The Fah T‘an

K’an-k‘an upon the sandal trees
The woodman’s strokes resound.
Then on the bank he lays the trunks
His axe 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.

K’an-k‘an upon the sandal wood
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.

K‘an-k‘an resound the woodman’s strokes
Upon the sandal wood ;
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 binns ;—
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.