Japanese Literature

The present collection of Japanese poetry is compiled and translated into English from what the Japanese call "The Collection of Myriad Leaves," and from a number of other anthologies made by imperial decree year by year from the tenth until the fifteenth century. This was the golden age of Japanese literature, and nowadays, when poetry is dead in Japan, and the people and their rulers are aiming at nothing but the benefits of material civilization, these ancient anthologies are drawn upon for vamping up and compiling what pass for the current verses of the hour. The twenty volumes of the "Myriad Leaves" were probably published first in the latter half of the eighth century, in the reign of the Mikado Shiyaumu; the editor was Prince Moroye, for in those days the cultivation of verse was especially considered the privilege of the princely and aristocratic. A poem written by a man of obscure rank was sometimes included in the royal collections, but the name of the author never. And indeed some of the distinctive quality of Japanese poetry is undoubtedly due to the air in which it flourished. It is never religious, and it is often immoral, but it is always suffused with a certain hue of courtliness, even gentleness. The language is of the most refined delicacy, the thought is never boorish or rude; there is the self-collectedness which we find in the poetry of France and Italy during the Renaissance, and in England during the reign of Queen Anne. It exhibits the most exquisite polish, allied with an avoidance of every shocking or perturbing theme. It seems to combine the enduring lustre of a precious metal with the tenuity of gold-leaf. Even the most vivid emotions of grief and love, as well as the horrors of war, were banished from the Japanese Parnassus, where the Muse of Tragedy warbles, and the lyric Muse utters nothing but ditties of exquisite and melting sweetness, which soothe the ear, but never stir the heart: while their meaning is often so obscure as even to elude the understanding.

Allied to this polite reserve of the courtly poets of Japan is the simplicity of their style, which is, doubtless, in a large measure, due to the meagre range of spiritual faculties which characterize the Japanese mind. This intellectual poverty manifests itself in the absence of all personification and reference to abstract ideas. The narrow world of the poet is here a concrete and literal sphere of experience. He never rises on wings above the earth his feet are treading, and the things around him that his fingers touch. But within this limited area he revels in a great variety of subjects. In the present anthology will be found ballads, love-songs, elegies, as well as short stanzas composed with the strictest economy of word and phrase. These we must characterize as epigrams. They are gems, polished with almost passionless nicety and fastidious care. They remind us very much of Roman poetry under the later Empire, and many of them might have been written by Martial, at the court of Domitian. They contain references to court doings, compliments, and sentiments couched in pointed language. The drama of Japan is represented by two types, one of which may be called lyrical, and the other the comedy of real life. Specimens of both are found in the present collection, which will furnish English readers with a very fair idea of what the most interesting and enterprising of Oriental nations has done in the domain of imaginative literature.

E. W.

BALLADS

THE FISHER-BOY URASHIMA

'Tis spring, and the mists come stealingO'er Suminóye's shore,And I stand by the seaside musingOn the days that are no more.I muse on the old-world story,As the boats glide to and fro,Of the fisher-boy, Urashima,Who a-fishing loved to go;How he came not back to the villageThough sev'n suns had risen and set,But rowed on past the bounds of ocean,And the sea-god's daughter met;How they pledged their faith to each other,And came to the Evergreen Land,And entered the sea-god's palaceSo lovingly hand in hand,To dwell for aye in that country,The ocean-maiden and he—The country where youth and beauty                          Abide eternally.But the foolish boy said, "To-morrowI'll come back with thee to dwell;But I have a word to my father,A word to my mother to tell."The maiden answered, "A casketI give into thine hand;And if that thou hopest trulyTo come back to the Evergreen Land,"Then open it not, I charge thee!Open it not, I beseech!"So the boy rowed home o'er the billowsTo Suminóye's beach.But where is his native hamlet?Strange hamlets line the strand.Where is his mother's cottage?Strange cots rise on either hand."What, in three short years since I left it,"He cries in his wonder sore,"Has the home of my childhood vanished?Is the bamboo fence no more?"Perchance if I open the casketWhich the maiden gave to me,My home and the dear old villageWill come back as they used to be."And he lifts the lid, and there risesA fleecy, silvery cloud,That floats off to the Evergreen Country:—And the fisher-boy cries aloud;He waves the sleeve of his tunic,He rolls over on the ground,He dances with fury and horror,Running wildly round and round.132But a sudden chill comes o'er himThat bleaches his raven hair,And furrows with hoary wrinklesThe form erst so young and fair.His breath grows fainter and fainter,Till at last he sinks dead on the shore;And I gaze on the spot where his cottageOnce stood, but now stands no more.Anon.

