Where are they now who lusted for her charms?* 90
Since no one else gives her a glance, a thought,
I'll light some incense candles while I'm here.
I'll mark our chance encounter on the road—
perhaps, down by the Yellow Springs, she'll know."
She prayed in mumbled tones, then she knelt down 95
to make a few low bows before the tomb.
Dusk gathered on a patch of wilted weeds—
reed tassels swayed as gently blew the breeze.
She pulled a pin out of her hair and graved
four lines of stop short verse on a tree's bark.* 100
Deeper and deeper sank her soul in trance—
all hushed, she tarried there and would not leave.
The cloud on her fair face grew darker yet:
as sorrow ebbed or flowed, tears dropped or streamed.
Van said: "My sister, you should be laughed at, 105
lavishing tears on one long dead and gone!"
"Since ages out of mind," retorted Kieu,
"harsh fate has cursed all women, sparing none.*
As I see her lie there, it hurts to think
what will become of me in later days." 110
"A fine speech you just made!" protested Quan.
"It jars the ears to hear you speak of her
and mean yourself. Dank air hangs heavy here—
day's failing, and there's still a long way home."
Kieu said: "When one who shines in talent dies, 115
the body passes on, the soul remains.
In her, perhaps, I've found a kindred heart:
let's wait and soon enough she may appear."
Before they could respond to what Kieu said,
a whirlwind rose from nowhere, raged and raved. 120
It blustered, strewing buds and shaking trees
and scattering whiffs of perfume in the air.
They strode along the path the whirlwind took
and plainly saw fresh footprints on the moss.
They stared at one another, terror-struck. 125
"You've heard the prayer of my pure faith!" Kieu cried.
"As kindred hearts, we've joined each other here—
transcending life and death, soul sisters meet."
Dam Tien had cared to manifest herself:
to what she'd written Kieu now added thanks. 130
A poet's feelings, rife with anguish, flowed:
she carved an old-style poem on the tree.*
To leave or stay—they all were wavering still*
when nearby rang the sound of harness bells.
They saw a youthful scholar come their way 135
astride a colt he rode with slackened rein.
He carried poems packing half his bag,*
and tagging at his heels were some page boys.
His frisky horse's coat was dyed with snow.
His gown blent tints of grass and pale blue sky. 140
He spied them from afar, at once alit
and walked toward them to pay them his respects.
His figured slippers trod the green—the field
now sparkled like some jade-and-ruby grove.
Young Vuong stepped forth and greeted him he knew 145
while two shy maidens hid behind the flowers.
He came from somewhere not so far away,
Kim Trong, a scion of the noblest stock.*
Born into wealth and talent, he'd received
his wit from heaven, a scholar's trade from men. 150
Manner and mien set him above the crowd:
he studied books indoors, lived high abroad.
Since birth he'd always called this region home—
he and young Vuong were classmates at their school.
His neighbors' fame had spread and reached his ear: 155
two beauties locked in their
But, as if hills and streams had barred the way,
he had long sighed and dreamt of them, in vain.
How lucky, in this season of new leaves,*
to roam about and find his yearned-for flowers! 160
He caught a fleeting glimpse of both afar:
spring orchid, autumn mum—a gorgeous pair!
Beautiful girl and talented young man—
what stirred their hearts their eyes still dared not say.
They hovered, rapture-bound, `tween wake and dream: 165
they could not stay, nor would they soon depart.
The dusk of sunset prompted thoughts of gloom—
he left, and longingly she watched him go.
Below a stream flowed clear, and by the bridge
a twilit willow rustled threads of silk. 170
When Kieu got back behind her flowered drapes,
the sun had set, the curfew gong had rung.
Outside the window, squinting, peeped the moon—
gold spilled on waves, trees shadowed all the yard.
East drooped a red camellia, toward the next house 175
as dewdrops fell, the spring branch bent and bowed.
Alone, in silence, she beheld the moon,*
her heart a raveled coil of hopes and fears:
