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Miscellaneous Poems

FROM THE

"MANYE FUSHIFU;"

OR,

"COLLECTION OF A MYRIAD LEAVES”

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MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

Lines

COMPOSED BY THE EMPEROR ZHIYOMEI ON THE OCCASION OF HIS ASCENDING MOUNT KAGU,* AND CONTEMPLATING THE SURROUNDING COUNTRY.

Countless are the mountain-chains
Tow'ring o'er Cipango's plains;

But fairest is Mount Kagu's peak,

Whose heav'nward soaring heights I seek
And gaze on all my realms beneath,-
Gaze on the land where vapours wreathe
O'er many a cot; gaze on the sea,
Where cry the seagulls merrily.
Yes! 'tis a very pleasant land,
Fill'd with joys on either hand,
Sweeter than aught beneath the sky,
Dear islands of the dragon-fly! †

Near Nara.

+ One of the ancient names of Japan, given to the country on account of a supposed resemblance in shape to that insect. The dragon-flies of Japan are various and very beautiful,

The Mikado's Bow.*

When the dawn is shining,

He takes it up and fondles it with pride;

When the day's declining,

He lays it by his pillow's side.

Hark to the twanging of the string!

This is the bow of our Great Lord and King!

Now to the morning chase they ride,

Now to the chase again at eventide :

Hark to the twanging of the string !

This is the bow of our Great Lord and King!

(HASHIBITO.)

Spring and Autumn.

(AN ODE COMPOSED IN OBEDIENCE TO THE COMMANDS OF THE MIKADO TEÑJI.)

When winter turns to spring,

Birds that were songless make their songs resound,
Flow'rs that were flow'rless cover all the ground;
Yet 'tis no perfect thing:-

I cannot walk, so tangled is cach hill;
So thick the herbs, I cannot pluck my fill.
But in the autumn-tido

I cull the scarlet leaves and love them dear,
And let the green leaves stay, with many a tear,
All on the fair hill-side :—

* The Mikado referred to is Zhiyomel, who died in A.D. 641.

No time so sweet as that. Away! away!
Autumn's the time I fain would keep alway.

(OHOGIMI.)

Spring.

When winter turns to spring,
The dews of morn in pearly radiance lie,
The mists of eve rise circling to the sky,
And Kaminábi's thickets ring

With the sweet notes the nightingale doth sing.

(ANON.)

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The Brook of Hatsuse.

Pure is Hatsuse's mountain-brook,-
So pure it mirrors all the clouds of heaven;
Yet here no fishermen for shelter look

When sailing home at even:

"Tis that there are no sandy reaches,
Nor shelving beaches,

Where the frail craft might find some shelt'ring

nook.

Ah, well-a-day! we have no sandy reaches:

But heed that not;

Nor shelving beaches:
But heed that not!

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