Tu Fu: Sailing Across Lake Mei-Pei

Tsen-tsan and his brother delighted to dream in grand horizons, They drew me down to the water's edge, their fellow wanderer. Veiled was the sky and sombre the land, and sudden the change from daylight, The wind rose and the storm-waves seemed to be rolling pale gems in the foam. Our boat shot forth from its moorings and rippled into the movement, Great was the scene, inspiring to song, but the dominant note was fear. p. 58 How should I not be stirred with danger surging around me? Treacherous wind and crested wave, is there no escaping you? Lo now the captain unfurls the silken sail to the breezes And the boatmen begin to rejoice as the last cloud flags away. The wild-fowl rise with a roaring of wings, scared by the chant of oarsmen; Lute and flute are astir; faint harmonies drip from the sky. Bright are the water-lily's leaves as though the rains had burnished them. The slack line slips through my hands that would fathom the soundless lake. My gaze falls on the vast expanse of the limitless void before me, Rearward menacing, dark, Chong-Nan towers out of sight. Southward the mountains brood above the restless waters, Their grim reflections, trembling, sink in deeps of darkening blue. The sun sets, the boat glides by the cloud-pavilioned pagoda, And soon the moon is mirrored in the dun dusk of

the lake. p. 59 ’Tis then the black dragon, breathing pearls, looms out of the darkness. ’Tis then the river-god beats the drum, and the shoaling monsters rise. The naiads leave their dim retreats, faintly their revels find us, And the pale streamers of their quickened lutes gleam for an instant far away.