64. TO A FRIEND GOING HOME .g[ ^J
It is June when the south wind blows the white sand, „ *>
And the oxen pant under the moon, their gusty breath \**\)$k
turning to mist. ^
The lowland air is humid and suffocating, and it is *5fi-^-
hard to bear. _1»
There is no coach on the long road in the burning heat, -^p
What do you think of going by way of the river? m ^ m
You leave for Chin-ling, hoisting your sail high to the 'i^J^V
breeze. -^
Your parents are waiting and watching for you, leaning fi%?'&
against the gate. ^"§f In Luh-chung there is the home of your childhood.
��My family live for the time at the Sand Hill;
I have not returned for three years, and they are dis- tracted.
Please, go and see them! — You know Po-chin, my boy.
He must be running his toy cart and riding on the back of a white sheep.
Written about the same time as No. 68.
The poet is near Chin-ling: — that is, Nanking. In this southern region the oxen are so afraid of the scorch- ing sun that they pant, it is said, even at the sight of the moon.
Luh-chung is a district, and Sand Hill a town, in Shantung. See No. 80.
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