Page:Anthology of Japanese Literature.pdf/260

256 throne. Whenever he himself lit the holy fire, many auspicious signs appeared, both in his dreams and in his waking hours.

At times when he was bored he used to pace the gallery-like part of the temple looking out at the bay in the distance. He could faintly see the little fishing boats, which reminded him of floating autumn leaves, and in his melancholy he would wonder, “Whither do they go?”

He recited the verse “The boat rowed out to the bay now is rudderless; how sad it is to be alone, adrift.” He somehow managed to conceal the tears which fell, lending an indescribable nobility to his face. Although he was no longer young, he was still so graceful and handsome that it seemed almost sacrilegious even to himself that such majesty should be wasted in so dreary a place.

In the capital, now that the tenth moon had come, everyone was frantically busy with preparations for the Thanksgiving Service for the new reign. The Household Treasury, the Department of Works, and the guilds of seamstresses and dyers were all noisily engaged in their respective tasks. But for those loyal to the Emperor Godaigo, the occasion was a source only of tears.

Various people were commanded to compose poetry to be inscribed on the Heaven and Earth palace-screens, but as there was no one who could write them beautifully enough, it was debated whether to recall Yukifusa from exile. Word of this soon reached Oki. In the stillness of an evening, when no one else was in attendance, Yukifusa waited on the Emperor. In the course of one of his stories about things present and past, the Emperor remarked, “I wonder what they will decide to do about you in the capital. If they do recall you I shall certainly be most envious.” The Emperor’s eyes filled with tears in spite of himself, as he gazed at the lantern by his