BALLAD OF THE TEA-PICKER.

Where thousand hills the vale enclose, our little hut is there,

And on the sloping sides around the tea grows everywhere;

And I must rise at early dawn, as busy as can be,

To get my daily labor done, and pluck the leafy tea.

II.

At early dawn I seize my crate, and sighing, Oh, for rest!

Thro’ the thick mist I pass the door, with sloven hair half drest;

The dames and maidens call to me, as hand in hand they go,

“What steep do you, miss, climb to-day—what steep of high Sunglo?”

III.

Dark is the sky, the twilight dim still on the hills is set;

The dewy leaves and cloudy buds may not be gathered yet:

Oh, who are they, the thirsty ones, for whom this work we do,

For whom we spend our daily toil in bands of two and two?

IV.

Like fellows we each other aid, and to each other say,

As down we pull the yielding twigs, “Sweet sister, don’t delay;

E’en now the buds are growing old, all on the boughs atop,

And then to-morrow—who can tell?—the drizzling rain may drop.”

We’ve picked enow; the topmost bough is bare of leaves; and so

We lift our brimming loads, and by the homeward path we go;

In merry laughter by the pool, the lotus pool, we hie,

When hark! uprise a mallard pair, and hence affrighted fly.

VI.

Limpid and clear the pool, and there how rich the lotus grows,

And only half its opening leaves, round as the coins, it shows—

I bend me o’er the jutting brink, and to myself I say,

“I marvel in the glassy stream, how looks my face to-day?”

VII.

My face is dirty; out of trim my hair is, and awry;

Oh, tell me, where’s the little girl so ugly now as I?

’Tis all because whole weary hours I’m forced to pick the tea,

And driving winds and soaking showers have made me what you see!

VIII.

With morn again come wind and rain, and though so fierce and strong,

With basket big, and little hat, I wend my way along;

At home again, when all is picked, and everybody sees

How muddy all our dresses are, and drabbled to the knees.

IX.

I saw this morning through the door a pleasant day set in;

Be sure I quickly dressed my hair and neatly fixed my pin,

And fleetly sped I down the path to gain the wonted spot,

But, never thinking of the mire, my working shoes forgot!

The garden reached, my bow-shaped shoes are soaking through and through;

The sky is changed—the thunder rolls—and I don’t know what to do;

I’ll call my comrades on the hill to pass the word with speed

And fetch my green umbrella-hat to help me in my need.

XI.

But my little hat does little good; my plight is very sad!

I stand with clothes all dripping wet, like some poor fisher-lad;

Like him I have a basket, too, of meshes woven fine—

A fisher-lad, if I only had his fishing-rod and line.

XII.

The rain is o’er; the outer leaves their branching fibres show;

Shake down the branch, the fragrant scent about us ’gins to blow;

Gather the yellow golden threads that high and low are found—

Oh, what a precious odor now is wafted all around!

XIII.

No sweeter perfume does the wild and fair Aglaia shed,

Throughout Wu-yuen’s bounds my tea the choicest will be said;

When all are picked we’ll leave the shoots to bud again in spring,

But for this morning we have done the third, last gathering.

XIV.

Oh, weary is our picking, yet do I my toil withhold?

My maiden locks are all askew, my pearly fingers cold;

I only wish our tea to be superior over all,

O’er this one’s “sparrow-tongue,” and o’er the other’s “dragon-ball.”

XV.

Oh, for a month I weary strive to find a leisure day;

I go to pick at early dawn, and until dusk I stay;

Till midnight at the firing-pan I hold my irksome place:

But will not labor hard as this impair my pretty face?

XVI.

But if my face be somewhat lank, more firm shall be my mind;

I’ll fire my tea that all else shall be my golden buds behind;

But yet the thought arises who the pretty maid shall be

To put the leaves in jewelled cup, from thence to sip my tea.

XVII.

Her griefs all flee as she makes her tea, and she is glad; but oh,

Where shall she learn the toils of us who labor for her so?

And shall she know of the winds that blow, and the rains that pour their wrath,

And drench and soak us thro’ and thro’, as plunged into a bath?

XVIII.

In driving rains and howling winds the birds forsake the nest,

Yet many a loving pair are seen still on the boughs to rest;

Oh, wherefore, loved one, with light look, didst thou send me away?

I cannot, grieving as I grieve, go through my work to-day.

XIX.

But though my bosom rise and fall, like bucket in a well,

Patient and toiling as I am, ’gainst work I’ll ne’er rebel;

My care shall be to have my tea fired to a tender brown,

And let the flag and awl, well rolled, display their whitish down.[342]

XX.

Ho! for my toil! Ho! for my steps! Aweary though I be,

In our poor house, for working folk, there’s lots of work, I see;

When the firing and the drying’s done, off at the call I go,

And once again, this very morn, I climb the high Sunglo.

