Who was more impassioned in his nature, who was more formed for love,
than the great Han Koong Shew, known in the celestial archives as the
sublime Youantee, brother of the sun and moon?--whose court was so
superb--whose armies were so innumerable--whose territories were so
vast--bounded as they were by the four seas, which bound the whole
universe? yet was he bound by destiny to be unhappy, and thus do I
commence the wondrous Tale of Han--the sorrows of the magnificent
Youantee.
Ti-tum, tilly-lilly----
Yes, he felt that some one thing was wanting. All his power, his wealth,
his dignity, filled not his soul with pleasure. He turned from the
writings of the great Fo--he closed the book. Alas! he sighed for a
second self to whom he might point out--"All this is mine." His heart
yearned for a fair damsel--a maid of beauty--to whose beauty he might
bow. He, to whom the world was prostrate, the universe were slaves,
longed for an amorous captivity, and sighed for chains. But where was
the maiden to be found, worthy to place fetters upon the brother of the
sun and moon--the magnificent master of the universe? Where was she to
be found?
Ti-tum, tilly-lilly, ti-tum, ti.
Yes, there was one, and but one, worthy to be his mate, worthy to be
the queen of a land of eternal spring, filled with trees, whose stems
were of gold, branches of silver, leaves of emerald, and whose fruits
were the fragrant apples of immortality. And where was this moon, fit
bride unto the sun? Was she not plunged in grief--hidden in a well of
her own tears--even in the gardens of joy? Those eyes which should have
sunned a court of princes, were dimmed with eternal sorrow.
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