Targum | Page 4

forest gloomy,?On the mountain or the vale,?On the ocean wide and roomy?Them no evil shall assail.?Thou, who every secret knowest,?Foutsa, hear my heart-felt pray'r;?Thou, who earth such favour showest,?How shall I thy praise declare??Through ten million calaps {18} hoary?If with cataract's voice I roar,?Yet of Foutsa's force and glory?I may not the sum out-pour?Whosoe'er the title learning?Of the earth's protector high,?Shall, whene'er his form discerning,?On it gaze with steadfast eye,?And at times shall offer dresses,?Offer fitting drink and food.?He ten thousand joys possesses,?And escapes each trouble rude.?Whoso into deed shall carry?Of the law each precept, he?Through all time alive shall tarry,?And from birth and death be free.?Foutsa, thou, who best of any?Know'st the truth of what I've told,?Spread the tale through regions, many?As the Ganges' sands of gold.
MORAL METAPHORS.
From the Chinese.
1.
From out the South the genial breezes sigh,?They shake the bramble branches to and fro,?Whose lovely green delights the gazer's eye--?A mother's thoughts are troubled even so.
From out the South the genial breezes move,?They shake the branches of the bramble-tree;?Unless the sons fair men and honest prove,?The virtuous mother will dishonor'd be.
The frigid fount with violence and spray?By Shiyoun's town upcasts its watery store;?Though full seven sons she give to life and day?The mother's heart is but disturb'd the more.
When sings the redbreast it is bliss to hear?The dulcet notes the little songster breeds;?But ah, more blissful to a mother's ear?The fair report of seven good children's deeds.
2.
Survey, survey Gi Shoi's murmuring flood!?How its bamboos with living green are gay;?Survey the great, illustrious and good--?How sculptur'd, polish'd and refin'd are they!?What elegance and majesty they bear!?What witchery lurketh in their voice and eyes;?View them but once, and whilst thou breath'st the air?Thou'lt ne'er forget the great, the good and wise.
Survey, survey Gi Shoi's murmuring flood!?How its bamboos uptower in green array;?The bonnets of the great, the wise and good?At either ear an agate gem display;?Bright as a star the crownlet of their hair--?What witchery lurketh in their voice and eyes;?Survey them once, and whilst thou breath'st the air?Thou'lt ne'er forget the great, the good and wise.
Survey, survey Gi Shoi's murmuring flood!?Like to the green bamboos upon it's shore?Are the illustrious, the great and good--?More pure than gold, more soft than stannine ore;?The round imperial agate's not more sheen;?Ever magnanimous and constant found,?On glory's car they sit with placid mien,?And smile benign where jocund sports abound.
THE MOUNTAIN-CHASE.
From the Mandchou or Chinese Tartar.?(An extract from the "Description of Moukden" by the Emperor Kian Loung.)
Autumn has fled and winter left our bounds;?Now for the chase amongst the mountain grounds,?Our troops their implements and arms prepare.?Like colour'd rainbow see our banners glare;?While paler far and like the waning bow,?Rustle the standards in the winds that blow;?Piercing the mists, above our heads that lower,?Aloft behold our stately Toron {21} tower,?Flapping the skies with its embroider'd rim.?Away we journey, hale in mind and limb;?Our cars of state are creaking in the rear,?Whilst in the front the active guides appear.
And now our children mount their colts of speed,?Their sculptur'd cars full little here they need;?From the right side they take the arrow keen,?Ne'er to its quiver to return, I ween;?The bow, the left side's fitting ornament;?The bow, the tough and pliant bow is bent;?It yields a sound, like thunder from afar,?While flies the arrow, like a streaming star.
None now expects a tale of fabled might;?Wang Liyang's {22} bridle will no more delight;?Nor how his chariot Siyan Ou did guide;?Nor how, incas'd in hauberk's steely pride,?His hundred myriads, at the cymbals' sound,?The falcon launch'd, or slipp'd the eager hound;?Or giving rein to every fiery steed?No more precipitous Tai Shan would heed,?Than stair which leadeth to some upper bower;?Or swarming down tumultuous to the shore,?Chain'd the sea-waters with the nets they cast--?For such wild miracles the time is past.
Numerous and brilliant spreads our hunting train,?Stilly or noisily the aim is ta'en,?Forth the shaft speedeth all athirst for blood,?Whilst the string rattleth sharp against the wood;?The stags we scatter, in the plain which browse,?Or from his cavern the rough boar uprouse;?We scare the bokoin to the highest steeps,?Hunt down the hare, along the plain which leaps.?But though we slaughter, nor the work resign?When stiff and wearied are each hand and spine,?On field and mountain still the beasts are spied?Plenteous as grasses in the summer tide;?As at three points the fierce attack I ply,?Seeing what numbers still remain to die,?Captains, pick'd captains I with speed despatch,?Who by the tail the spotted leopard catch,?Crash to the brain the furious tiger's head,?Grapple the bear so powerful and dread,?The ancient sow, the desert's haunter, slay--?Whilst with applause their prowess we survey.
When thus fresh meat they have obtain'd with glee,?The largest beasts the hunters bear to me,?From which we separate and cast aside?Whatever beast by frontal wound has died;?To those the preference we at once