The Book of Songs
Existed before Confucius (born around 551 B.C.E.)
China
The Book of Songs (the Shi king, also translated as The Classic of Poetry and The Book of Odes) is a collection of poems written by various anonymous authors over several centuries. Traditionally, Confucius has been credited as the editor of the collection, and it was part of the canon of Confucian works that scholars were expected to study. Scholars debate how much influence Confucius may have had on them; one theory is that he took a much larger work (possibly several thousand poems) and chose just over three hundred to form the standard version that exists today. Poetry collections in China were meant to represent the voice of the people (male and female, all social class- es). The poems capture moments in time, speaking to the reader about the problems and joys of individuals who were not necessarily the rulers or heroes of other stories.
Written by Laura J. Getty
The Shi King, the old “poetry Classic” of the Chinese [The Book of Songs]
Translated by William Jennings
License: Public Domain
BOOK II.: THE ODES OF SHÂU AND THE SOUTH.
The Wedding-Journey of a Princess
The magpie has a nest;
The dove yet takes possession.—
Lo! the young bride departs,
In many-wheeled procession.
The magpie has a nest;
The dove yet there will quarter.—
Lo! the young bride departs;
And countless cars escort her.
The magpie has a nest;
The dove will fill it (quickly).—
Lo! the young bride departs,
With chariots mustered thickly.
A Reverent Helpmate
There gathers she the fragrant herb
Along the islets, by the pools,
To mingle with the votive gifts
Of him that o’er the princedom rules.
There gathers she the fragrant herb
Amid the mountain streams again,
To mingle with the votive gifts
Her prince will offer in the fane.
With head-gear all erect and high
Ere dawn the temple she attends;
With head-gear all uncared for now
Back to her place her way she wends.
A Long-Absent Husband
Now the crickets chirp and grind;
And the hoppers spring and fly.
But my lord not yet I find;
Ay, and sore at heart am I.
O to see him once again!
O to meet him once again!
Stilled were then the swelling sigh.
Climbed I yonder up South Hill,
Plucked sweet brackens as I went.
But my lord I saw not still;
Loud was yet my heart’s lament.
O to see him once again!
O to meet him once again!
So my heart were well content.
Climbed I yonder up South Hill,
Now to pluck the royal fern.
Yet my lord I saw not still;
Still my heart must pine and yearn.
O to see him once again!
O to meet him once again!
So my heart’s-ease might return.
The Young Wife’s Zealous Care in the Worship of her Husband’s Ancestors
She goes to gather water-wort,
Beside the streams south of the hills;
She goes to gather water-grass
Along the swollen roadside rills;
Goes now to store her gathered herbs
In basket round, in basket square;
Goes now to seethe and simmer them
In tripod and in cauldron there;
Pours out libations of them all
Beneath the light within the Ha