On nights when evening fell, wild with mountain blasts,
And the sand was whirled up into the air,
He never failed to come—this fisher-boy:
His bamboo flute was heard in confused notes.
On nights of rain, when darkness came down with a sound of
moaning waves,
And the rocks were steeped in moisture,
He never failed to come—this fisher-boy:
His bamboo flute was heard, languid and faint.
III
To-night the autumn moon has changed,
So long his yearning love has endured.
Still his bamboo flute is heard,
Its tune and measure ever more entrancing.
With the storm from the cliff it was troubled,
With the echoes from the fir-trees it became clear,
With the surges from the deep it was frenzied,
With the waves on the rocks it became choked.
Even the clouds over Onoye[1] paused to listen
To its notes, now calling clearly, and now with strangled utterance.
What wonder then that some one descends from the bower above,
And comes forth absorbed in reverie!
For awhile the fiute ceased its importunities;
But hark! louder than before
The music of the bamboo bursts forth, making the sky resound,
And in accord with it, how sweet!
Are heard the notes of a golden lute.
Sometime the wide-spreading clouds descending from Onoye
Bore away with them the musicians of the fragrant rocks below,
Up to that region where the bark of the moon,
With altered helm, steered straight to meet them.
- ↑ The mention of this place shows that the scene is the same as that of Takasago. See above, p. 207.
