They tell of Katsushika's maid, Whose sash of country blue Bound but a frock of home-spun hemp, And kirtle coarse to view; Whose feet no shoe had e'er confined, Nor comb passed through her hair; Yet all the queens in damask robes Might nevermore compare. With this dear child, who smiling stood, A flow'ret of the spring-- In beauty perfect and complete, Like to the moon's full ring. And, as the summer moths that fly Towards the flame so bright, Or as the boats that deck the port When fall the shades of night, So came the suitors; but she said:-- "Why take me for your wife? Full well I know my humble lot, I know how short my life."[136] So where the dashing billows beat On the loud-sounding shore, Hath Katsushika's tender maid Her home for evermore. Yes! 'tis a tale of days long past; But, listening to the lay, It seems as I had gazed upon Her face but yesterday. _Anon_. THE BEGGAR'S COMPLAINT[137] The heaven and earth they call so great, For me are mickle small; The sun and moon they call so bright, For me ne'er shine at all. Are all men sad, or only I? And what have I obtained-- What good the gift of mortal life, That prize so rarely gained,[138] If nought my chilly back protects But one thin grass-cloth coat, In tatters hanging like the weeds That on the billows float-- If here in smoke-stained, darksome hut, Upon the bare cold ground, I make my wretched bed of straw, And hear the mournful sound-- Hear how mine aged parents groan, And wife and children cry, Father and mother, children, wife, Huddling in misery-- If in the rice-pan, nigh forgot, The spider hangs its nest,[139] And from the hearth no smoke goes up Where all is so unblest? And now, to make our wail more deep, That saying is proved true Of "snipping what was short before":-- Here comes to claim his due, The village provost, stick in hand He's shouting at the door;-- And can such pain and grief be all Existence has in store? _Stanza_ Shame and despair are mine from day to day; But, being no bird, I cannot fly away. _Anon._ A SOLDIER'S REGRETS ON LEAVING HOME When _I left_ to keep guard on the frontier (For such was the monarch's decree), My mother, with skirt uplifted,[140] Drew near and fondled me; And my father, the hot tears streaming His snow-white beard adown, Besought me to tarry, crying:-- "Alas! when thou art gone, "When thou leavest our gate in the morning, No other sons have I, And mine eyes will long to behold thee As the weary years roll by; "So tarry but one day longer, And let me find some relief In speaking and hearing thee speak to me!" So wail'd the old man in his grief.