The pearl-like river, silent, sure, Glides to the sea: A spirit, mutinous but pure, Sets itself free.
Love, flowers, and music erst were thine; But love, to thee A blight, was bitter as the brine Of the salt sea.
From these thy noble spirit yearned Towards nobler schemes; Dreams of a nobler age returned, Alas! but dreams.
Last on the river-girdled spot-- Thy spacious home, Spacious but lone, for one was not That should have come--
We sat and talked of modern creed And ancient lore; Of modern gospel--gush and greed, Now to the fore.
Thy fervent hope it was to join The best with best; To break down the dividing-line Of East and West.
O friend! albeit of alien race, For evermore Shall be with me thy noble face, Too sicklied o'er
With a world-sorrow e'en too great For thy great heart, Since from us, who still serve and wait, Thou wouldst depart.
Farewell! The swift-wheeled ship will bring To thy far West The tidings, while I, grieving, sing Thee to thy rest.
VICEROY'S YAMEN, WUCHANG, _December 4th, 1893_."
The Englishman who could write as good a poem in Chinese has not yet been born; but I quote it because of the sentiment it expresses.
The young Chinese to whom I tried to teach English took leave of me, when I left for England, in very elegant Chinese verse, to which I wish I could do justice by translation. The sentiment of it was very appropriate. He regretted my departure, wondering what he should do without me; for to him I had been like the snow, which, by covering up and protecting the plants, makes the young shoots grow, as I had made his intelligence burgeon. This struck me as a very happy expression of sentiment, and, as I was assured by Chinese scholars, equally felicitously expressed.
[Illustration: ROOF AND ROOF-END AT CHUNGKING. _By Mrs. Archibald Little._]
The Chinese love of beautiful curves, spending time and money on the roof-cornices and outside ornaments of even quite a poor cottage, indicates a deep-seated sentiment for the beautiful, as do also the trees in their towns, some of which have almost as many trees as houses, as also their love of flowers. In the flowering season a bough of blossom may be seen in a vase on the counter of even the darkest little shop; whilst no literary man would think his writing-table complete without a vase for one lovely blossom, and no woman would think herself dressed until she had stuck a flower on one side of her glossy hair. But every one probably would acknowledge that the Chinese have a very strong æsthetic sentiment. Here, however, is an adieu to the Old Year much resembling one of Burns' songs in its sentiment, or want of it: