The Book of Poetry, tr. by James Legge, , at sacred-texts.com
2The season's males, alarmed, arise,—
The season's males, of wondrous size.
Driven by the beaters, forth they spring,
Soon caught within the hunters’ ring.
"Drive on their left," the ruler cries;
And to its mark his arrow flies.
3The hunting done, northward he goes;
And in the park the driver shows
The horses’ points, and his own skill
That rules and guides them at his will.
Light cars, whose teams small bells display,
The long and short-mouthed dogs convey.