The Kao T'ang Fu
Once when Hsiang, King of Ch'u, was walking with Sung Yü on the Cloud-Dream Terrace, he looked up at the Kao T'ang Shrine. Above it was a coil of mist, now pointing steadily skywards like a pinnacle of rock, now suddenly dissolving and in a single moment diffused into a thousand diverse shapes. Then the King questioned Sung Yü, saying, “What Cloud-spirit is this?” And Yü answered: “It is called Morning Cloud.” The King said: “Why has it this name?” and Yü answered. “Long ago a former king was wandering upon this mountain of Kao T'ang. When night came he was tired and slept beyond the dawn. And early in the morning he dreamt that a lady stood before him saying, ‘I am a girl from the Witches' Hill. I have come as a stranger to Kao T'ang, and hearing that my lord the King was travelling on this same mountain, I desired to offer him the service of pillow and mat.&’ So the King lay with her, and when they parted, she said to him: ‘My home is on the southern side of the Witches' Hill, where from its rounded summit a sudden chasm falls. At dawn I am the Morning Cloud; at dusk, the Driving Rain. So dawn by dawn and dusk by dusk I dwell beneath the southern crest.’
“Next day at sunrise he looked towards the hill, and it was even as she had said. Therefore he built her a shrine in the place where she had come to him and called it the Temple of the Morning Cloud.”
Then King Hsiang questioned Sung Yü, saying, “Tell me of this Morning Cloud, in what guise does she first appear?” And Yü answered: “Still is she and sombre as a forest of tall pines, where tree stands close to tree; but soon she kindles with a shimmering light; as when a beautiful lady, looking for her lover, raises lawn sleeves to shade her eyes from the sun. Suddenly her being is transformed: swiftly now she races as a chariot whirled onward by galloping steeds, with feathery flags outspread. From the rain a dankness she borrows, and from the wind an icy breath. But soon the wind has dropped, the rain has cleared, and Morning Cloud has vanished from the sky.”
The King said: “May I too visit the mountain whereon she was met?” Sung Yü answered: “Your Majesty may do so.” The King said: “What manner of place is it?” Yü answered: “It is a high, conspicuous hill, from whose summit immeasurable prospects may be scanned. Broad is it and vast; parent and home of ten thousand creatures. Its summit is in the realms of Heaven; its base is founded in the deep. Its marvels cannot be told, nor its giant prodigies rehearsed.” The King said: “Nevertheless I beg you to sing of it for me,” and Sung Yü did not refuse.
To what shall I liken this high and desolate hill?
In all the world it has no kin.
The Witches' Mountain
Knows no such terraces, such causeways of coiling stone.
Climb the treeless rocks, look down into the deep,
Where under their tall banks the gathered waters lie.
After long rain the sky has cleared afresh.
A hundred valleys hold concourse! In silent wrath
Mad waters tussle, the high floods
Brim abreast and tumble to their home.
The shallows spread and spread, the restless pools
Mount their steep shores.
Ever the wind blows; great waves are piled
Like barrows on a lonely field;
Now on a widening bed
They jostle savagely or beat upon their shores;
Now cramped, they draw together and are at peace.
Now in precipitous creeks, with violence renewed,
High they bound as breakers that an ocean-ship
Sees on the Stony Foreland flung.
The pebbles grind their flinty sides, grate and churn
With a din that shakes the sky.
The great rocks drown; rise up, and sink again,
Or suddenly above the waves stand high and bare.
The turbulent eddies reel and swirl;
Great waves go floundering;
They run, they leap into the air, they dance;
Scrimmage like clouds, could clouds echo
With cataractine roar.
Wild beasts dance in terror, fly headlong from the flood,
Quaking tiger, panther, wolf and buffalo dismayed—
Panting they skelter; eagle and osprey, falcon and kite
Take wing and hide themselves away;
Haunch quaking, breath bated—
No heart to pounce or snatch.
And now the creatures of the water, scaly kind
And serpent, chased by panic from their dens,
Mount to safe sunshine one and all upon an islandbank;
Scorpion and alligator, turtle and giant crab
In scrambling shoals criss-crossed,
Fins floundering, scales flourished—
Now slithering, now twining,
They gain the middle bank and stare afar.
