I. AN OFFICER DESCRIBES HIS MELANCHOLY AND REFLECTIONS ON SEEING THE DESOLATION OF THE OLD CAPITAL OF CHOW.

1 Where the palaces rose grand, When Chow nobly ruled the land, Millets, some with drooping head, Some, just coming into blade, All around abundant grew. Slow the fields I wandered through, Moved in heart such sight to view. Friends who knew me understood What induced my saddened mood. Those who did not know me said, There I search for something made. O thou azure Heaven [GOD], remote, Who this desolation wrought?

2 Where the palaces rose grand, When Chow nobly ruled the land, Millets, drooping, heavy here, There just coming into ear, All around abundant grew. Slow the fields I wandered through, Drunk with grief, such sights to view. Friends who knew me understood What induced my saddened mood. Those who did not know me said, There I search for something made. O thou azure Heaven, remote, Who this desolation wrought?

3 Where the palaces rose grand, When Chow nobly ruled the land, Millets, heavy, drooping low, Some the bursting grain that show, All around abundant grew. Slow the fields I wandered through, Breath nigh stopt such scene to view. Friends who knew me understood What induced my saddened mood. Those who did not know me said, There I search for something made. O thou azure Heaven, remote, Who this desolation wrought?

II. THE FEELINGS OF A WIFE ON THE PROLONGED ABSENCE OF HER HUSBAND ON SERVICE, AND HER LONGING FOR HIS RETURN.

1 The gudeman's awa, for to fecht wi' the stranger, An' when he'll be back, oh! my hert canna tell. The hens gae to reist, an' the beests to their manger, As hameward they wend frae their park on the hill. But hoo can I, thus left alane, Help thinking o' my man that's gane?

2 The gudeman's awa, for to fecht wi' the stranger, An' lang will it be ere he see his fireside. The hens gae to reist, an' the beests to their manger, As the slantin' sunbeams throu the forest trees glide. Heaven [GOD] kens the lanesome things I think. Heaven send my man his meat an' drink!

III. THE HUSBAND'S SATISFACTION, AND THE WIFE'S JOY, ON HIS RETURN.

1 The gudeman's come hame, an' his face wears a bloom, His organ o' reeds he hads in his left han'; An' his richt han' ca's me to come till his room:— It's siccan a joy; it's mair nor I can stan'.

2 The gudeman's come hame, an' he's pleesed I'll engage, His gran' fether screen he hads in his left han'; An' his richt han' ca's me to come till the stage:— It's siccan a joy; it's mair nor I can stan'.

IV. THE TROOPS OF CHOW, KEPT ON DUTY IN SHIN, MURMUR AT THEIR SEPARATION FROM THEIR FAMILIES.

1 Fretted the waters seem, Yet gently flows the stream;— Unable a faggot to bear. Guarding Shin here we roam, Wives and children at home, All absent our toils who should share. We think of them ever; Thought parts from them never;— What month shall we homeward repair?

2 Fretted the waters seem, Yet gently flows the stream;— A bundle of thorns 'twill not bear. Guarding P'oo here we roam, Wives and children at home, All absent our toils who should share. We think of them ever; Thought parts from them never;— What month shall we homeward repair?

3 Fretted the waters seem, Yet gently flows the stream;— The reed-bundle powerless to bear. Guarding Heu here we roam, Wives and children at home, All absent our toils who should share. We think of them ever; Thought parts from them never;— What month shall we homeward repair?

V. THE SAD CASE OF A WOMAN FORCED TO SEPARATE FROM HER HUSBAND BY THE PRESSURE OF FAMINE.

1 The valleys show the mother-wort, Now scorched in each dry spot. Behold a wife driven forth from home, Beneath hard famine's lot! She sadly sighs, she sadly sighs, From husband torn and dearest ties.

2 The valleys show the mother-wort, Now scorched where tall it rose. Behold a wife driven forth from home, By stern misfortune's blows! We hear her groans, we hear her groans, As she her hapless fate bemoans.

3 The valleys show the mother-wort, Scorched in each dampest place. Behold a wife driven forth from home— Bewail in vain her case! Her tears aye flow, her tears aye flow; Howe'er she grieve, ne'er ends her woe!

