From them my people learn to fly
Whate'er is mean; to chiefs they give
A model and a pattern high;--
They show the life they ought to live.
Then fill their cups with spirits rare,
Till each the banquet's joy shall share.

With sounds of happiness the deer
The salsola crop in the fields.
What noble guests surround me here!
Each lute for them its music yields.
Sound, sound the lutes, or great or small.
The joy harmonious to prolong;--

And with my spirits rich crown all
The cups to cheer the festive throng.
Let each retire with gladdened heart,
In his own sphere to play his part.



~A Festal Ode Complimenting an Officer~

On dashed my four steeds, without halt, without stay,
Though toilsome and winding from Chow was the way.
I wished to return--but the monarch's command
Forbade that his business be done with slack hand;
And my heart was with sadness oppressed.

On dashed my four steeds; I ne'er slackened the reins.