The First Decade of Lù míng. I have deleted the missing titles, and rearranged the texts, so it's different with the original book by W. Jennings.
1 鹿鳴 2 四牡 3 皇皇者華 4 常棣 5 伐木 6 天保 7 采薇 8 出車 9 杕杜 10 魚麗
1 lù míng 2 sì mǔ 3 huánghuáng zhě huá 4 cháng dì 5 fámù 6 tiānbǎo 7 cǎi wēi 8 chū chē 9 dì dù 10 yú lì
HEAR the happy bleating deer Browsing on the fragrant meads . Noble guests surround me here ; Strike the lute, and blow the reeds, Blow them, let their tongues resound. Gifts in baskets pass around. Men that love me, sure, are they, Pointing me the Way of Chow.
Hear the happy bleating deer Cropping the wild southernwood. Noble guests surround me here, Famed afar for all that's good ; Teaching thrift to those below, Patterns, guides, to every man of worth. I have choicest wines, shall flow : Feast, my noble guests, and take your mirth.
Hear the happy bleating deer Browsing on the grassy plain. Noble guests surround me here ; Strike the lute and harp again. Strike the lute and harp again! Mirth harmonious long maintain. Flow the wine, my choicest, best, Cheer the heart of every noble guest.
ON, right on, ran my team of four, O'er the long winding roads from Chow. Thought I then to return no more? Kings' affairs yet no rest allow : Grief at my heart-strings tore.
On, still on, went my team of four ; Snort and pant would each black-rnaned steed. Thought I then to return no more ? Kings' affairs yet no rest concede. Leisure and rest were o'er.
Fluttering round were the turtle-doves, Soaring upwards, and darting low, Resting at last on the oak-tree groves. Kings' affairs yet no respite know : Son from father must go.
Fluttering round were the turtle-doves ; Forth would they fly, then rest would take, Settling at last on the medlar groves. Kings' affairs yet allow no break : Son must mother forsake.
Yoked were the steeds, my black-maned four ; Forth they sped in their wild career. Thought I then to return no more ? Ah ! in this song my thoughts appear, Mother, thy soul to cheer !
WHERE sparkle the flowers, Here over the moor, there down in the vale, Forth sally the envoys, Each anxious alone lest in aught he fail.
My horses are young ones, The reins, three pairs, as if newly tanned ; Post-haste I am driving, And pushing my quest upon every hand.
My horses are dappled, The reins, three pairs, as of silken braid ; Post-haste I am driving ; All round are my plans and my reckonings made.
My horses are piebalds, The reins, three pairs, all glossy and smart ; Post-haste I am driving, And matters well weighing in every part.
My horses are brindled, The reins, three pairs, well balanced in hand ; Post-haste I am driving, Advising, consulting, throughout the land.
Is not the cherry-tree, all round, With opening blossoms grandly crowned ? So, nowhere in the world of men Is aye the like of brothers found.
Bereaved by death in ways we dread, How is the brother's heart oppressed ! O'er hill and dale, 'mid heaps of dead, Brother for brother makes his quest.
Quick, like the wagtails on the moor, Are brothers, when sore needs arise ; Though each may have good friends and sure, Their help is in continual sighs !
Though brothers may have private feud, They fight (as one) the alien foe ; And each has friends, both sure and good, But friends to help ? Ah, surely no !
When woes and strifes are at an end, And peace and quietness prevail, Though, some have brothers, now the friend, The incomparable friend, they hail !
Make thee a feast, make all complete, And drink thy heart's content of wine ; 'Tis when the band of brothers meet That mirth and childlike joy combine.
Union with wife and child is sweet, Sweet as when lutes in concert blend ; 'Tis when united brothers meet That mirth and concord know no end.
Ye then who rule your households well, Ye who in wife or child delight, Study these words, and let them tell If I have spoken truth and right !
WHILE woodmen's axes echoing ring, Will bird to bird responsive sing, And out of darksome glens will fly And settle on the tree-tops high, And there the song renew, still fain Responses from their mates to gain.
Mark well the instinct of the bird, Thus singing till its mates be heard. How much the more should not mankind, Thus set about their friends to find ? Then would the Spirits hearken, too, And harmony and peace ensue.
" Together ! " hear the woodmen cry. Here drinks well-strained and pure have I, And well-fed lambs have been brought in, I must invite my father's kin. Better their coining were debarred Than I should fail in my regard.
Well scoured, how bright my floors are made ! And the eight bowls are all displayed ; Fat wethers, too, have been brought in ; So must I bid my mother's kin. Better that these perforce decline My bidding, than that blame be mine.
Now on the slope the trees lie low. Now have I brewed an overflow ! My trenchers stand in long array, And not a clansman stays away. Good-humour fails sometimes, but why ? The fault may be that the food is dry !
What drinks we have, make pure for us ! And those we lack, procure for us ! So shall the drums resound for us ! So shall the dance go round for us ! And long as hours to us remain The well-brewed liquors let us drain !
HEAVEN guard thee and preserve thee, And make thy throne most sure ; Grant thee its signal favours, Such blessings as endure ; Give thee great measure of success, Yea, ever more, and never less !
