his offence by lingering on this forbidden shore, and he now announced that he must start for home again immediately. This was a terrible blow to Genji who knew that so short a visit would leave him even more wretched than before. Wine was brought and as they drank the farewell cup they murmured in unison the words of Po Chü-i’s parting poem:
“Chin on hand by the candle we lay at dawn
Chanting songs of sadness, till the tears had splashed
Our cup of new-made wine….”
Chūjō had brought with him some delightful presents from the Capital. With many apologies Genji offered him in return a black colt, saying as he did so: ‘I fear that it may be embarrassing for you to receive even so poor a gift as this from one in my position. But I beg of you to accept it as a symbol of my longing to return, for in the Old Poem it is written:
“The Tartar horse neighs into the northern wind;
The bird of Yueh nests on the southern bough.”
It was in fact a magnificent horse and could hardly have been matched in all the kingdom. Among the presents brought by Chūjō was a celebrated flute which had long been in his possession, and many other small but beautiful objects such as could easily be secreted and would serve as tokens of his affection without exciting troublesome comment.
The morning was well advanced before Chūjō set out. He could hardly believe that the long-dreamed-of meeting was already over and looked back again and again to where his friend was standing. The sight of Genji gazing after him as the boat drew away made it more difficult than ever to endure so speedy a parting, and he cried out ‘When, when shall we meet again? I cannot think that they will
