II. v. 8.: THE ORPHAN. How tall and strong the southernwood has grown! Ah no!—the tansy* rather. O mother mine! O father! And for my life what travail ye have known! [233] Yea, tall and strong the southernwood I see; Nay, wormwood—somewhat other. O father mine! O mother! And for my life what toil and pain had ye! Ah, when no more the flagon is supplied, Disgrace befals the jar.* O better lot by far Than orphaned life, to long ago have died! The fatherless—in whom shall he confide? The motherless find rest? Abroad, with grief suppressed He goes; returns,—none hastens to his side O father, thou didst give my life to me! O mother, thou didst nourish And comfort me, and cherish And rear and train me from my infancy, And watch and tend and to thy bosom press At parting or return! To requite such love I burn, But, like Great Heaven itself, ’tis measureless. Around South Hill’s bleak eminences moan The battling, wheeling winds! Ah, while none other finds Life robb’d of joy, why suffer I alone? Yea, round South Hill’s acclivities and bluffs The circling storm-wind beats. Round me is none but meets With joy in life: I only meet rebuffs. [234]
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Re: 202. 蓼莪 - Liao E
Date: 2021-04-20 03:25 am (UTC)How tall and strong the southernwood has grown!
Ah no!—the tansy* rather.
O mother mine! O father!
And for my life what travail ye have known!
[233]
Yea, tall and strong the southernwood I see;
Nay, wormwood—somewhat other.
O father mine! O mother!
And for my life what toil and pain had ye!
Ah, when no more the flagon is supplied,
Disgrace befals the jar.*
O better lot by far
Than orphaned life, to long ago have died!
The fatherless—in whom shall he confide?
The motherless find rest?
Abroad, with grief suppressed
He goes; returns,—none hastens to his side
O father, thou didst give my life to me!
O mother, thou didst nourish
And comfort me, and cherish
And rear and train me from my infancy,
And watch and tend and to thy bosom press
At parting or return!
To requite such love I burn,
But, like Great Heaven itself, ’tis measureless.
Around South Hill’s bleak eminences moan
The battling, wheeling winds!
Ah, while none other finds
Life robb’d of joy, why suffer I alone?
Yea, round South Hill’s acclivities and bluffs
The circling storm-wind beats.
Round me is none but meets
With joy in life: I only meet rebuffs.
[234]
https://oll.libertyfund.org/title/confucius-the-shi-king-the-old-poetry-classic-of-the-chinese