No More Learning

"Some say that Yao is shackled and hidden away, and that Shun has died
in the fields.

"But the Nine Hills of Deceit stand there in a row, each like each;
and which of them covers the lonely bones of the Double-eyed One, our
Master? "

So the royal ladies wept, standing amid yellow clouds. Their tears
followed the winds and waves, that never return. And while they wept,
they looked out into the distance and saw the deep mountain of Tsang-wu.

"The mountain of Tsang-wu shall fall and the waters of the Hsiang
shall cease, sooner than the marks of our tears shall fade from these
bamboo-leaves. "

* * * * *

[Of this poem and the "Szechwan Road" a critic has said: "You could
recite them all day without growing tired of them. "]


III. 4. THE SZECHWAN ROAD

Eheu! How dangerous, how high! It would be easier to climb to Heaven
than to walk the Szechwan Road.

Since Ts'an Ts'ung and Yu Fu ruled the land, forty-eight thousand
years had gone by; and still no human foot had passed from Shu to
the frontiers of Ch'in. To the west across T'ai-po Shan there was a
bird-track, by which one could cross to the ridge of O-mi. But the
earth of the hill crumbled and heroes[20] perished.
[20] The "heroes" were five strong men sent by the King of Shu to fetch
the five daughters of the King of Ch'in.

So afterwards they made sky ladders and hanging bridges. Above, high
beacons of rock that turn back the chariot of the sun. Below, whirling
eddies that meet the waves of the current and drive them away. Even the
wings of the yellow cranes cannot carry them across, and the monkeys
grow weary of such climbing.

How the road curls in the pass of Green Mud!

With nine turns in a hundred steps it twists up the hills.

Clutching at Orion, passing the Well Star, I look up and gasp. Then
beating my breast sit and groan aloud.

I fear I shall never return from my westward wandering; the way is
steep and the rocks cannot be climbed.

Sometimes the voice of a bird calls among the ancient trees--a male
calling to its wife, up and down through the woods. Sometimes a
nightingale sings to the moon, weary of empty hills.

It would be easier to climb to Heaven than to walk the Szechwan Road;
and those who hear the tale of it turn pale with fear.

Between the hill-tops and the sky there is not a cubit's space.
Withered pine-trees hang leaning over precipitous walls.

Flying waterfalls and rolling torrents mingle their din.