“_He rode on the dragon to the white cloud domain; He grasped with his hand the glory of the sky; Robed with the effulgence of the stars, The wind bore him delicately to the throne of God. He swept away the chaff and husks of his generation. He roamed over the limits of the earth. He clothed all nature with his bright rays, The third in the triumvirate of genius.[13] His rivals panted after him in vain, Dazed by the brilliancy of the light. He cursed Buddha; he offended his prince; He journeyed far away to the distant south; He passed the grave of Shun, and wept over the daughters of Yao. The water-god went before him and stilled the waves. He drove out the fierce monster as it were a lamb. But above, in heaven, there was no music, and God was sad, And summoned him to his place beside the Throne. And now, with these poor offerings, I salute him; With red lichees and yellow plantain fruit. Alas! that he did not linger awhile on earth, But passed so soon, with streaming hair, into the great unknown._” Han Yü wrote a large quantity of verse, frequently playful, on an immense variety of subjects, and under his touch the commonplace was often transmuted into wit. Among other pieces there is one on his teeth, which seemed to drop out at regular intervals, so that he could calculate roughly what span of life remained to him. Altogether, his poetry cannot be classed with that of the highest order, unlike his prose writings, extracts from which will be given in the next chapter. The following poem is a specimen of his lighter vein:-- “_To stand upon the river-bank and snare the purple fish, My net well cast across the stream, was all that I could wish. Or lie concealed and shoot the geese that scream and pass apace, And pay my rent and taxes with the profits of the chase. Then home to peace and happiness, with wife and children gay, Though clothes be coarse and fare be hard, and earned from day to day. But now I read and read, scarce knowing what ’tis all about, And, eager to improve my mind, I wear my body out. I draw a snake and give it legs, to find I’ve wasted skill, And my hair grows daily whiter as I hurry towards the hill.[14] I sit amid the sorrows I have brought on my own head, And find myself estranged from all, among the living dead. I seek to drown my consciousness in wine, alas! in vain: Oblivion passes quickly and my griefs begin again. Old age comes on, and yet withholds the summons to depart.... So I’ll take another bumper just to ease my aching heart._”