VI. Fa T‘an
VI
The woodman's strokes resound.
Then on the bank he lays the trunks
His ax brings to the ground;
The while the stream goes rippling by,
Its waters cool and clear.
You work not so, O Wei's great men,
From me the truth now hear.
You sow no seed; no harvest tasks
Your soft hands take in charge;
And yet each boasts three hundred farms,
And stores the produce large.
You never join the hunt's halloo,
Nor dare to share its toils;
Yet lo! your wide courtyards are seen
Hung round with badgers' spoils.
I must conclude that woodman rude
A man of higher style.
To eat the bread of idleness
He feels would stamp him vile. p. 123
2K‘an-k‘an upon the sandalwood
The woodman's strokes resound,
Then by the river's side he lays
What fit for spokes is found;
The while the river onward flows,
Its waters clear and smooth.
You work not so, O Wei's great men,
From me now hear the truth.—
You sow no seed; no harvest tasks
Your dainty fingers stain;
And yet each boasts three million sheaves;—
Whence gets he all that grain?
You never join the hunt's halloo,
Nor brave its ventures bold;
Yet lo! your wide courtyards display
Those boars of three years old.
I must conclude that woodman rude
A man of higher style.
To eat the bread of idleness
He feels would stamp him vile. p. 124
3K‘an-k‘an resound the woodman's strokes
Upon the sandalwood;
Then on the river's lip he lays
What for his wheels is good;
The while the river onward flows,
Soft rippled by the wind.
That you don't work, O Wei's great men,
Is thus brought to my mind.
You sow no seed; no harvest tasks
Your soft hands undertake;
Yet grain each boasts, three hundred bins;—
Who his that grain did make?
You never join the hunt's halloo,
Your feeble courage fails;
Yet lo! your wide courtyards display
Large strings of slaughtered quails.
I must conclude that woodman rude
A man of higher style.
To eat the bread of idleness
He feels would stamp him vile.