They see dark trees whose winter-flowers
Dazzle the eye; white shine those woods
As a full heaven, where star is blent with star.
And over many woods of chestnut-trees
Thick leaf and blossom brood;
Here twin catalpas trail their cups
From branches subtly twined.
Through the dark leafage ripples roam,
Tides run, to east and west
The forest spreads her wings
In delicate wafting of innumerable thrills;
Green leaves, purple fruit-skins,
Red buds, white stems
And slender branches wailing
Reed-music to the wind.
Climb higher, look afar.
Tall cliffs by their dizzy winding
Confound the eye. Yonder in rank are propped
Stupendous spires; here are great boulders split
In hideous escarpment, leaning crags,
And cliffs from whose disrupted crest
Rock slithers after rock
Into a chaos of disastered stone.
Horned pinnacles rear back at the chasm's brink,
Dismayed and staggering.
So in huge conglomeration
Bulk is strewn on bulk, pile heaped on pile;
Till, topping all, the pillared summit soars
Like a great mowers'-stone
Erect beneath the towering of the inland hills.
Above, a rainbow glistens on the hill's grave crest;
Below, a void whose chasms seem
Bottomless, save for the voice
Of pine-trees carried upward on the wind.
Steep tilts the sodden bank, noisy with filtering waters;
Bear-wise clambers the traveller, slinging from tree to tree.
Will the climbing never be ended?
Sweat pours from his limbs;
He stops, he is bewildered, dares not move.
Loneliness besets him, disappointment and weak irresolute grief.
Often in such case
The soul is changed, fears causeless come,
Hearts fabled stout, of Meng Fen or Hsia Yü,
Forget their boldness. For suddenly (whence came they?)
Flock bestial legions, hairy multitudes,
Creatures magically spawned, children of ghost or god,
Some winged, some footed; all terrible, huge and strange,
Beyond the power of tale to tell.
Around the shrine
Flat spreads the mountain-roof and wide,
A mighty flail, on whose broad palm
Thick grow the scented herbs, orchis and river-broom,
Crow's-fan, clustering thyme, grey lavender.
Delicately the grasses dip and myriad bushes blend
The scent of tender boughs, wherein,
Each seeking his lost mate,
Small birds lament; from neighbouring twig
Trill answers trill—the royal-coot,
The yellow witwall, herald-of-dusk, warbler of Ch'u,
Desolate-bride, sister-come-home-again
And trailing pheasant housed in his high nest
In the fresh season carol at their play
Lusty and heedless; or in sudden choir declaim
Skilled music matched to the stream's pause and flow.
Here dwell masters of magic, wizards of the North;
On high they roam in happy throngs, to gather in
The sacrificial grain. See, now they dedicate
The stainless victim, hymn the Lord
Of the Revolving Chamber, to the many Gods
Libations pour; with worship venerate
The Unity Supreme.
The prayers are over, the liturgies incanted.
Then shall my lord the King
Ride in a magic chariot of jade
By tawny dragons drawn.
Banners and tall gonfalons shall he trail
Whose pennons intertwine. Harpers shall pluck
Their giant chords, and courtly music flow,
Tinged by the eager winds that pass
With sadness not its own;
Legends of anguish, sorrowful tales shall the singer's voice
Temper to that unhappy tune
Till they that listen throb with answering sighs.
Last come the serried huntsmen, knee to knee,
Many as the stars of heaven. For wingèd hunt
The word is passed; they set the gags between their teeth
And suddenly are dumb.
Not yet from arbalest or bow
Is arrow shot; no net is spread.
Over wide streams they wade, through tangled thickets stride.
Ere the bird take wing to fly or the beast set foot to roam,
Suddenly, through stroke invisible, blood spirts on haunch or claw.
The huntsman's work is ended; the carts are heavy with prey.
Such is the Mountain of Kao T'ang.
But should my lord desire to hunt there he must needs practise long abstinence and fasting, and by augury select the day and hour. He must be dressed in black; he must be carried in an unpainted chair. His banner must be woven with clouds; his streamers must be fashioned like the rainbow, his awning, of halcyon feathers.