XXI.

My wicker basket slung on arm, and hair entwined with flowers,

To the slopes I go of high Sunglo, and pick the tea for hours;

How laugh we, sisters, on the road; what a merry turn we’ve got;

I giggle and say, as I point down the way, There, look, there lies our cot!

XXII.

Your handmaid ’neath the sweet green shade in sheltered cot abides,

Where the pendant willow’s sweeping bough the thatchy dwelling hides;

To-morrow, if you wish it so, my guests I pray you’ll be!

The door you’ll know by the fragrant scent, the scent of the firing tea.

XXIII.

Awhile ’tis cold, and then ’tis warm, when I want to fire my tea,

The sky is sure to shift and change—and all to worry me;

When the sun goes down on the western hills, on the eastern there is rain!

And however fair he promises, he promises in vain.

XXIV.

To-day the tint of the western hills is looking bright and fair,

And I bear my crate to the stile,[343] and wait my fellow toiler there;

A little tender lass is she—she leans upon the rail

And sleeps, and though I hail her she answers not my hail.

XXV.

And when at length to my loudest call she murmurs a reply,

’Tis as if hard to conquer sleep, and with half-opened eye;

Up starts she, and with straggling steps along the path she’s gone;

She brings her basket, but forgets to put the cover on!

XXVI.

Together trudge we, and we pass the lodge of the southern bowers,

Where the beautiful sea-pomegranate waves all its yellow flowers;

Fain would we stop and pluck a few to deck our tresses gay,

But the tree is high, and ’tis vain to try and reach the tempting spray.

XXVII.

The pretty birds upon the boughs sing songs so sweet to hear,

And the sky is so delicious now, half cloudy and half clear;

While bending o’er her work, each maid will prattle of her woe,

And we talk till our hearts are sorely hurt, and tears unstinted flow.

XXVIII.

Our time is up, and yet not full our baskets to the mouth—

The twigs anorth are fully searched, let’s seek them in the south;

Just then by chance I snapped a twig whose leaves were all apair;

See, with my taper fingers now I fix it in my hair.

XXIX.

Of all the various kinds of tea, the bitter beats the sweet,

But for whomever either seeks, for him I’ll find a treat;

Though who it is shall drink them, as bitter or sweet they be,

I know not, my friend—but the pearly end of my finger only see!

XXX.

Ye twittering swallows, rise and fall in your flight around the hill,

But when next I go to the high Sunglo, I’ll change my gown—I will;

And I’ll roll up the cuff and show arm enough, for my arm is fair to see:

Oh, if ever there were a fair round arm, that arm belongs to me!

CHINESE DRAMAS AND BURLETTAS.

In the department of plays and dramas, Chinese literature shows a long list of names, few or none of which have ever been heard of away from their native soil. Some of their pieces have been translated by Julien, Bazin, Davis, and others, most of which were selected from the Hundred Plays of Yuen. The origin of the present Chinese drama does not date back, according to M. Bazin, beyond the Tang dynasty, though many performances designed to be played and sung in pantomime had been written before that epoch. He cites the names of eighty-one persons, besides mentioning other plays of unknown authors, whose combined writings amount to five hundred and sixty-four separate plays; all of whom flourished during the Mongol dynasty. The plays that have been translated from this collection give a tolerably good idea of Chinese talent in this difficult department; and, generally speaking, whatever strictures may be made upon the management of the plot, exhibition of character, unity of action, or illustration of manners, the tendency of the play is on the side of justice and morality. Père Prémare first translated a play in 1731, under the title of the Orphan of Chau,[344] which was taken by Voltaire as the groundwork of one of his plays. The Heir in Old Age and the Sorrows of Han are the names of two translated by Sir J. F. Davis. The Circle of Chalk was translated and published in 1832 by Julien, and a volume of Bazin, ainé, containing the Intrigues of an Abigail, the Compared Tunic, the Songstress, and Resentment of Tau Ngo, appeared in 1838, at Paris. None of these pieces exhibit much intricacy of plot, nor would the simple arrangements of Chinese theatres allow much increase to the dramatis personæ without confusion. M. Bazin, moreover, translated the Pí-pa Kí, or History of a Lute, a drama in twenty-four acts, of more pretensions, partaking of the novel as well as the drama; the play is said to have been represented at Peking in 1404, under the Ming dynasty.[345]

THE MENDER OF CHINAWARE—A FARCE.

Besides plays in the higher walks of the drama, which form the principal part of the performances at theatres, there are by-plays or farces, which, being confined to two or three interlocutors, depend for their attractiveness upon the droll gesticulations, impromptu allusions to passing occurrences, and excellent pantomimic action of the performers. They are usually brought on at the conclusion of the bill, and from the freedom given in them to an exhibition of the humor or wit of the players, are much liked by the people. A single illustration will exhibit the simple range and character of these burlettas.