Mighty indeed is the Yangtse River! Rising far in the west, in the mountains of Omei and Min, Ploughing its way through Wu, east flowing, resistless, Swelled by its nine tributary streams, rolling down from the far north, Aided and helped by a hundred rivulets swirling and foaming, Ocean receives it at last welcoming, joyful, its waters. Therein abide sea-nymphs and water gods, Enormous whales a thousand fathoms long, Nine-headed monstrous beasts yclept t‘ien-wu, Demons and uncouth creatures wondrous strange. In faith it is the home and safe retreat Of devils black, and sprites, and wondrous growths, And eke the battle ground of valiant men. At times occur strange strife of elements, When darkness strives on light’s domain't‘encroach, Whereat arises in the vaulted dome of blue White wreaths of fog that toward the centre roll. Then darkness falls, too dense for any torch T‘illumine; only clanging sounds can pass. The fog at first appears, a vaprous wreath Scarce visible. But thickening fast, it veils The southern hills, the painted leopard’s home. And spreads afar, until the northern sea Leviathans are mazed and lose their course. And denser yet it touches on the sky, And spreads a heavy mantle o‘er the earth. Then, wide as is the high pitched arch of heaven, Therein appears no single rift of blue. Now mighty whales lead up their wives to sport Upon the waves, the sinuous dragons dive Deep down and, breathing, swell the heaving sea, The earth is moist as with the early rains, And spring’s creative energy is chilled. Both far and wide and high the damp fog spreads, Great cities on the eastern bank are hid, Wide ports and mountains in the south are lost, Whole fleets of battle ships, a thousand keels, Hide in the misty depths; frail fishing boats High riding on a wave are seen—and lost. The gloom increases and the domed sky Grows dark and darker as the sun’s light fails. The daylight dies, dim twilight’s reign begins, The ruddy hills dissolve and lose their hue. The skill of matchless Yü would fail to sound The depth and height; and Li Lou’s eye, though keen, Could never pierce this gloom. Now is the time, O sea and river gods, to use your powers. The gliding fish and creeping water folk Are lost; there is no track for bird or beast. Fair P'ênglai Isles are hidden from our sight, The lofty gates of heaven have disappeared. Nature is blurred and indistinct, as when A driving rain storm hurries o‘er the earth. And then, perhaps, within the heavy haze A noisome serpent vents his venom foul And plagues descend, or impish demons work Their wicked wills. Ills fall on men but do not stay, Heaven’s cleansing breath sweeps them away, But while they last the mean ones cry, The nobler suffer silently. The greatest turmoil is a sign Of quick return to state benign.
Brewitt-Taylor · 1925 · public domain