Page:Anthology of Japanese Literature.pdf/373

Rh The three generations of glory of the Fujiwara of Hiraizumi vanished in the space of a dream. The ruins of their Great Gate are two miles this side of the castle; where once Hidehira’s mansion stood are now fields, and only the Golden Cockerel Mountain remains as in former days.

We first climbed up to Castle-on-the-Heights, from where we could see the Kitagami, a large river that flows down from the north. Here Yoshitsune once fortified himself with some picked retainers, but his great glory turned in a moment into this wilderness of grass. “Countries may fall, but their rivers and mountains remain. When spring comes to the ruined castle, the grass is green again.” These lines went through my head as I sat on the ground, my bamboo hat spread under me. There I sat weeping, unaware of the passage of time.

The holy images were on display in the two halls of the Chūson Temple, known to me already by tales of its wonders. The Sutra Hall contains statues of the three generals of Hiraizumi; in the Golden Hall are their coffins and an enshrined Buddhist trinity. The “seven precious things” had been scattered and lost, the pearl-inlaid doors were broken by the wind, and the pillars fretted with gold were flaked by the frost and snow. Just as I was thinking that soon the temple would crumble and dissolve into grass, I noticed that it had recently been enclosed, and the roof tiled to withstand the wind and rain. A monument of a thousand years will be preserved a while longer.

We lingered to look at the road stretching far off to the north, then stopped at the village of Iwate. We intended to cross into Dewa