Page:A Hundred and Seventy Chinese Poems (1919).djvu/201

 MAGIC

, the great sea. Straight down,— no bottom: sideways,— no border. Of cloudy waves and misty billows down in the uttermost depths Men have fabled, in the midst there stand three sacred hills. On the hills, thick growing,— herbs that banish Death. Wings grow on those who eat them and they turn into heavenly "hsien." The Lord of Ch'in and Wu of Han believed in these stories: And magic-workers year by year were sent to gather the herbs. The Blessed Islands, now and of old, what but an empty tale? The misty waters spread before them and they knew not where to seek. Boundless, the great sea. Dauntless, the mighty wind. Their eyes search but cannot see the shores of the Blessed Islands. They cannot find the Blessed Isles and yet they dare not return: Youths and maidens that began the quest grew grey on board the boat. [ 195 ]