  CELEBRATING A HUNTING EXPEDITIONOur chariots were well-built and firm, Well-matched our steeds, and fleet and strong. Four, sleek and large, each chariot drew, And eastward thus we drove along. Our hunting cars were light and good, Each with its team of noble steeds. Still further east we took the way To Foo-mere's grassy plains that leads. Loud-voiced, the masters of the chase Arranged the huntsmen, high and low. While banners streamed, and ox-tails flew, We sought the prey on distant Gaou. Each with full team, the princes came, A lengthened train in bright array. In gold-wrought slippers, knee-caps red, They looked as on an audience day. Each right thumb wore the metal guard; On the left arm its shield was bound. In unison the arrows flew; The game lay piled upon the ground. Sped on their course, direct and true. The drivers perfect skill displayed; Like blow well aimed each arrow flew. Neighing and pleased, the steeds returned; The bannered lines back slowly came. No jostling rude disgraced the crowd; The king declined large share of game. So did this famous hunt proceed! So free it was from clamorous sound! Well does our King become his place, And high the deeds his reign have crowned! THE KING'S ANXIETY FOR HIS MORNING LEVÉEHow goes the night? For heavy morning sleep Ill suits the king who men would loyal keep. The courtyard, ruddy with the torch's light, Proclaims unspent the deepest hour of night. Already near the gate my lords appear; Their tinkling bells salute my wakeful ear. How goes the night? I may not slumber on. Although not yet the night is wholly gone, The paling torch-light in the court below Gives token that the hours swift-footed go. Already at the gate my lords appear; Their tinkling bells with measured sound draw near. How goes the night? I may not slumber now. The darkness smiles with morning on its brow. The courtyard torch no more gives forth its ray, My princes pass the gate, and gather there; I see their banners floating in the air. MORAL LESSONS FROM NATURAL FACTSAll true words fly, as from yon reedy marsh The crane rings o'er the wild its screaming harsh. Vainly you try reason in chains to keep;— Freely it moves as fish sweeps through the deep. Hate follows love, as 'neath those sandal-trees The withered leaves the eager searcher sees. The hurtful ne'er without some good was born;— The stones that mar the hill will grind the corn. All true words spread, as from the marsh's eye The crane's sonorous note ascends the sky. Goodness throughout the widest sphere abides, As fish round isle and through the ocean glides. And lesser good near greater you shall see, As grows the paper shrub 'neath sandal-tree. And good emerges from what man condemns;— Those stones that mar the hill will polish gems. |
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