"WE grasp our battle-spears: we don our breast-plates of hide. The axles of our chariots touch: our short swords meet. Standards obscure the sun: the foe roll up like clouds. Arrows fall thick: the warriors press forward. They menace our ranks: they break our line. The left-hand trace-horse is dead: the one on the right is smitten. The fallen horses block our wheels: they impede the yoke-horses!" They grasp their jade drum-sticks: they beat the sounding drums. Heaven decrees their fall: the dread Powers are angry. The warriors are all dead: they lie on the moor-field. They issued but shall not enter: they went but shall not return. The plains are flat and wide; the way home is long. Their swords lie beside them: their black bows, in their hand. Though their limbs were torn, their hearts could not be repressed. They were more than brave: they were inspired with the spirit of "Wu." Steadfast to the end, they could not be daunted. Their bodies were stricken, but their souls have taken Immortality -- Captains among the ghosts, heroes among the dead. |