To the hills of the East we went, And long had we there to remain. When the word of recall was sent, Thick and fast came the drizzling rain. With its wings now here, and now there, Is the oriole sporting in flight. Those brides to their husbands repair, Their steeds red and bay, flecked with white. Each mother has fitted each sash; Their equipments are full and complete; But fresh unions, whatever their dash, Can ne'er with reunions compete. ~There is a Proper Way for Doing Everything~ In hewing an axe-shaft, how must you act? Another axe take, or you'll never succeed. In taking a wife, be sure 'tis a fact, That with no go-between you never can speed. In hewing an axe-shaft, hewing a shaft, For a copy you have the axe in your hand. In choosing a wife, you follow the craft, And forthwith on the mats the feast-vessels stand. PART II.--MINOR ODES TO THE KINGDOM BOOK I DECADE OF LUH MING ~A Festal Ode~ With sounds of happiness the deer Browse on the celery of the meads. A nobler feast is furnished here, With guests renowned for noble deeds. The lutes are struck; the organ blows, Till all its tongues in movement heave. Each basket loaded stands, and shows The precious gifts the guests receive. They love me and my mind will teach, How duty's highest aim to reach. With sounds of happiness the deer The southern-wood crop in the meads, What noble guests surround me here, Distinguished for their worthy deeds! From them my people learn to fly Whate'er is mean; to chiefs they give A model and a pattern high;-- They show the life they ought to live. Then fill their cups with spirits rare, Till each the banquet's joy shall share. With sounds of happiness the deer The salsola crop in the fields. What noble guests surround me here! Each lute for them its music yields. Sound, sound the lutes, or great or small. The joy harmonious to prolong;-- And with my spirits rich crown all The cups to cheer the festive throng. Let each retire with gladdened heart, In his own sphere to play his part. ~A Festal Ode Complimenting an Officer~ On dashed my four steeds, without halt, without stay, Though toilsome and winding from Chow was the way. I wished to return--but the monarch's command Forbade that his business be done with slack hand; And my heart was with sadness oppressed. On dashed my four steeds; I ne'er slackened the reins. They snorted and panted--all white, with black manes. I wished to return, but our sovereign's command Forbade that his business be done with slack hand;-- And I dared not to pause or to rest. Unresting the Filial doves speed in their flight, Ascending, then sweeping swift down from the height, Now grouped on the oaks. The king's high command Forbade that his business be done with slack hand;-- And my father I left, sore distressed.