I.

Ev'n as my hand my pen on paper lays,
My trembling hand my pen from paper stays,
Lest that thine eyes, which shining made me love you,
Should frowning on my suit bid cease to move you;
So that I fare like one at his wit's end,
Hoping to gain and fearing to offend.
What pleaseth hope, the same despair mislikes,
What hope sets down, those lines despair outstrikes;
So that my nursing murdering pen affords
A grave and cradle to my new-born words.
But whilst, like clouds tost up and down the air,
I racked hang 'twixt hope and sad despair,

BY T'AI YUAN-MING

Even as a young man
I was out of tune with ordinary pleasures.
It was my nature to love the rooted hills,
The high hills which look upon the four edges of Heaven.
What folly to spend one's life like a dropped leaf
Snared under the dust of streets,
But for thirteen years it was so I lived.

The caged bird longs for the fluttering of high leaves.
The fish in the garden pool languishes for the whirled water
Of meeting streams.

Evelyn, sweet Evelyn,
List to my lay;
List to the sighs of my heart;
Hearken the words of a lover, sweet dove,
Do, and a blessing impart.

Evelyn, sweet Evelyn,
List to my lay;
Forsooth you have made me to sing;
Your sweet midnight eyes, and your smiles, fair dove,
Have prompted my heart-chords to ring.

Evelyn, sweet Evelyn,
Favor my suit;
Let love smiles sparkle on me—
Incline thy fond heart to a lover, fair dove,
One love glance, a pris'ner to free.

THE MAIDEN .

I' VE seen him before me!
What rapture steals o'er me!
Oh heavenly sight!
He's coming to meet me;
Perplex'd, I retreat me,
With shame take to flight.
My mind seems to wander!
Ye rocks and trees yonder,
Conceal ye my rapture,
Conceal my delight!

THE YOUTH .

'Tis here I must find her,
'Twas here she enshrined her,

Ethel in her crimson row boat,
Floats amid the river reeds;
Dreaming dreams of nameless longing,
Little she the gloaming heeds.

Castles grand and rare in beauty
Rise on pinnacles of air;
Knights on royal steeds salute her,
And she listens to their prayer.

One with winning speech draws near her,
May not brook a long delay;
So she bows her head in answer,
For she cannot say him nay.

Bows her head, — ah, yes! fair Ethel!
Now thy golden locks are caught
In the pliant river rushes,
And the knight whose pleading sought

Once one year, and I don't know when,
so lonely I could not stand it,
I became a wanderer and spent the year
roaming the mountain district,
and as I did I broke and gathered
a handful of flowers I
gave to some child by the roadside.

That child by the roadside
by now must have grown,
and perhaps being lonely he too
has plucked a handful of flowers
to give to some other child.

And after some tens of years have passed,
crossing over yet one more bridge,
might that present of the bouquet
pass on to a child I haven't seen?

Eternall mover, whose diffused glory,
To shew our grovelling reason what thou art,
Unfolds itself in clouds of nature's story,
Where man, thy proudest creature, acts his part,
Whom yet, alas! I know not why, we call
The world's contracted sum, the little all;

For what are we but lumps of walking clay?
Why should we swel? whence should our spirits rise?
Are not bruit beasts as strong, and birds as gay,
Trees longer liv'd, and creeping things as wise?
Only our souls was left an inward light,
To feel our weaknes, and confess thy might.

1. Eternal Spirit, source of light, Enlivening, conse-
2. In our cold breasts O strike a spark Of the pure flame which
crating fire, Descend, and with celes
seraphs feel, Nor let us wander in
tial heat Our dull, our frozen hearts inspire.
the dark Or lie benumbed and stupid still.
Our souls refine, our dross consume! Come, condescending Spirit, come!
Come vivifying Spirit, come, And make our hearts thy constant home!

3. Whatever guilt and madness dare,
We would not quench the heavenly fire;
Our hearts as fuel we prepare,

There is a vice prevails
Concerning which I'll set you on your guard;
And other four, which hard
It were (as may be thought) that I should blame.

Some think that still of them —
Whate'er is said — some ill speech lies beneath;
And this to them is death:
Whereby we plainly may perceive their sins.

And now let others wince.
One sort there is, who, thinking that they please,

Eternal Lord! eased of a cumbrous load,
And loosened from the world, I turn to Thee;
Shun, like a shattered bark, the storm, and flee
To thy protection for a safe abode.
The crown of thorns, hands pierced upon the tree,
The meek, benign, and lacerated face,
To a sincere repentance promise grace,
To the sad soul give hope of pardon free.
With justice mark not Thou, O Light divine,
My fault, nor hear it with thy sacred ear;
Neither put forth that way thy arm severe;
Wash with thy blood my sins; thereto incline