About titles and promotions;
For a single general's reputation
Is made out of ten thousand corpses.

[43] The necessaries of life.


ON THE BIRTH OF HIS SON

By Su Tung-p'o (A. D. 1036-1101)

Families, when a child is born
Want it to be intelligent.
I, through intelligence,
Having wrecked my whole life,
Only hope the baby will prove
Ignorant and stupid.
Then he will crown a tranquil life
By becoming a Cabinet Minister.


THE PEDLAR OF SPELLS

By Lu Yu (A. D. 1125-1209)

An old man selling charms in a cranny of the town wall.
He writes out spells to bless the silkworms and spells to protect
the corn.
With the money he gets each day he only buys wine.
But he does not worry when his legs get wobbly,
For he has a boy to lean on.


BOATING IN AUTUMN

By Lu Yu

Away and away I sail in my light boat;
My heart leaps with a great gust of joy.
Through the leafless branches I see the temple in the wood;
Over the dwindling stream the stone bridge towers.
Down the grassy lanes sheep and oxen pass;
In the misty village cranes and magpies cry.

* * * * *

Back in my home I drink a cup of wine
And need not fear the greed[44] of the evening wind.

[44] Which "eats" men.


THE HERD-BOY

By Lu Yu

In the southern village the boy who minds the ox
With his naked feet stands on the ox's back.
Through the hole in his coat the river wind blows;
Through his broken hat the mountain rain pours.
On the long dyke he seemed to be far away;
In the narrow lane suddenly we were face to face.