and learned swordmanship, and even slashed several combatants with his cutlass.
"Though less than seven feet in height, I am strong enought to meet ten thousand men," he boasted. It was hardly necessary, however, to point out the rare and lovable personality of the poet, who made friends with everybody—lord or prince, Buddhist or Taoist, courtier or scholar, country gentlemen or town brewer; and addressed with the same affectionate regard alike the emperor in the palace and the poor singing-girl on the city street of Chang-an.
In his mature age Li Po, despite his natural inclination and temperament, cherished the normal Chinese ambition to serve the state in a high official capacity and try the empire-builder's art.[9] It was with no small anticipation that he went to the court and discoursed on the affairs of the government before the emperor. But he was only allowed to write poems and cover his vexations with the cloak of dissipation. Later when amid the turmoil of the civil war he was called to join the powerful Prince of Yung, his aspirations revived, only to be smothered in the bitterness of defeat and banishment. The last few years of his life were pathetic. Broken in spirit and weary with the burden of sorrow and age, but with his patriotic fervor still burning in his heart, he watched with anxiety the sorry plight of his country.
In the middle of the night I sigh four or five times,
Worrying ever over the great empire's affairs.
The rebellion of An Lu-shan and its aftermath were not wholly quelled till the very year of the poet's death. {nop}
↑ See No. 79, & 124.
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