THE odes of Thang were really the odes of Zin, the greatest of the fiefs
of Kâu until the rise of Khin. King Khang, in B.C. 1107, invested his
younger brother, called Shû-yü, with the territory where Yâo was
supposed to have ruled anciently as the marquis of Thang, in the present
department of Thâi-yüan, Shan-hsî, the fief retaining that ancient name.
Subsequently the name of the state was changed to Zin, from the river
Zin in the southern part of it.
ODE, 8, STANZA 1. THE PÂO YÜ.
THE MEN OF ZIN, CALLED OUT TO WARFARE BY THE KING'S ORDER, MOURN
OVER THE CONSEQUENT SUFFERING OF THEIR PARENTS, AND LONG FOR
THEIR RETURN TO THEIR ORDINARY AGRICULTURAL PURSUITS, MAKING
THEIR APPEAL TO HEAVEN.
Sû-sû go the feathers of the wild geese, As
[1. In the 'Complete Digest' this oath is expanded in the following
way:--'These words are from my heart. If you think that they are not
sincere, there is (a Power) above, like the bright sun, observing
me;--how should my words not be sincere?']
they settle on the bushy oaks[1]. The king's affairs must not be slackly
discharged, And (so) we cannot plant our millets;--What will our parents
have to rely on? O thou distant and azure Heaven [2]! When shall we be
in our places again?
ODE 11. THE KO SHANG.
A WIFE MOURNS THE DEATH OF HER HUSBAND, REFUSING TO BE
COMFORTED, AND DECLARES THAT SHE WILL CHERISH HIS MEMORY TILL
HER OWN DEATH.
It is supposed that the husband whose death is bewailed in this piece
had died in one of the military expeditions of which duke Hsien (B.C.
676-651) was fond. It may have been so, but there is nothing in the
piece to make us think of duke Hsien. I give it a place in the volume,
not because of the religious sentiment in it, but because of the absence
of that sentiment, Where we might expect it. The lady shows the grand
virtue of a Chinese widow, in that she will never marry again. And her
grief would not be assuaged. The days would all seem long summer days,
and the nights all long winter nights; so that a hundred long years
would seem to drag their slow course, But there is not any hope
expressed of a re-union with her husband in another state. The 'abode'
and the 'chamber' of which she speaks are to be understood of his grave;
and her thoughts do not appear to go beyond it.
The dolichos grows, covering the thorn trees; The convolvulus spreads
all over the waste [3]. The
[1. Trees are not the proper. place for geese to rest on; and the
attempt to do so is productive of much noise and trouble to the birds.
The lines would seem to allude to the hardships of the soldiers' lot,
called from their homes to go on a distant expedition.
2. See note 2 on ode I of Book vi, where Heaven is appealed to in the
same language.
3. These two lines are taken as allusive, the speaker being led by the
sight of the weak plants supported by the trees, shrubs, and tombs, to
think of her own desolate, unsupported condition. But they may also be
taken as narrative, and descriptive of the battleground, where her
husband had met his death.]
man of my admiration is no more here;--With whom can I dwell? I abide alone.
The dolichos grows, covering the jujube trees; The convolvulus spreads
all over the tombs. The man of my admiration is no more here;--With whom
can I dwell? I rest alone.
How beautiful was the pillow of horn! How splendid was the embroidered
coverlet[1]! The man of my admiration is no more here;--With whom can I
dwell? Alone (I wait for) the morning.
Through the (long) days of summer, Through the (long) nights of winter
(shall I be alone), Till the lapse of a hundred years, When I shall go
home to his abode.
Through the (long) nights of winter, Through the (long) days of
summer(shall I be alone), Till the lapse of a hundred years, When I
shall go home to his chamber.