ON SEEING A DEAD BODY

Methinks from the hedge round the gardenHis bride the fair hemp hath ta'en,And woven the fleecy raimentThat ne'er he threw off him again.For toilsome the journey he journeyedTo serve his liege and lord,133Till the single belt that encircled himWas changed to a thrice-wound cord;And now, methinks, he was faringBack home to the country-side,With thoughts all full of his father,Of his mother, and of his bride.But here 'mid the eastern mountains,Where the awful pass climbs their brow,He halts on his onward journeyAnd builds him a dwelling low;And here he lies stark in his garments,Dishevelled his raven hair,And ne'er can he tell me his birthplace,Nor the name that he erst did bear.Sakimaro.

THE MAIDEN OF UNÁHI 134

In Ashinóya village dweltThe Maiden of Unáhi,On whose beauty the next-door neighbors e'enMight cast no wandering eye;For they locked her up as a child of eight,When her hair hung loosely still;And now her tresses were gathered up,To float no more at will.135And the men all yearned that her sweet faceMight once more stand reveal'd,Who was hid from gaze, as in silken mazeThe chrysalis lies concealed.But here 'mid the eastern mountains,Where the awful pass climbs their brow,He halts on his onward journeyAnd builds him a dwelling low;And they formed a hedge round the house,And, "I'll wed her!" they all did cry;And the Champion of Chinu he was there,And the Champion of Unáhi.With jealous love these champions twainThe beauteous girl did woo,Each had his hand on the hilt of his sword,And a full-charged quiver, too,Was slung o'er the back of each champion fierce,And a bow of snow-white woodDid rest in the sinewy hand of each;And the twain defiant stood.Crying, "An 'twere for her dear sake,Nor fire nor flood I'd fear!"The maiden heard each daring word,But spoke in her mother's ear:—"Alas! that I, poor country girl,Should cause this jealous strife!As I may not wed the man I loveWhat profits me my life?"In Hades' realm I will awaitThe issue of the fray."These secret thoughts, with many a sigh,She whisper'd and pass'd away.To the Champion of Chinu in a dreamHer face that night was shown;So he followed the maid to Hades' shade,And his rival was left alone;Left alone—too late! too late!He gapes at the vacant air,He shouts, and he yells, and gnashes his teeth,And dances in wild despair."But no! I'll not yield!" he fiercely cries,"I'm as good a man as he!"And girding his poniard, he follows after,To search out his enemy.The kinsmen then, on either side,In solemn conclave met,As a token forever and evermore—Some monument for to set,That the story might pass from mouth to mouth,While heav'n and earth shall stand;So they laid the maiden in the midst,And the champions on either hand.And I, when I hear the mournful tale,I melt into bitter tears,As though these lovers I never sawHad been mine own compeers.Mushimaro.

THE GRAVE OF THE MAIDEN OF UNÁHI

I stand by the grave where they buriedThe Maiden of Unáhi,Whom of old the rival championsDid woo so jealously.The grave should hand down through agesHer story for evermore,That men yet unborn might love her,And think on the days of yore.And now, methinks, he was faringBack home to the country-side,With thoughts all full of his father,Of his mother, and of his bride.And so beside the causewayThey piled up the bowlders high;Nor e'er till the clouds that o'ershadow usShall vanish from the sky,May the pilgrim along the causewayForget to turn aside,And mourn o'er the grave of the Maiden;And the village folk, beside,Ne'er cease from their bitter weeping,But cluster around her tomb;And the ages repeat her story,And bewail the Maiden's doom.Till at last e'en I stand gazingOn the grave where she now lies low,And muse with unspeakable sadnessOn the old days long ago.Sakimaro.

[Note.—The existence of the Maiden of Unáhi is not doubted by any of the native authorities, and, as usual, the tomb is there (or said to be there, for the present writer's search for it on the occasion of a somewhat hurried visit to that part of the country was vain) to attest the truth of the tradition. Ashinóya is the name of the village, and Unáhi of the district. The locality is in the province of Setsutsu, between the present treaty ports of Kobe and Osaka.]

THE MAIDEN OF KATSUSHIKA

Where in the far-off eastern landThe cock first crows at dawn,The people still hand down a taleOf days long dead and gone.For toilsome the journey he journeyedTo serve his liege and lord,136Till the single belt that encircled himWas changed to a thrice-wound cord;They tell of Katsushika's maid,Whose sash of country blueBound but a frock of home-spun hemp,And kirtle coarse to view;Whose feet no shoe had e'er confined,Nor comb passed through her hair;Yet all the queens in damask robesMight nevermore compare.With this dear child, who smiling stood,A flow'ret of the spring—In beauty perfect and complete,Like to the moon's full ring.And, as the summer moths that flyTowards the flame so bright,Or as the boats that deck the portWhen fall the shades of night,So came the suitors; but she said:—"Why take me for your wife?Full well I know my humble lot,I know how short my life."137So where the dashing billows beatOn the loud-sounding shore,Hath Katsushika's tender maidHer home for evermore.Yes! 'tis a tale of days long past;But, listening to the lay,It seems as I had gazed uponHer face but yesterday.Anon.

