Classic Poem

The Spirit of Bell Mountain, the Divinity of Grass Hut Cloister,
hasten through the mist on the post road
to engrave this proclamation on the hillside:
A man who
Incorruptible, holds himself aloof from the vulgar,
Untrammeled, avoids earthly concerns,
Vies in purity with the white snow,
Ascends straightway to the blue clouds —
We but know of such
Those who
Take their stand outside things,
Shine bright beyond the mist,
Regard a treasure of gold as dust and do not covet it,
Look on the offer of a throne as a slipper to be cast off,
Who are heard blowing a phoenix flute by the bank of the Luo,
Who are met singing a faggot song beside the Yanlai —
These really do exist.
But who would expect to find those
Whose end belies their beginning,
Vacillating between black and yellow,
Making Mo Di weep,
Moving Yang Zhu to tears,
Retiring on impulse with hearts still contaminated
Starting out pure and later becoming sullied —
What imposters they are!
Alas!
Master Shang lives no more
Mister Zhong is already gone
The mountain slope is deserted,
A thousand years unappreciated.
At the present time there is Master Zhou
An outstanding man among the vulgar
Cultured and a scholar
Philosopher and scribe
But he needs must
Imitate Yan He's retirement
Copy Nanguo's meditation,
Occupy the Grass Hut by imposture
Usurp a her mit's cap on North Mountain,
Seduce our pines and cassia trees
Cheat our clouds and valleys.
Although he assume the manner by the river side
His feelings are bound by love of rank.
When first he came, he was going to
Outdo Chaofu
Surpass Xuyou
Despise the philosophers
Ignore the nobility
His flaming ardor stretched to the sun
His frosty resolve surpassed the autumn.
He would sigh that the her mits were gone forever
Or deplore that recluses wandered no more
He discoursed on the empty emptiness of the Buddhist sutras
He studied the murky mystery of Taoist texts.
A Wu Guang could not compare with him
A Juanzi was not fit to associate with him.
But when
The belled messengers entered the valley
And the crane-summons reached his hill,
His body leapt and his souls scattered
His resolve faltered and his spirit wavered
Then
Beside the mat his eyebrows jumped
On the floor his sleeves danced
He burned his castalia garments and tore his lotus clothes
He raised a worldly face and carried on in a vulgar manner.
Wind-driven clouds grieved as they carried their anger
Rock-rimed springs sobbed as they trickled their disappointment.
Forests and crags appeared to lack something
Grass and trees seemed to have suffered loss.
When he came to
Tie on his brass insignia
Fasten the black ribbon,
He was foremost of the leaders of provincial towns
He was first among the heads of a hundred villages
He stretched his brave renown over the coastal precincts
He spread his fine repute through Zhejiang,
His Taoist books discarded for good
His dharma mat long since buried
The cries and groans from beatings invade his thoughts
A succession of warrants and accusations pack his mind.
The Lute Song is interrupted
The Wine Poem is unfinished
He is constantly involved in examinations
And is continually swamped by litigation.
He tries to cage Zhang Chang and Zhao Guanghan of past fame
And seeks to shelve Zhuo Mao and Lu Gong of the former records.
He hopes to succeed the worthies of the three Capital Districts
He wants to spread his fame beyond the Governors of the Nine Provices.
He has left our
High haze to reflect the light unwatched
Bright moon to rise in solitude
Dark pines to waste their shade
White clouds with no companion
The gate by the brook is broken, no one comes back
The stone pathway is overgrown, vain to wait for him
And now
The ambient breeze invades his bedcurtains
The seeping mist exhales from the rafters
The orchid curtains are empty, at night his crane is grieved
The mountain hermit is gone, mornings the apes are startled.
In the past we heard of one who cast away his cap-pin
and retired to the seashore
Today we see one loosen his orchids
and tie on a dirty cap instead.
Whereupon
The Southern Peak presents us with its scorn
the Northern Range raises its laughter
All valleys strive in mockery
Every peak contends in contempt
We regret that this vagrant has cheated us
We grieve that no one comes to condole.
As a result
Our woods are ashamed without end
Our brooks humiliated with no reprieve.
Autumn cassia sends away the wind.
Spring wistaria refuses the moon.
We spread the word of the retirement to West Mountain
We broadcast the report of the resolve of East Marsh
Now today
He is hurrying to pack in his lowly town
With drumming oars to go up to the capital
Though he is wholly committed to the court
He may still invade our mountain fastness
How can we permit our
Azaleas to be insulted again
Bili to be shameless
Green cliffs again humiliated
Red slopes further sullied?
He would dirty with his vagrant steps our lotus paths
And soil the cleansing purity of the clear ponds
We must
Bar our mountain windows
Close our cloud passes
Call back the light mist
Silence the noisy torrent
Cut off his approaching carriage at the valley mouth
Stop his impudent reins at the outskirts.
Then
Massed twigs shall be filled with anger
Ranked buds shall have their souls enraged
Flying branches shall break his wheels
Drooping boughs shall sweep away his tracks
Let us turn back the carriage of a worldly fellow
And decline on behalf of our lord a forsworn guest.