Then the wind shall rise, the rain shall cease, and for a thousand leagues the clear sky shall be unfurled. And when the last cloud has vanished, he shall go quietly to the place of meeting.
Thereafter shall my lord the King deal kindly for ever with the thousand lands, sorrow for the wrongs of his people, promote the wise and good, and make whole whatever was amiss. No longer shall the apertures of his intelligence be choked; to his soul's scrutiny all hidden things shall be laid bare. His years shall be prolonged, his strength eternally endure.
“Next day at sunrise he looked towards the hill, and it was even as she had said. Therefore he built her a shrine in the place where she had come to him and called it the Temple of the Morning Cloud.”
Then King Hsiang questioned Sung Yü, saying, “Tell me of this Morning Cloud, in what guise does she first appear?” And Yü answered: “Still is she and sombre as a forest of tall pines, where tree stands close to tree; but soon she kindles with a shimmering light; as when a beautiful lady, looking for her lover, raises lawn sleeves to shade her eyes from the sun. Suddenly her being is transformed: swiftly now she races as a chariot whirled onward by galloping steeds, with feathery flags outspread. From the rain a dankness she borrows, and from the wind an icy breath. But soon the wind has dropped, the rain has cleared, and Morning Cloud has vanished from the sky.”
The King said: “May I too visit the mountain whereon she was met?” Sung Yü answered: “Your Majesty may do so.” The King said: “What manner of place is it?” Yü answered: “It is a high, conspicuous hill, from whose summit immeasurable prospects may be scanned. Broad is it and vast; parent and home of ten thousand creatures. Its summit is in the realms of Heaven; its base is founded in the deep. Its marvels cannot be told, nor its giant prodigies rehearsed.” The King said: “Nevertheless I beg you to sing of it for me,” and Sung Yü did not refuse.
To what shall I liken this high and desolate hill?
In all the world it has no kin.
The Witches' Mountain
Knows no such terraces, such causeways of coiling stone.
Climb the treeless rocks, look down into the deep,
Where under their tall banks the gathered waters lie.
After long rain the sky has cleared afresh.
A hundred valleys hold concourse! In silent wrath
Mad waters tussle, the high floods
Brim abreast and tumble to their home.
The shallows spread and spread, the restless pools
Mount their steep shores.
Ever the wind blows; great waves are piled
Like barrows on a lonely field;
Now on a widening bed
They jostle savagely or beat upon their shores;
Now cramped, they draw together and are at peace.
Now in precipitous creeks, with violence renewed,
High they bound as breakers that an ocean-ship
Sees on the Stony Foreland flung.
The pebbles grind their flinty sides, grate and churn
With a din that shakes the sky.
The great rocks drown; rise up, and sink again,
Or suddenly above the waves stand high and bare.
The turbulent eddies reel and swirl;
Great waves go floundering;
They run, they leap into the air, they dance;
Scrimmage like clouds, could clouds echo
With cataractine roar.
Wild beasts dance in terror, fly headlong from the flood,
Quaking tiger, panther, wolf and buffalo dismayed—
Panting they skelter; eagle and osprey, falcon and kite
Take wing and hide themselves away;
Haunch quaking, breath bated—
No heart to pounce or snatch.
And now the creatures of the water, scaly kind
And serpent, chased by panic from their dens,
Mount to safe sunshine one and all upon an islandbank;
Scorpion and alligator, turtle and giant crab
In scrambling shoals criss-crossed,
Fins floundering, scales flourished—
Now slithering, now twining,
They gain the middle bank and stare afar.
They see dark trees whose winter-flowers
Dazzle the eye; white shine those woods
As a full heaven, where star is blent with star.
And over many woods of chestnut-trees
Thick leaf and blossom brood;
Here twin catalpas trail their cups
From branches subtly twined.
Through the dark leafage ripples roam,
Tides run, to east and west
The forest spreads her wings
In delicate wafting of innumerable thrills;
Green leaves, purple fruit-skins,
Red buds, white stems
And slender branches wailing
Reed-music to the wind.