THE BEGGAR'S COMPLAINT 138

Methinks from the hedge round the gardenHis bride the fair hemp hath ta'en,And woven the fleecy raimentThat ne'er he threw off him again.The heaven and earth they call so great,For me are mickle small;The sun and moon they call so bright,For me ne'er shine at all.Are all men sad, or only I?And what have I obtained—What good the gift of mortal life,That prize so rarely gained,139If nought my chilly back protectsBut one thin grass-cloth coat,In tatters hanging like the weedsThat on the billows float—If here in smoke-stained, darksome hut,Upon the bare cold ground,I make my wretched bed of straw,And hear the mournful sound—Hear how mine aged parents groan,And wife and children cry,Father and mother, children, wife,Huddling in misery—If in the rice-pan, nigh forgot,The spider hangs its nest,140And from the hearth no smoke goes upWhere all is so unblest?And now, to make our wail more deep,That saying is proved trueOf "snipping what was short before":—Here comes to claim his due,The village provost, stick in handHe's shouting at the door;—And can such pain and grief be allExistence has in store?StanzaShame and despair are mine from day to day;But, being no bird, I cannot fly away.Anon.

A SOLDIER'S REGRETS ON LEAVING HOME

When I left to keep guard on the frontier(For such was the monarch's decree),My mother, with skirt uplifted,141Drew near and fondled me;And my father, the hot tears streamingHis snow-white beard adown,Besought me to tarry, crying:—"Alas! when thou art gone,"When thou leavest our gate in the morning,No other sons have I,And mine eyes will long to behold theeAs the weary years roll by;"So tarry but one day longer,And let me find some reliefIn speaking and hearing thee speak to me!"So wail'd the old man in his grief.And on either side came pressingMy wife and my children dear,Fluttering like birds, and with garmentsBesprinkled with many a tear;And clasped my hands and would stay me,For 'twas so hard to part;But mine awe of the sovereign edictConstrained my loving heart.I went; yet each time the pathwayO'er a pass through the mountains did wind,I'd turn me round—ah! so lovingly!—And ten thousand times gaze behind.But farther still, and still farther,Past many a land I did roam,And my thoughts were all thoughts of sadness,All loving, sad thoughts of home;—Till I came to the shores of Sumi,Where the sovereign gods I prayed,With off'rings so humbly offered—And this the prayer that I made:—"Being mortal, I know not how manyThe days of my life may be;And how the perilous pathwayThat leads o'er the plain of the sea,"Past unknown islands will bear me:—But grant that while I am goneNo hurt may touch father or mother,Or the wife now left alone!"Yes, such was my prayer to the sea-gods;And now the unnumbered oars,And the ship and the seamen to bear meFrom breezy Naníha's shores,Are there at the mouth of the river:—Oh! tell the dear ones at home,That I'm off as the day is breakingTo row o'er the ocean foam.Anon.

LOVE SONGS

ON BEHOLDING THE MOUNTAIN

Composed by the commander of the forces of the Mikado ZhiyomeiThe long spring day is o'er, and dark despondMy heart invades, and lets the tears flow down,As all alone I stand, when from beyondThe mount our heav'n-sent monarch's throne doth crown.There breathes the twilight wind and turns my sleeve.Ah, gentle breeze! to turn, home to return,Is all my prayer; I cannot cease to grieveOn this long toilsome road; I burn, I burn!Yes! the poor heart I used to think so braveIs all afire, though none the flame may see,Like to the salt-kilns there by Tsunu's wave,Where toil the fisher-maidens wearily.Anon.

LOVE IS PAIN

'Twas said of old, and still the ages say,"The lover's path is full of doubt and woe."Of me they spake: I know not, nor can know,If she I sigh for will my love repay.My heart sinks on my breast; with bitter strifeMy heart is torn, and grief she cannot see.All unavailing is this agonyTo help the love that has become my life.Anon.

