No More Learning

The axles of our chariots touch: our short swords meet.
Standards obscure the sun: the foe roll up like clouds.
Arrows fall thick: the warriors press forward.
They menace our ranks: they break our line.
The left-hand trace-horse is dead: the one on the right is smitten.
The fallen horses block our wheels: they impede the yoke-horses! "

They grasp their jade drum-sticks: they beat the sounding drums.
Heaven decrees their fall: the dread Powers are angry.

The warriors are all dead: they lie on the moor-field.
They issued but shall not enter: they went but shall not return.
The plains are flat and wide: the way home is long.

Their swords lie beside them: their black bows, in their hand.
Though their limbs were torn, their hearts could not be repressed.
They were more than brave: they were inspired with the spirit of
"Wu. "[2]
Steadfast to the end, they could not be daunted.
Their bodies were stricken, but their souls have taken Immortality--
Captains among the ghosts, heroes among the dead.

[2] _I. e. _, military genius.


THE MAN-WIND AND THE WOMAN-WIND

A "fu," or prose-poem, by Sung Yu (fourth century B. C. ), nephew of Ch'u
Yuan.

Hsiang, king of Ch'u, was feasting in the Orchid-tower Palace, with Sung
Yu and Ching Ch'ai to wait upon him. A gust of wind blew in and the king
bared his breast to meet it, saying: "How pleasant a thing is this wind
which I share with the common people. " Sung Yu answered: "This is the
Great King's wind. The common people cannot share it. " The king said:
"Wind is a spirit of Heaven and Earth. It comes wide spread and does not
choose between noble and base or between high and low. How can you say
'This is the king's wind'? " Sung answered: "I have heard it taught that
in the crooked lemon-tree birds make their nests and to empty spaces
winds fly. But the wind-spirit that comes to different things is not the
same.