Classic Poem

1

Here rest, in mausoleums grand,
Seven of the Tokugawa blood;
Here once Zojoji's temple stood,
Founded by Iyeyasu's hand.

Here, sheltered from great Yedo's din,
Serener beats the pulse of life;
Beyond these august groves is strife;
Peace and Religion reign within.

I stroll and gaze: through lacquered gate,
Past gorgeous shrine I make my way;
Thrice beautiful, this April day,
Are these tomb-temples of the great.

On tent-shaped roofs the sunlight falls;
The sweet air fills each spacious court;
Proud Shiba, Heaven and Earth consort
To gild thy mortuary walls!

2

What spectacle is this? What fair
To which the men and maidens throng?
Where wrestler's shout, and geisha's song
Re-echo through the jocund air:

Where musumes, in coquetry wise,
Set sake forth, or fragrant tea,
And praise our feats of archery,
As from each bow the arrow flies:

Where wondrous wax-works meet the eye,
And booths attract on every side;
And, lo, a temple's portal wide
Invites to prayer the passers-by:

What spectacle is this? Divine,
O traveler, if thou canst, the scene?
Pilgrims are these upon the green:
This is Asakusa's famous shrine!

3

Uyeno, when, through thy royal park,
On April days the people stray,
To view the cherry-blossoms gay
Which spring's arrival ever mark,

What picnic of my native land
Can with thy festival compare?
So glad the admiring groups, so fair
The cherry-flowers, the pines so grand.

For ever, in these Orient isles,
Pleasure, immortal goddess, reigns;
Nor prince nor peasant she disdains,
Alike on young and old she smiles.

O thou who, harassed on all hands,
Wouldst seek the earthly paradise,
To Nippon hie; with thine own eyes
Behold the happiest of earth's lands!

4

But ere I leave thy classic plain,
Fair Yedo, let my simple verse
Gompachi's story sad rehearse —
Komurasaki's love and pain.

A samurai brave was he at first,
And she a maiden fair and good;
To buy her stricken parents food
She sold herself. O fate the worst!

He played the robber's cruel part
For gold wherewith his love to save;
He fell; and o'er Gompachi's grave
She plunged the dagger to her heart.

Like Abelard and Heloise,
Lovers unfortunate were they.
Now in Meguro rests their clay,
Beneath the waving bamboo-trees.