VI. AN OFFICER OF CHOW DECLARES HIS WEARINESS OF LIFE BECAUSE OF THE GROWING MISERIES OF THE STATE, AND OF THE WAY IN WHICH MEN OF PRINCIPLE SUFFERED, WHILE WORTHLESS MEN ESCAPED.

1 Caught is the pheasant in the net, That vainly for the hare is set. So those who duty promptly do Find cause their loyal zeal to rue, While one whose ends are base and mean Contrives from harm himself to screen. When I was in my youthful prime, Without commotion passed the time; But since those happy days were o'er, Numerous the ills that press us sore:— I would that I might sleep, and rise no more [till the Day]!

2 Caught is the pheasant in the snare, Avoided by the cautious hare. So those who duty promptly do Find cause their loyal zeal to rue, While one whose ends are base and mean Contrives from harm himself to screen. When I was in my youthful prime, No strange events e'er marked the time; But now those days have passed away, And sorrows meet us day by day:— I would that I might sleep, and sleep for aye [till the Day]!

3 Into the trap the pheasant flies, Which the hare shuns with cautious eyes. So those who duty promptly do Find cause their loyal zeal to rue, While one whose ends are base and mean Contrives from harm himself to screen. When I was in my youthful prime, No toilsome tasks distressed the time; But in these latter days of life, Our miseries are waxen rife:— O for the sleep unbroke by sound of strife!

VII. A WANDERER FROM CHOW, SEPARATED FROM HIS KIN, MOURNS OVER HIS LOT.

1 Around the creepers thickly spread, On the borders of the Ho. My native soil no more I tread; Into exile forth I go. Far removed from kindred all, Father I a stranger call. Though so called, he does not brook Kindly upon me to look.

2 Around the creepers thickly spread, On the green banks of the Ho. My native soil no more I tread; Into exile forth I go. Far removed from kindred all, Mother I a stranger call. Though so called, she does not deign Me as child to entertain.

3 Around the creepers thickly spread, On the bank-lips of the Ho. My native soil no more I tread; Into exile forth I go. Far from all who bear my name, Elder brother I would claim In a stranger, but he spurns Such a claim, and from me turns.

VIII. A LADY LONGS FOR THE SOCIETY OF THE OBJECT OF HER AFFECTION.

1 He's there, the dolichos among! Only one day from sight away,— To me it seems as three months long!

2 He's there, among the southernwood! Only one day from sight away,— It seems three seasons' solitude!

3 Among the mugwort he appears! Only one day from sight away,— To me it seems as three full years!

IX. THE INFLUENCE OF A SEVERE AND VIRTUOUS MAGISTRATE IN REPRESSING LICENTIOUSNESS.

1 He rolls along in carriage grand, His robes are bright with green,— His robes of rank, as on the bank The tender sedge is seen. Thinking I always am of thee, Thinking with fond desire. But dreading his severity, I must repress the fire.

2 With slow and heavy sound his car,— His car of state, moves on. O'er his dress spread, the colours red Shine like carnation-stone. Thinking I always am of thee; The fondest thoughts have I. The fear of him alone holds me, Or to thine arms I'd fly.

3 Our fate [GOD's decree] may be, while still alive, Always apart to dwell; But when we're dead, we shall be laid In the same earthen cell. If haply thou should'st say that I Am not in this sincere, I swear its truth by [GOD the Seer], Whose piercing glance I fear.

X. A WOMAN LONGS FOR THE PRESENCE OF HER LOVERS, WHO, SHE THINKS, ARE DETAINED FROM HER BY ANOTHER WOMAN.

1 Where the hemp grows on the mound, There some one keeps Tsze-tseay; There some one keeps Tsze-tseay:— Why comes not he to me with a bound?

2 On the mound where grows the wheat, There some one keeps Tsze-kwoh; There some one keeps Tsze-kwoh:— Why comes not he with me here to eat?

3 On the mound plum trees have place. There some one keeps those youths; There some one keeps those youths:— O for their kew-stones girdle to grace!