HITOMARO TO HIS MISTRESS

Tsunu's shore, Ihámi's brine,To all other eyes but mineSeem, perchance, a lifeless mere,And sands that ne'er the sailor cheer.Ah, well-a-day! no ports we boast,And dead the sea that bathes our coast;But yet I trow the wingèd breezeSweeping at morn across our seas,And the waves at eventideFrom the depths of ocean wide,Onward to Watadzu bearThe deep-green seaweed, rich and fair;And like that seaweed gently swaying,Wingèd breeze and waves obeying,So thy heart hath swayed and bentAnd crowned my love with thy content.But, dear heart! I must away,As fades the dew when shines the day;Nor aught my backward looks avail,Myriad times cast down the vale,From each turn the winding roadTakes upward; for thy dear abodeFarther and still farther lies,And hills on hills between us rise.Ah! bend ye down, ye cruel peaks,That the gate my fancy seeks,Where sits my pensive love alone,To mine eyes again be shown!Hitomaro.

NO TIDINGS

The year has come, the year has gone again,And still no tidings of mine absent love!Through the long days of spring all heaven aboveAnd earth beneath, re-echo with my pain.In dark cocoon my mother's silk-worms dwell;Like them, a captive, through the livelong dayAlone I sit and sigh my soul away,For ne'er to any I my love may tell.Like to the pine-trees I must stand and pine,142While downward slanting fall the shades of night,Till my long sleeve of purest snowy white,With showers of tears, is steeped in bitter brine.Anon.

HOMEWARD

From Kaminábi's crestThe clouds descending pour in sheeted rain,And, 'midst the gloom, the wind sighs o'er the plain:—        Oh! he that sadly press'd,Leaving my loving side, alone to roamMagami's des'late moor, has he reached home?Anon.

THE MAIDEN AND THE DOG

As the bold huntsman on some mountain pathWaits for the stag he hopes may pass that way,So wait I for my love both night and day:—Then bark not at him, as thou fearest my wrath.Anon.

LOVE IS ALL

Where in spring the sweetest flowersFill Mount Kaminábi's bowers,Where in autumn dyed with red,Each ancient maple rears its head,And Aska's flood, with sedges lin'd,As a belt the mound doth bind:—There see my heart—a reed that sways,Nor aught but love's swift stream obeys,And now, if like the dew, dear maid,Life must fade, then let it fade:—My secret love is not in vain,For thou lov'st me back again.

HUSBAND AND WIFE

Wife.—

Though other women's husbands rideAlong the road in proud array,My husband, up the rough hill-side,On foot must wend his weary way.The grievous sight with bitter painMy bosom fills, and many a tearSteals down my cheek, and I would fainDo aught to help my husband dear.Come! take the mirror and the veil,My mother's parting gifts to me;In barter they must sure availTo buy an horse to carry thee!

Husband.—

And I should purchase me an horse,Must not my wife still sadly walk?No, no! though stony is our course,We'll trudge along and sweetly talk.Anon.

HE COMES NOT

He comes not! 'tis in vain I wait;The crane's wild cry strikes on mine ear,The tempest howls, the hour is late,Dark is the raven night and drear:—And, as I thus stand sighing,The snowflakes round me flyingLight on my sleeve, and freeze it crisp and clear.Sure 'tis too late! he cannot come;Yet trust I still that we may meet,As sailors gayly rowing homeTrust in their ship so safe and fleet.Though waking hours conceal him,Oh! may my dreams reveal him,Filling the long, long night with converse sweet!Anon.

HE AND SHE

He.—To Hatsúse's vale I'm come,                        To woo thee, darling, in thy home;                        But the rain rains down apace,                        And the snow veils ev'ry place,                        And now the pheasant 'gins to cry,                        And the cock crows to the sky:—                                Now flees the night, the night hath fled,                                Let me in to share thy bed!She.—To Hatsúse's vale thou'rt come,                        To woo me, darling, in my home:—                        But my mother sleeps hard by,                        And my father near doth lie;                        Should I but rise, I'll wake her ear;                        Should I go out, then he will hear:—                                  The night hath fled! it may not be,                                  For our love's a mystery!Anon.

THE PEARLS

Oh! he my prince, that left my side        O'er the twain Lover Hills143 to roam,Saying that in far Kíshiu's tide        He'd hunt for pearls to bring them home.When will he come? With trembling hope        I hie me on the busy street,To ask the evening horoscope,        That straightway thus gives answer meet—The lover dear, my pretty girl,        For whom thou waitest, comes not yet,Because he's seeking ev'ry pearl        Where out at sea the billows fret."He comes not yet, my pretty girl!        Because among the riplets clearHe's seeking, finding ev'ry pearl;        'Tis that delays thy lover dear."Two days at least must come and go,        Sev'n days at most will bring him back;'Twas he himself that told me so:—        Then cease, fair maid, to cry Alack!"Anon.

A DAMSEL CROSSING A BRIDGE

Across the bridge, with scarlet lacquer glowing,That o'er the Katashiha's stream is laid,All trippingly a tender girl is going,In bodice blue and crimson skirt arrayed.None to escort her: would that I were knowingWhether alone she sleeps on virgin bed,Or if some spouse has won her by his wooing:—Tell me her house! I'll ask the pretty maid!Anon.

SECRET LOVE

If as my spirit yearns for thineThine yearns for mine, why thus delay?And yet, what answer might be mine        If, pausing on her way,        Some gossip bade me tellWhence the deep sighs that from my bosom swell?And thy dear name my lips should pass,My blushes would our love declare;No, no! I'll say my longing was        To see the moon appear        O'er yonder darkling hill;Yet 'tis on thee mine eyes would gaze their fill.Anon.

THE OMEN 144

Yes! 'twas the hour when all my hopesSeemed idle as the dews that shakeAnd tremble in their lotus-cupsBy deep Tsurúgi's lake—'Twas then the omen said:—        "Fear not! he'll come his own dear love to wed."What though my mother bids me fleeThy fond embrace? No heed I take;As pure, as deep my love for theeAs Kiyosúmi's lake.One thought fills all my heart:—        When wilt thou come no more again to part?Anon.

A MAIDEN'S LAMENT

Full oft he swore, with accents true and tender,"Though years roll by, my love shall ne'er wax old!"And so to him my heart I did surrender,Clear as a mirror of pure burnished gold;And from that day, unlike the seaweed bendingTo ev'ry wave raised by the summer gust,Firm stood my heart, on him alone depending,As the bold seaman in his ship doth trust.Is it some cruel god that hath bereft me?Or hath some mortal stol'n away his heart?No word, no letter since the day he left me,Nor more he cometh, ne'er again to part!In vain I weep, in helpless, hopeless sorrow,From earliest morn until the close of day;In vain, till radiant dawn brings back the morrow,I sigh the weary, weary nights away.No need to tell how young I am and slender—A little maid that in thy palm could lie:—Still for some message comforting and tender,I pace the room in sad expectancy.The Lady Sakanouhe.

RAIN AND SNOW

Forever on Mikáne's crest,        That soars so far away,The rain it rains in ceaseless sheets,        The snow it snows all day.And ceaseless as the rain and snow        That fall from heaven above,So ceaselessly, since first we met,        I love my darling love.Anon.

MOUNT MIKASH

        Oft in the misty springThe vapors roll o'er Mount Mikash's crest,While, pausing not to rest,The birds each morn with plaintive note do sing.        Like to the mists of springMy heart is rent; for, like the song of birds,Still all unanswered ringThe tender accents of my passionate words.        I call her ev'ry dayTill daylight fades away;I call her ev'ry nightTill dawn restores the light;—But my fond prayers are all too weak to bring        My darling back to sight.Akahito.

EVENING

From the loud wave-washed shore        Wend I my way,Hast'ning o'er many a flow'r,At close of day—        On past Kusaka's crest,Onward to thee,Sweet as the loveliest        Flower of the lea!Anon.

[Note.—A note to the original says: "The name of the composer of the above song was not given because he was of obscure rank," a reason which will sound strange to European ears.]

ELEGIES

ON THE DEATH OF THE MIKADO TENJI 145

By One of His LadiesAlas! poor mortal maid! unfit to holdHigh converse with the glorious gods above,146Each morn that breaks still finds me unconsoled,Each hour still hears me sighing for thy love.Wert thou a precious stone, I'd clasp thee tightAround mine arm; wert thou a silken dressI'd ne'er discard thee, either day or night:—Last night, sweet love! I dreamt I saw thy face.

ON THE DEATH OF THE POET'S MISTRESS

How fondly did I yearn to gaze        (For was there not the dear abodeOf her whose love lit up my days?)        On Karu's often-trodden road.But should I wander in and out,        Morning and evening ceaselessly,Our loves were quickly noised about,        For eyes enough there were to see.So, trusting that as tendrils part        To meet again, so we might meet,As in deep rocky gorge my heart,        Unseen, unknown, in secret beat.But like the sun at close of day,        And as behind a cloud the moon,So passed my gentle love away,        An autumn leaf ta'en all too soon.When came the fatal messenger,        I knew not what to say or do:—But who might sit and simply hear?        Rather, methought, of all my woe.Haply one thousandth part might find        Relief if my due feet once more,Where she so often trod, should wind        Through Karu's streets and past her door.But mute that noise, nor all the crowd        Could show her like, or soothe my care;So, calling her dear name aloud,        I waved my sleeve in blank despair.Hitomaro.