The Book of Poetry, tr. by James Legge, [1876], at sacred-texts.com
2 Twitters fast the oriole,
Where shows its edge the mound:
The happy little creature
Its resting place has found.
So have not I. I dare not shrink
From the long way, but trembling think,
Unable to hold on, I'll sink. p. 326
Give me to drink; and give me food;
And teach my mind the thing that's good.
Then bid a baggage cart prepare
Along the route myself to bear.
3 Twitters fast the oriole,
Where spreads its side the mound.
The happy little creature
Its resting place has found.
So have not I. I dare not shrink
From the long way, but trembling think,
Before we reach the end, I'll sink.
Give me to drink; to food invite;
And tell my mind the thing that's right.
Then bid a baggage cart prepare
Along the route myself to hear.