Climb higher, look afar.
Tall cliffs by their dizzy winding
Confound the eye. Yonder in rank are propped
Stupendous spires; here are great boulders split
In hideous escarpment, leaning crags,
And cliffs from whose disrupted crest
Rock slithers after rock
Into a chaos of disastered stone.
Horned pinnacles rear back at the chasm's brink,
Dismayed and staggering.
So in huge conglomeration
Bulk is strewn on bulk, pile heaped on pile;
Till, topping all, the pillared summit soars
Like a great mowers'-stone
Erect beneath the towering of the inland hills.
Above, a rainbow glistens on the hill's grave crest;
Below, a void whose chasms seem
Bottomless, save for the voice
Of pine-trees carried upward on the wind.
Steep tilts the sodden bank, noisy with filtering waters;
Bear-wise clambers the traveller, slinging from tree to tree.
Will the climbing never be ended?
Sweat pours from his limbs;
He stops, he is bewildered, dares not move.
Loneliness besets him, disappointment and weak irresolute grief.
Often in such case
The soul is changed, fears causeless come,
Hearts fabled stout, of Meng Fen or Hsia Yü,
Forget their boldness. For suddenly (whence came they?)
Flock bestial legions, hairy multitudes,
Creatures magically spawned, children of ghost or god,
Some winged, some footed; all terrible, huge and strange,
Beyond the power of tale to tell.
Around the shrine
Flat spreads the mountain-roof and wide,
A mighty flail, on whose broad palm
Thick grow the scented herbs, orchis and river-broom,
Crow's-fan, clustering thyme, grey lavender.
Delicately the grasses dip and myriad bushes blend
The scent of tender boughs, wherein,
Each seeking his lost mate,
Small birds lament; from neighbouring twig
Trill answers trill—the royal-coot,
The yellow witwall, herald-of-dusk, warbler of Ch'u,
Desolate-bride, sister-come-home-again
And trailing pheasant housed in his high nest
In the fresh season carol at their play
Lusty and heedless; or in sudden choir declaim
Skilled music matched to the stream's pause and flow.
Here dwell masters of magic, wizards of the North;
On high they roam in happy throngs, to gather in
The sacrificial grain. See, now they dedicate
The stainless victim, hymn the Lord
Of the Revolving Chamber, to the many Gods
Libations pour; with worship venerate
The Unity Supreme.
The prayers are over, the liturgies incanted.
Then shall my lord the King
Ride in a magic chariot of jade
By tawny dragons drawn.
Banners and tall gonfalons shall he trail
Whose pennons intertwine. Harpers shall pluck
Their giant chords, and courtly music flow,
Tinged by the eager winds that pass
With sadness not its own;
Legends of anguish, sorrowful tales shall the singer's voice
Temper to that unhappy tune
Till they that listen throb with answering sighs.
Last come the serried huntsmen, knee to knee,
Many as the stars of heaven. For wingèd hunt
The word is passed; they set the gags between their teeth
And suddenly are dumb.
Not yet from arbalest or bow
Is arrow shot; no net is spread.
Over wide streams they wade, through tangled thickets stride.
Ere the bird take wing to fly or the beast set foot to roam,
Suddenly, through stroke invisible, blood spirts on haunch or claw.
The huntsman's work is ended; the carts are heavy with prey.
Such is the Mountain of Kao T'ang.
But should my lord desire to hunt there he must needs practise long abstinence and fasting, and by augury select the day and hour. He must be dressed in black; he must be carried in an unpainted chair. His banner must be woven with clouds; his streamers must be fashioned like the rainbow, his awning, of halcyon feathers.
Then the wind shall rise, the rain shall cease, and for a thousand leagues the clear sky shall be unfurled. And when the last cloud has vanished, he shall go quietly to the place of meeting.
Thereafter shall my lord the King deal kindly for ever with the thousand lands, sorrow for the wrongs of his people, promote the wise and good, and make whole whatever was amiss. No longer shall the apertures of his intelligence be choked; to his soul's scrutiny all hidden things shall be laid bare. His years shall be prolonged, his strength eternally endure.
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