A Hundred and Seventy Chinese Poems/The Ruins of Lo-yang

by Ts'ao Chih

THE RUINS OF LO-YANG

By Ts'ao Chih [A. D. 192–233], third son of Ts'ao Ts'ao. He was a great favourite with his father till he made a mistake in a campaign. In this poem he returns to look at the ruins of Lo-yang, where he used to live. It had been sacked by Tung Cho.

I climb to the ridge of Pei Mang Mountain
And look down on the city of Lo-yang.
In Lo-yang how still it is!
Palaces and houses all burnt to ashes.
Walls and fences all broken and gaping,
Thorns and brambles shooting up to the sky.
I do not see the old old-men:
I only see the new young men.
I turn aside, for the straight road is lost:
The fields are overgrown and will never be ploughed again.
I have been away such a long time
That I do not know which street is which.
How sad and ugly the empty moors are!
A thousand miles without the smoke of a chimney.
I think of the house I lived in all those years:
I am heart-tied and cannot speak.

 

The above poem vaguely recalls a famous Anglo-Saxon fragment which I will make intelligible by semi-translation:

 

"Wondrous was the wall-stone,
Weirdly^[1] broken;

Burgh-steads bursten,
Giants' work tumbleth.
Roofs are wrenched.
Towers totter.
Bereft of rune-gates.
Smoke is on the plaster,
Scarred the shower-burghs,
Shorn and shattered,
By eld under-eaten.
Earth's grip haveth
Wealders^[2] and workmen."

 

1. By Fate.
2. Rulers.