The Book of Poetry, tr. by James Legge, , at sacred-texts.com
2Renowned through all the land is he,
The nephew of our lord.
With clear and lovely eyes, his grace
May not be told by word.
All day at target practice,
He'll never miss the bird.
Such is the prince of Lu, and yet
With grief for him we're stirred!
3All grace and beauty he displays,
High forehead, and eyes bright.
And dancing choice! His arrows all
The target hit aright.
Straight through they go, and every one
Lights on the selfsame spot.
Rebellion he could well withstand,
And yet we mourn his lot!