The Pih Shan

I climb that hill upon the north,
And gather medlars on its side.
Active and vigorous, I go forth,
And morn and night I walk or ride.
I serve the king with eager will;
But great the grief my parents feel !

Where’er their arch the heavens expand,
The king can claim the land below.
Within the sea-bounds of the land,
All at his summons come or go.
His ministers unfairly act ;
They praise me, but with toils distract.

Four ceaseless steeds my care engage ;
The king’s affairs no rest allow.
They say I bear no trace of age,
While few, they think, such vigour show.
While my backbone remains unbent,
In work my life must still be spent.

Some rest in careless ease, supine ;
Some for the State themselves wear out.
On softest couches some recline ;
Others, unhalting, march about.

Some never hear a clamorous sound ;
Others toil on ’midst rude alarms.
Some idle on their backs are found ;
And some bear loads with head and arms.

Some feast, and fearless seek new joys ;
Some live in constant dread of blame.
Some the harsh critic’s work employs ;
Others their numerous duties claim.