trees grow old and give way to saplings. Time passes and the world changes. The remains of the past are shrouded in uncertainty. And yet, here before my eyes was a monument which none would deny had lasted a thousand years. I felt as if I were looking into the minds of the men of old. “This,” I thought, “is one of the pleasures of travel and living to be old.” I forgot the weariness of my journey, and was moved to tears for my joy.
We next visited the Tama River of Noda, and Rock-off-the-Shore, places celebrated in poetry. There is a temple on a mountain called Pine-till-the-End. When I saw that the ground between the pines was filled with graves, I was overcome by sadness at the thought that even the most enduring pledge of devotion between husband and wife must come to this. Then, as I reached the Bay of Shiogama, I heard the evening bell toll its message of evanescence.
The sky had cleared a little after a steady rain. Under the faintly shining evening moon the island of Magaki across the water seemed close enough to touch. Little fishing boats were rowing towards the shore, and I could hear the voices of the fishermen as they divided up the catch. I thought to myself with pleasure, “Now at last I understand the poem
Michinoku wa |
In Michinoku |
That night I listened to a blind musician play the lute and chant north-country ballads which were quite unlike the usual war tales or dance-songs. The sound of his high-pitched countrified voice close to my pillow was distressing, but it gave me a special satisfaction to think that the traditional way of reciting the old ballads had not been forgotten in this remote place.
Early the next morning we visited the Myōjin Shrine in Shiogama. As rebuilt by the governor of the province, the shrine has imposing pillars, brightly painted rafters, and flight upon flight of stone steps. The morning sun was shining brilliantly on the vermilion lacquered
