A Poem of One Hundred Rhymes Presented to Vice Minister Jang Jamok呈張侍郞自牧一百韻

In your house, generation on generation, the blessing has flowed down from far off, and our elder has received a spirit-breath beyond other men. Clear dew congeals on the jade tree, and cold ice is reflected in the jade jar. Your name startles like a thunderbolt, and in your breast you have held rivers and lakes. In lineage you have carried on the incorrupt Jang Ho (張鎬), and at court you have risen as the upright Jang Po (張酺). Like a pine among the snows your nature is of the old sort, and like a cassia branch above the sky you stand alone. An auspicious dream long ago called the phoenix, and in a bright age how should you dare think of the perch? Pung Dang (馮唐) was at last granted recognition, and Master An (顔氏) from of old seemed to be a fool. In the king's house you are proud of the three mirrors, and in the Hall of Light the six horyeon vessels (瑚璉) are held precious. The red sky turns about the North Pole and wraps it round, and the blue sea heaves up its purpose of flying southward. Your spreading out of edicts is upon the hemp paper (麻紙) of Tang, and your parting of the ceremonies is at the corner of the Han bundled rushes (蕝). Bathed in fragrance, you receive the heavy dew; letting go the reins, you gallop down the long street. The wine held in the cup is drawn to the white starlight, and in loyalty you are Ju Un (朱雲), who broke the railing. Your eye for choosing men is large and open, and your gladness in loving scholars is at peace. When I think back to the first time I sent in my card, our meeting one another was as though the halves of a tally had been matched. Riding upon the bond, I came near to a fair jade, and I reckon it was as though a living creature had been let go. How deep was the feeling that threw away the axle-pin! And when I held the cup my spirit grew the wilder. Going into the pouch, you took in the guest of Zhao (趙); stretching out your breath, you put the shaman of Qi (齊) to the test. The goodly trees stand up like banners, and the famed flowers spread out like brocade embroidery. Only that you looked on me with blue eyes was gladness enough — what need was there to call for a beauty with blue brows? Your writing cuts out the marrow of Cao Zhi (曹植) and Liu Zhen (劉楨), and your words exhaust the richest parts of Qu Yuan (屈原) and Song Yu (宋玉). The fragrant wine was poured from what had frozen hard as stone, and strange flavors were mingled from the herbs of the hills. Among three thousand retainers I was presumptuously counted, and I bore the hundred tallies of the poems. I am Pil Tak (畢卓) asleep beside the jar, and Sun U Gon (淳于髡) grown old upon the hall floor. The great smith melts down the rough ore, and the great sea takes in the little puddle. Coming again, the feeling was the warmer, and the glad laughter the gentler. Your utmost skill in speech gallops the yellow horse, and the writing you left behind sings of the white colt. Presumptuously I pieced my lines onto Dongya's (東野), and often I tipped the wine cup of Baeknyun (伯倫). On the bench where we chanted poems a warm breeze scattered, and on the road home the evening mist wound about us. Drunk, I boasted of hanging upon the Academician, and in my pride I did not even get out of the Golden Bird's way (金吾). Your purpose is already weighty as yellow gold, and feeling is hard to change even when one is turned to white bones. There are three poems of grand bearing, and ten lines of wondrous running script are set out complete. I would make of them a treasure to hand down in the house, and only fear that the spirits may snatch them away. Heavy adornment deceives Ucheon (友倩), and surpassing skill overturns the fairest scheming. Though what I received was weighty, I still throw back a plum, and my requital is so low that it is fit for covering a jar. I who limp am truly cramped in my ways, and the lot allotted me is indeed steep. In a cold valley a lump of ice is formed, and a great robe has been put on by a rotten scholar. The dull dragon in the end was never picked out, and a dried rat is bought and sold between us to no purpose. My poor substance is put to shame even by a great gourd, and my sharp point yields place to the Damno sword (湛盧劍). At Bukgung (北宮) I was ashamed to drive the firewood cart, and like Namgwak (南郭) I wish to blow the reed organ. At Gwolli (闕里) I laid hold on the dragon and the phoenix, and at the Spring Office (春官) I fought like tigers and wolves. At one cry I was at last to startle the world, and with ten shadows I would pass through the capital. The Minister of the Left (左相) once called me in to drink, and Prince Nyeong (寧王), when I was drunk, let me be held up. Fair faces were drawn up in close ranks at the seats, and precious dishes came out of a well-furnished kitchen. Drinking at night we always encroached upon the dawn, and chanting in the morning we were forever reaching the evening. We grew drunk upon the peony garden, and galloped by the roadside where the willows stood in rows. Falling late, I am worn out and coiled in the mud; how then should I bear to stroke my sword and sigh? The road is long, and still I fear the mire; the spring has dried up, and it is hard to wet myself in it. The string is broken — with what shall I piece it? The wall is hard — shall I take a trowel to it? At the same gate they all shake out their wings, and