Our chief, Sun Tsze-chung, agreement has made, Our forces to join with Ch'in and with Sung. When shall we back from this service be led? Our hearts are all sad, our courage unstrung. Here we are halting, and there we delay; Anon we soon lose our high-mettled steeds. The forest's gloom makes our steps go astray; Each thicket of trees our searching misleads. For death as for life, at home or abroad, We pledged to our wives our faithfulest word. Their hands clasped in ours, together we vowed, We'd live to old age in sweetest accord. This march to the South can end but in ill; Oh! never shall we our wives again meet. The word that we pledged we cannot fulfil; Us home returning they never will greet. ~An Officer Tells of His Mean Employment~ With mind indifferent, things I easy take; In every dance I prompt appearance make:-- Then, when the sun is at his topmost height, There, in the place that courts the public sight. With figure large I in the courtyard dance, And the duke smiles, when he beholds me prance. A tiger's strength I have; the steeds swift bound; The reins as ribbons in my hands are found. See how I hold the flute in my left hand; In right the pheasant's plume, waved like a wand; With visage red, where rouge you think to trace, While the duke pleased, sends down the cup of grace! Hazel on hills; the _ling_ in meadow damp;-- Each has its place, while I'm a slighted scamp. My thoughts go back to th' early days of Chow, And muse upon its chiefs, not equalled now. O noble chiefs, who then the West adorned, Would ye have thus neglected me and scorned? ~An Officer Sets Forth His Hard Lot~ My way leads forth by the gate on the north; My heart is full of woe. I hav'n't a cent, begged, stolen, or lent, And friends forget me so. So let it be! 'tis Heaven's decree. What can I say--a poor fellow like me? The King has his throne, sans sorrow or moan; On me fall all his cares, And when I come home, resolved not to roam, Each one indignant stares. So let it be! 'tis Heaven's decree. What can I say--a poor fellow like me? Each thing of the King, and the fate of the State, On me come more and more. And when, sad and worn, I come back forlorn, They thrust me from the door. So let it be! 'tis Heaven's decree. What can I say--a poor fellow like me? ~The Complaint of a Neglected Wife~ When the upper robe is green, With a yellow lining seen, There we have a certain token, Right is wronged and order broken. How can sorrow from my heart In a case like this depart? Color green the robe displays; Lower garment yellow's blaze. Thus it is that favorite mean In the place of wife is seen. Vain the conflict with my grief; Memory denies relief.