" Finding that he could not
influence
the
conduct of his prince, he drowned himself in the river Mi-lo.
conduct of his prince, he drowned himself in the river Mi-lo.
Waley - 170 Chinese Poems
xix, part 2, 42 pp.
11. S. Imbault-Huart, "Poesies Modernes. " 1892. 46 pp.
12. A. Forke, "Bluthen Chinesischer Dichtung. " 1899. Rhymed versions of
Li Po and pre-T'ang poems.
A fuller bibliography will be found in Cordier's "Bibliotheca Sinica. "
CHAPTER I
BATTLE
By Ch'u Yuan (332-295 B. C. ), author of the famous poem "Li Sao," or
"Falling into Trouble.
" Finding that he could not influence the
conduct of his prince, he drowned himself in the river Mi-lo. The
modern Dragon Boat Festival is supposed to be in his honour.
"We grasp our battle-spears: we don our breast-plates of hide.
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.
11. S. Imbault-Huart, "Poesies Modernes. " 1892. 46 pp.
12. A. Forke, "Bluthen Chinesischer Dichtung. " 1899. Rhymed versions of
Li Po and pre-T'ang poems.
A fuller bibliography will be found in Cordier's "Bibliotheca Sinica. "
CHAPTER I
BATTLE
By Ch'u Yuan (332-295 B. C. ), author of the famous poem "Li Sao," or
"Falling into Trouble.
" Finding that he could not influence the
conduct of his prince, he drowned himself in the river Mi-lo. The
modern Dragon Boat Festival is supposed to be in his honour.
"We grasp our battle-spears: we don our breast-plates of hide.
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.
