THE SHE KING; OR, THE BOOK OF ANCIENT POETRY

272 THE BOOK OF POETRY. [PART II.
5 A colt the old horse deems himself,
And vainly hastens to the race ;
So thinks the mean man, bent on pelf,
Himself fit for the highest place.
Stuffed to the full, he still shall feed,
Nor own that he has had enough.
He drinks, and with insatiate greed,
Knows not the time for leaving off.
6 The monkeys by their nature know
The way to climb a tree, untaught.
We need no mud on him to throw, '
Whom lying in the mud we've caught.
The nature of all meaner men
Leads them to follow and obey.
Nor right, nor wrong the millions ken,
But imitate the sovereign's way.
7 The snow falls fast, and all the ground
Hides with its masses, white and clear;
But when the sunbeams play around,
It soon will melt and disappear.
This fact, 0 king, you don't perceive;
Those men who calumnies diffuse,
Not heeding, to themselves you leave,
And your indulgence they abuse.
8 Yes, though the snow lie drifted deep,
Away before the heat 'twill flow.
I for the king's neglect must weep;—
Like Man or Maou those men will grow.
X.
• The Tiih lew ; metaphorical and allusive. SOME NOBLE TELLS HOW
IMPOSSIBLE IT WAS TO APPROACH OE DO ANYTHING FOE THE KING,
AND WABNS THE OTHERS AGAINST DOING SO.
1 The willow trees luxuriant grow.
Who is not glad himself to throw
Beneath their shade to rest ?
VII. X.] THE BOOK OF POETRY.
And so to our great sovereign's court
The feudal lords should oft resort,
And feel supremely blessed.
But he whom we all deemed a god
Is so uncertain in his nod,
That they his presence shun.
Near him alone I dare not go.
Were I at court myself to show,
And of his troubles take the charge,
His calls on me would be so large,
That I should be undone.
2 Luxuriant grow the willow trees;
Beneath their shade one often sees
Large crowds at ease reclined.
So should the king his grace extend,
And to his court the princes bend
Their steps with willing mind.
But he, whom as a god we viewed,
Is so uncertain in his mood,
That they dare not appear.
For me I should but court distress,
If I alone were to address
Myself to take his cares in hand ;
He would so much of me demand,
I'd live in constant fear.
3 The birds now on the trees alight,
Then spread their wings in sudden flight,
And soar aloft to heaven ;
So does the king his purpose change,
From one thing to another range,
As by his fancies driven.
His heart we cannot fathom well,
Nor can we any moment tell
To what he will proceed.
The task why should I undertake,
And vainly the endeavour make,
His grievous troubles to redress ?
'Twould only cause me sore distress,
And to my misery lead.
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273