Of the magpie's nest Is the dove possessed. This bride goes to her new home to live; And escort a hundred chariots give. The nest magpie wove Now filled by the dove. This bride now takes to her home her way; And these numerous cars her state display. THE INDUSTRY AND REVERENCE OF A PRINCE'S WIFE Around the pools, the islets o'er, Fast she plucks white Southern-wood, To help the sacrificial store; And for our prince does service good. Where streams among the valleys shine, Of Southern-woods she plucks the white; And brings it to the sacred shrine, To aid our prince in solemn rite. In head-dress high, most reverent, she The temple seeks at early dawn. The service o'er, the head-dress see To her own chamber slow withdrawn. THE WIFE OF SOME GREAT OFFICER BEWAILS HIS ABSENCE Shrill chirp the insects in the grass; All about the hoppers spring. While I my husband do not see, Sorrow must my bosom wring. O to meet him! O to greet him! Then my heart would rest and sing. Ascending high that Southern hill, Turtle ferns I strove to get. While I my husband do not see, Sorrow must my heart beset. O to meet him! O to greet him! Then my heart would cease to fret. Ascending high that Southern hill, Spinous ferns I sought to find. While I my husband do not see, Rankles sorrow in my mind. O to meet him! O to greet him! In my heart would peace be shrined. THE DILIGENCE OF THE YOUNG WIFE OF AN OFFICER She gathers fast the large duckweed, From valley stream that southward flows; And for the pondweed to the pools Left on the plains by floods she goes. The plants, when closed her toil, she puts In baskets round and baskets square. Then home she hies to cook her spoil, In pans and tripods ready there. In sacred chamber this she sets, Where the light falls down through the wall. 'Tis she, our lord's young reverent wife, Who manages this service all. THE LOVE OF THE PEOPLE FOR THE DUKE OF SHAOU O fell not that sweet pear-tree! See how its branches spread. Spoil not its shade, For Shaou's chief laid Beneath it his weary head. O clip not that sweet pear-tree! Each twig and leaflet spare. 'Tis sacred now, Since the lord of Shaou, When weary, rested him there. O touch not that sweet pear-tree! Bend not a twig of it now. There long ago, As the stories show, Oft halted the chief of Shaou. THE EASY DIGNITY OF THE OFFICERS AT SOME COURT Arrayed in skins of lamb or sheep, With five silk braidings all of white, From court they go, to take their meal, All self-possessed, with spirits light.