English

The governor of Huaiyang, arm and leg to the ruler,
served his term from a bed of ease
And this post of mine, far in the southern hills?
Hardly different from a hermit's life!
Incessant rains — busy season for farmers:
straw hats gather in fallow fields to the east.
Daytime my state chambers are always closed,
few law suits to hear on the grass-grown terrace
Soft mats refresh me in the summer rooms,
light fans stir a cooling breeze
Tasty bream I am urged to try,
helping myself to the best strained wine

" Get me that bright moon! " the child cries

A gentle wind after the rain stirred,
the grass thickets still wet with dewdrops, the cobweb shining like a rosary;
in the sky to the east hung a slow rainbow,
and we stood, silent. Silent!

Ah everything remains the same. You were then
looking up at me. Because I had nothing to do.
(Though I loved you)
(Though you loved me)

Again a wind blows, again a cloud moves.
In the bright, blue, hot sky, as if nothing had happened,
birds' songs echo, the colors of flowers are fragrant.

From Wynyard's Gap the livelong day,
The livelong day,
We beat afoot the northward way
We had travelled times before.
The sun-blaze burning on our backs,
Our shoulders sticking to our packs,
By fosseway, fields and turnpike tracks
We skirted sad Sedge-Moor.

Full twenty miles we jaunted on,
We jaunted on,--
My fancy-man and jeering John,
And Mother Lee, and I.
And, as the sun drew down to west,
We climbed the toilsome Poldon crest,
And saw, of landskip sights the best,
The inn that beamed thereby.

The gipsies seek wide sheltering woods again,
With droves of horses flock to mark their lane,
And trample on dead leaves, and hear the sound,
And look and see the black clouds gather round,
And set their camps, and free from muck and mire,
And gather stolen sticks to make the fire.
The roasted hedgehog, bitter though as gall,
Is eaten up and relished by them all.
They know the woods and every fox's den
And get their living far away from men;
The shooters ask them where to find the game,

From Stirling Castle we had seen
The mazy Forth unravell'd,
Had trod the banks of Clyde and Tay,
And with the Tweed had travell'd;
And when we came to Clovenford,
Then said my "winsome Marrow,'
"Whate'er betide, we'll turn aside,
And see the Braes of Yarrow.'

"Let Yarrow folk, frae Selkirk town,
Who have been buying, selling,
Go back to Yarrow, 'tis their own,
Each maiden to her dwelling!
On Yarrow's banks let herons feed,
Hares couch, and rabbits burrow,
But we will downward with the Tweed,

Good and great God! How sho'd I feare
To come to Thee, if Christ not there!
Co'd I but think, He would not be
Present, to plead my cause for me;
To Hell I'd rather run, then I
Wo'd see Thy Face, and He not by.

Gold I've none, for use or show,
Neither Silver to bestow
At my death; but thus much know,
That each Lyrick here shall be
Of my love a Legacie,
Left to all posterity.
Gentle friends, then doe but please,
To accept such coynes as these;
As my last Remembrances.

Goddesse, I do love a Girle
Rubie-lipt, and tooth'd with Pearl:
If so be, I may but prove
Luckie in this Maide I love:
I will promise there shall be
Mirtles offer'd up to Thee.

God makes not good men wantons, but doth bring
Them to the field, and, there, to skirmishing:
With trials those, with terrors these He proves,
And hazards those most, whom the most He loves:
For Sceva, darts; for Cocles, dangers; thus
He finds a fire for mighty Mutius;
Death for stout Cato; and besides all these,
A poison, too. He has for Socrates;
Torments for high Attilius; and, with want,
Brings in Fabricius for a combatant:
But, bastard-slips, and such as He dislikes,
He never brings them once to th' push of pikes.