Heaven guard thee and preserve thee, Grant thee its fullest good ; Eight worthy art thou take thou Its gifts in plenitude ; Its lasting blessings on thee fall, Days all too brief to taste of all !
Heaven guard thee and preserve thee, No good success deny. Like mountains looming largely, Like ridges frowning high, Like streams with everflowing tide^ Be all thy blessings multiplied.
Timely thy pure oblations Thou filially dost bring, Each at its proper season, To each lord and ancient king, Whose oracles responsive say " Live thou for ever and for aye ! "
Their spirits are about thee And bless thee with great good. Thy people, true and honest, Lack never drink and food. And all the dark-locked race, each clan, Reflects thy virtue, man by man !
Like crescent moon, not waning, Like climbing sun, not low, Like hills that stand for ages, And know no overthrow, Yea, like the cypress and the pine, The evergreen, be all thy line !
THEY gather the fern, the royal fern, Now at its first appearing. when shall we turn, aye homeward turn ? One year its end is nearing. still, because of the wild Hin-Yuns, From house and home remain we ; O still, because of the wild Hin-Yuns, Nor rest nor leisure gain we.
They gather the fern, the royal fern, Now supple grown and flexile. O when shall we turn, aye homeward turn ? For grievous is this exile. Disconsolate hearts here ache and ache, And thirst we bear, and hunger ; And endless patrols forbid us make The home inquiries longer.
They gather the fern, the royal fern, Now age and hardness gaming. O when shall we turn, aye homeward turn ? For fast the year is waning. Ah, service of kings no respite knows, No halting, no adjourning ; Our trouble to utter misery grows ; On, on, yet no returning !
What flowers are those that bloom so fair ? The blossoms of wild cherries ? What car is that on the highway there ? One that our leader carries. His war-car is ready, the steeds are in, His team of four, so splendid. Who'll stay then behind ? Nay, thrice we'll win Or e'er the month be ended !
The chargers are in, the team of four, All four with ardour prancing, Our leader's trust, as he goes before, Shield of the troops advancing. With steady sure team, bow ivory-tipped, And fish-skin quiver beside him, O was he not daily well equipped ? Yet the Hin-Yuns sorely tried him.
At first, when we started on our track, The willows green were growing. And now, when we think of the journey back 'Tis raining fast and snowing. And tedious and slow the march will be, And food and drink will fail us. Ah, hard to bear is the misery ! None knows what griefs assail us.
O FORTH in our cars we rode, As far as the pasture land ; For now from the King's abode Our orders had come to hand : " Call out every charioteer, And bid them their tasks to ply ; Your King hath a task severe, Your energies all 'twill try."
So forth in our cars we rode Till the frontier we drew nigh, Where the tortoise-flag we showed, And the "oxtails " reared on high ; And the banners with tortoise and bird-- O made they not fine display ! Yet sadly some hearts demurred : The drivers were far from gay !
The King had thus charged Nan- Chung : " Go build me a frontier wall." So rattled our cars along, Our war-flags fluttering all. The royal command had we To wall and defend the North ; And dread was Nan-Chung to see As he swept the Hin-Yuns forth.
At first when we took the track, The millets were all in bud ; And now for the journey back, 'Tis snowing, and all is mud. O hard for the King we've slaved, With never a moment free ; And often for home we craved, But feared that royal decree.
The crickets now chirp and grind, The hoppers now spring and fly ; But my lord not yet I find, And sore at my heart am I. Ah, once be my husband seen, My heart should be then at rest. The dread Nan-Chung, I ween, Strikes now at the Yungs out West."
Spring days are lengthening out, The trees and the plants grow green, The orioles twitter about, Crowds gathering herbs are seen. With prisoners for trial, and crowd Of captives, we homewards move. By the dread Nan-Chung thus cowed The Hin-Yuns now quieter prove.
ALONE the russet pear-tree grows, With fruit upon it fair to see. Kings' service knows not speedy close ; Day in, day out, 'tis long to me. The year is fast receding, O ; My woman's heart is bleeding, O ; My soldier rest is needing, O.
Alone the russet pear-tree grows, And now is full of leaves (again) . Kings' service knows not speedy close ; My heart still battles with its pain : While trees and plants are springing, O, My woman's heart 'tis wringing, ; Then speed my brave's home-bringing, O.
Up yonder northern hills I'll climb, The fruit to pluck from medlar-trees. Kings' service takes no count of time ; The old folks' hearts are ill at ease. Their teams are tired and flagging, sure ; Their sandal-cars are dragging, sure ; Not far my brave is lagging, sure.
But no, they come not yet away ! And O,my heart misgives me sore. The fruit would be ripe in the tenth month. The time is past, and still they stay ; I grow despondent more and more. But shell and straw now cheer me, O ! Both tell me he is near me, O ! My brave will soon be near me!
FINEST fish the baskets line, Roach and parr. And our host hath right good wine, And great store.
Finest fish the baskets line, Bream and rudd. And our host hath store of wine, And right good.
Finest fish the baskets line, Carp and ray. And our host hath right good wine, Fine display.
And of (other) things great store ! See how grandly in they pour !
And these (other) things, right good ! Blending, aye, as blend they should.
So, too, have they fine display, And in season all are they.