  When my lord, who fain would look on Great TsukÚba, double-crested, To the highlands of Hitachi Bent his steps, then I, his servant, Panting with the heats of summer, Down my brow the sweat-drops dripping, Breathlessly toil'd onward, upward, Tangled roots of timber clutching. "There, my lord! behold the prospect!" Cried I, when we scaled the summit. And the gracious goddess gave us Smiling welcome, while her consort Condescended to admit us Into these, his sacred precincts, O'er TsukÚba, double-crested, Where the clouds do have their dwelling. And the rain forever raineth, Shedding his divine refulgence, And revealing to our vision Ev'ry landmark that in darkness And in shapeless gloom was shrouded;— Till for joy our belts we loosen'd, Casting off constraint, and sported. Danker now than in the dulcet Spring-time grew the summer grasses; Yet to-day our bliss was boundless. Anon. |
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