A Eunuch Complains Of His Fate Poem by Confucius

A few fine lines, at random drawn,
Like the shell-pattern wrought in lawn
To hasty glance will seem.
My trivial faults base slander's slime
Distorted into foulest crime,
And men me worthless deem.

A few small points, pricked down on wood,
May be made out a picture good
Of the bright Southern Sieve.
Who planned, and helped those slanderers vile,
My name with base lies to defile?
Unpitied, here I grieve.

With babbling tongues you go about,
And only scheme how to make out
The lies you scatter round.
Hear me--Be careful what you say;
People ere long your words will weigh,
And liars you'll be found.

Clever you are with changeful schemes!
How else could all your evil dreams
And slanders work their way?
Men now believe you; by and by,
The truth found out, each vicious lie
Will ill for ill repay.

The proud rejoice; the sufferer weeps.
O azure Heaven, from out thy deeps
Why look in silence down?
Behold those proud men and rebuke;
With pity on the sufferers look,
And on the evil frown.

Those slanderers I would gladly take,
With all who help their schemes to make,
And to the tigers throw.
If wolves and tigers such should spare,
Td hurl them 'midst the freezing air,
Where the keen north winds blow.
And should the North compassion feel
I'd fling them to great Heaven, to deal
On them its direst woe.

As on the sacred heights you dwell,
My place is in the willow dell,
One is the other near.
Before you, officers, I spread
These lines by me, poor eunuch, made.
Think not Mang-tsze severe.