The Book of Poetry, tr. by James Legge, [1876], at sacred-texts.com
’Mong brothers three, who met that fate,
’Twas sad the first, Yen-hsi, to see.
He stood alone; a hundred men
Could show no other such as he. p. 146
When to the yawning grave he came,
Terror unnerved and shook his frame.
Why thus destroy our noblest men,
To thee we cry, O azure Heaven!
To save Yen-hsi from death, we would
A hundred lives have freely given.
2They flit about, the yellow birds,
And on the mulberry trees rest find.
Who buried were in Duke Mu's grave,
Alive to awful death consigned?
’Mong brothers three, who met that fate,
’Twas sad the next, Chung-hang, to see.
When on him pressed a hundred men,
A match for all of them was he.
When to the yawning grave he came,
Terror unnerved and shook his frame.
Why thus destroy our noblest men,
To thee we cry, O azure Heaven!
To save Chung-hang from death, we would
A hundred lives have freely given. p. 147
3They flit about, the yellow birds,
And rest upon the thorn trees find.
Who buried were in Duke Mu's grave,
Alive to awful death consigned?
’Mong brothers three, who met that fate,
’Twas sad the third, Chên-hu, to see.
A hundred men in desperate fight
Successfully withstand could he.
When to the yawning grave he came,
Terror unnerved and shook his frame.
Why thus destroy our noblest men,
To thee we cry, O azure Heaven!
To save Chên-hu from death, we would
A hundred lives have freely given.