The King loves Pleasure

What noisy clangour there of bells,
Where the Hwai river proudly swells!
My sad and wounded soul (rebels).
With fond regret
On our good kings my memory dwells,
Nor can forget.

Ay, there his bells make music gay,
Where the proud Hwai sweeps on its way.
My soul is sad and grieved to-day.
When good men reigned,
Virtue did ever mark their sway,
Pure and unstained.

The bells they clang, the drums they ply,
There where the Hwai's three islands lie.
With saddened soul I chafe and sigh.
When good men reign,
In them a virtue we descry
Of different strain.

The bells clang out, with clamorous tone,
And lute and harp unite their own,
And pipe keeps time with sounding-stone
To Ya or Nan,
Or flute-dance; — here are flaws unknown,
(So skilled each man.)