I alone am still knocked about and dragged along. Again and again the faces change, and before I know it the years are gone. The Six Bodies (六身) hasten the overturning of the character hae (亥), and the three-footed crow does not stay. My heart is like a banner hung up, and each man's merit is worse than keeping to his own stump. My care makes it its promise to be drunk a thousand days, and being sick I have given up even begging my food on all four sides. Slanders are entangled and fan one another, and my going forward and my drawing back seem sorely bound. The fly on the fence is tough and does not die, and the tiger of the marketplace is forever turning out to be a lie. Everywhere they are angered at the throwing of a pearl, and every man suspects me of having stolen an axe. Many are the lizards that laugh at the dragon, and how many the field mice that fall upon the dog? In my vexation I am like Pyeongja (平子), and for being rebuked again and again I am ashamed before Yeosu (女嬃). Though I cry out of myself, I have no blood left to use, and chanting in my wretchedness I have broken off all my whiskers. In running I am like a clerk of the post stations, and in hanging back like a trader from the barbarian lands. At the garden of the Du family I only gaze to no purpose, and Tao Yuanming's narrow path has grown rank, I suppose. I would take off the net entangled about my body, and dragging my tail in the mud go home at ease. Watering the ridges of the field, I would always be diligent, and beating the earthen drum, take pleasure in the sound of its ringing. Going south, I shall pass through Chu (楚); roaming east, I shall come at last to the edge of Wu (吳). The cocklebur girdle was knotted by Osu (聱叟), and learning the work of the fields is what this small man desires. At the stern of the boat I shall ladle out the Unja (雲子) rice, and on the riverbank plant the Mokno (木奴). Though I drink the river I fill no more than a mole's belly, and though I leap into the well it sinks no higher than a frog's instep. In heaven and on earth I shall become a drifting wayfarer, and on the misted waves a man with a fishing rod. Yet thinking it over again, in a holy age how should I bear to run off into the grass and thickets? With clean pendants I string the fragrant hye orchid, and though my nest is cold I long for the green paulownia. In my bearing I hold dear the uprightness of Geup Am (汲黯), and in my dreams I long to sit face to face with Goyo (皐陶). My circumstances are too wretched even for looking into a mirror, and my living has worn me out with the weaving of shoe-toes. Though I put out my words with all earnestness, when they turn their eyes they look at me askance as a matter of course. I speak of the bamboo's fruit to the fowl and the ducks, and tell the years of the cedrela to the cicada. I sigh of myself that my meeting with the age came late, while people say that I am out of step with my time. After the thunder and rain have first startled us, can heaven and earth be washed clean? Dead ashes too make it their promise to blaze again, and a sick tree too will come alive again in the end. My vessel and my discernment are called shallow, yet I would have the inside of my heart cut open and shown. Being without gift, I am fit only for handling what is rotten; by what high discourse shall anyone breathe life back into the withered? Happily I am moved by a worthy friend who knows me (知己), though I am always called a mere worthless fellow. You would deck out a man of Yue (越) with robe and cap, and with rouge and powder would force an adorning upon Momo (嫫母). If there is jade, hide it deep in the chest; if it becomes iron, it is glad to leap in the furnace. It is as though the minister of the waves had got his water; and how should the wayfarer at the pool be without his pearl? In days past I was kept from the courtesy of folding my collar to you, but now at last I come running with my shoes dragging. The monk who plays the geomun zither I call by a slip of paper, and the guest who blows the reed organ I call over the wall. In talking of old things there is of itself no tiring, and in discussing writings there is likewise much pleasure. The clay daubed on the nose has met with Jangseok (匠石), and since my back itches I have got Mago (麻姑). Since from first to last you know me deeply, this thin body of mine may be worn away to nothing and welcome. Having always been treated by you with close familiarity, I pour out and set down all my petty purposes. To this small hermitage who should come visiting? It is more than ten days that I have sat here upright. The dawn glow scatters red silk, and the night snow has spread out a white felt. I rake over the cooled fire often and to no purpose; with whom shall I ladle out the cold wine? In the empty hall there is no seat for a guest, and in the deep room I learn to sit cross-legged like a monk. All at once I think how we were parted like the stars Sam (參星) and Sang (商星), and secretly grieve at being set apart like Chu and Yue. Looking up to your bearing, my longing grows, and turning my head I truly hang back. How sorely I miss having no crane to bear my letter, and I would become a duck that chases after the water plants. If I were to go back and try to see your face, how should this dull body dare to escape a scolding? Though my idle words are clumsy, do not, my lord, laugh at my mumbling.