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                           GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.
               VOL. XXXIV.      April, 1849.      No. 4.


                           Table of Contents

                     The Poet Lí
                     The Naval Officer
                     Victory and Defeat
                     To Mother
                     On a Diamond Ring
                     The Recluse. No. I.
                     Rome
                     The Missionary, Sunlight
                     Thermopylæ
                     Lost Treasures
                     The Brother’s Temptation
                     The Unsepulchred Relics
                     Reminiscences of a Reader
                     The Gipsy Queen
                     The Brother’s Lament
                     Sonnet to Machiavelli
                     The Darsies
                     The Unmasked
                     Mormon Temple, Nauvoo
                     Rose Winters
                     The Zopilotes
                     History of the Costume of Men
                     The Beautiful of Earth
                     Wild-Birds of America
                     Jenny Lind
                     Storm-Lines
                     Review of New Books
                     Editor’s Table
                     Adieu, My Native Land

       Transcriber’s Notes can be found at the end of this eBook.




[Illustration: Anaïs Toudouze LE FOLLET _Robes de M^{me.}_ Bara Bréjard,
_r. Laffitte, 5—Coiffures de_ Hamelin, _pass du Saumon, 21_. _Fleurs
de_ Chagon ainé, _r. Richelieu, 81—Dentelles de_ Violard, _r. Choiseul
2^{bis}_ 8, Argyll Place, Londres. Graham’s Magazine ]




[Illustration: D. Bydgoszcz, pinx.                A.L. Dick

THE BRIDGE & CHURCH OF S^{T}. ISAAC.]




                           GRAHAM’S MAGAZINE.

                 *        *        *        *        *

         VOL. XXXIV.     PHILADELPHIA, April, 1849.     NO. 4.

                 *        *        *        *        *




                              THE POET LI.


                      A FRAGMENT FROM THE CHINESE.


BY MRS. CAROLINE. H. BUTLER, AUTHOR OF “RECOLLECTIONS OF CHINA,” “MAID OF
                           CHE-KI-ANG,” ETC.


                                PART I.

    Do not draw upon you a person’s enmity, for enmity is never
    appeased—injury returns upon him who injures—and sharp words
    recoil against him who says them.

                                                _Chinese Proverb._

On the green and flowery banks of the beautiful Lake Tai-hoo, whose
surface bears a thousand isles, resting like emeralds amid translucent
pearl, dwelt Whanki the mother of Lí. _The mother of Lí!_ Ah happy
distinction—ah envied title! For where, far or near, was the name could
rank with Lí on the scroll of learning—receiving even in childhood the
title of the “Exiled Immortal,” from his skill in classic and historical
lore!

Moreover, he was of a most beautiful countenance, while the antelope
that fed among the hills was not more swift of foot. Who like Lí could
draw such music from the seven silken strings of the Kin! or when with
graceful touch his fingers swept the lute, adding thereto the
well-skilled melody of his voice, youths and maidens opened their ears
to listen, for wonderful was the ravishing harmony.

Yet although the gods of learning smiled upon this youthful disciple of
Confucius, poverty came also with her iron hand, and although she could
not crush the active mind of Lí, with a strong grip, she held him back
from testing his skill with the ambitious _literati_, both old and
young, who annually flocked to the capital to present their themes
before the examiners. For even in those days as the present, money was
required to purchase the smiles of these severe judges. They must read
with _golden_ spectacles—or wo to the unhappy youth who, buoyant with
hope and—_empty pockets_, comes before them! With what contempt is his
essay cast aside, not worth the reading!

Sorely vexed, therefore, was poor Lí—and what wonder—to know that he
might safely cope with any candidate in the “Scientific Halls,” yet dare
not for the lack of _sycee_ (silver) enter their gates, lest disgrace
might fall upon him.

Yet Lí was of a merry heart—and, as all the world knows, there is no
better panacea for the ills of fortune than the spirit of cheerfulness.
Thus, although poverty barred the way to promotion, it could not
materially affect his happiness—no more than the passing wind which for
a moment ruffled the surface of the lake, yet had no power to move its
depths.

Now it happened that one day taking his nets Lí went down to the lake,
and as he cast them within the waters, not knowing any one was near, he
broke forth into a merry song, which sent its glad burthen far off to
the lips of mocking Echo, like Ariel, seeming to “ride on the curled
clouds.” Now it also chanced, that within a grove of the graceful
bamboo, which skirted the path down which Lí had passed on his way,
walked the great Mandarin Hok-wan.

“_Hi!_ by the head of Confucius the fellow sings well!” he exclaimed, as
the song met his ear, (for, as we have said, Lí had a voice of rare
melody,) and forthwith issuing from his concealment, Hok-wan seated
himself