t my thoughts in check I keep.
Ancient story brings to mind
Sufferers who were resigned.

[NOTE.--Yellow is one of the five "correct" colors of the Chinese,
while green is one of the "intermediate" colors that are less
esteemed. Here we have the yellow used merely as a lining to the
green, or employed in the lower, or less honorable, part of the
dress;--an inversion of propriety, and intimating how a favorite
had usurped the place of the rightful wife and thrust her down.]

IN PRAISE OF A MAIDEN

O sweet maiden, so fair and retiring,
At the corner I'm waiting for you;
And I'm scratching my head, and inquiring
What on earth it were best I should do.

Oh! the maiden, so handsome and coy,
For a pledge gave a slim rosy reed.
Than the reed is she brighter, my joy;
On her loveliness how my thoughts feed!

In the pastures a _t'e_ blade she sought,
And she gave it, so elegant, rare.
Oh! the grass does not dwell in my thought,
But the donor, more elegant, fair.

DISCONTENT

As when the north winds keenly blow,
And all around fast falls the snow,
The source of pain and suffering great,
So now it is in Wei's poor state.
Let us join hands and haste away,
My friends and lovers all.
'Tis not a time will brook delay;
Things for prompt action call.

As when the north winds whistle shrill,
And drifting snows each hollow fill,
The source of pain and suffering great,
So now it is in Wei's poor state.
Let us join hands, and leave for aye,
My friends and lovers all,
'Tis not a time will brook delay;
Things for prompt action call.

We look for red, and foxes meet;
For black, and crows our vision greet.
The creatures, both of omen bad,
Well suit the state of Wei so sad.
Let us join hands and mount our cars,
My friends and lovers all.
No time remains for wordy jars;
Things for prompt action call.

CHWANG KEANG BEMOANS HER HUSBAND'S CRUELTY

Fierce is the wind and cold;
And such is he.
Smiling he looks, and bold
Speaks mockingly.
Scornful and lewd his words,
Haughty his smile.
Bound is my heart with cords
In sorrow's coil.

As cloud of dust wind-blown,
Just such is he.
Ready he seems to own,
And come to me.
But he comes not nor goes,