224 CHINESE LITERATURE
us like a silken skein. The very monsters of the deep yielded to the influence of his strains, while the boat- woman, who had lost her husband, burst into a flood of tears. Overpowered by my own feelings, I settled my- self into a serious mood, and asked my friend for some explanation of his art. To this he replied, ' Did not Ts'ao Ts'ao say
' The stars are few, the moon is bright, The raven southward wings his flight V
"'Westwards to Hsia-k'ou, eastwards to Wu-ch'ang, where hill and stream in wild luxuriance blend, was it not there that Ts'ao Ts'ao was routed by Chou Yii ? Ching-chou was at his feet : he was pushing down stream towards the east. His war- vessels stretched stem to stern for a thousand li: his banners darkened the sky. He poured out a libation as he neared Chiang- ling ; and, sitting in the saddle armed cap-a-pie, he uttered those words, did that hero of his age. Yet where is he to-day ?
" ' Now you and I have fished and gathered fuel to- gether on the river eyots. We have fraternised with the crayfish ; we have made friends with the deer. We have embarked together in our frail canoe ; we have drawn inspiration together from the wine-flask a couple of ephemerides launched on the ocean in a rice-husk ! Alas ! life is but an instant of Time. I long to be like the Great River which rolls on its way without end. Ah, that I might cling to some angel's wing and roam with him for ever ! Ah, that I might clasp the bright moon in my arms and dwell with her for aye ! Alas! it only remains to me to enwrap these regrets in the tender melody of sound.'
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