In Heng and Xiang, bandits remain unquelled,
A murderous aura chills the river's held.
Northern troops in south find no ease or skill,
As if great ships on lofty peaks to till.
Southern rebels wield arms swift as hawks,
By thousands, in deep woods they make their roosts.
Dashing o'er streams and cliffs, they hide and leap,
Their shifting stance makes spear and sword tactics cheap.
The able draw bows and enter town walls,
Town after town falls prey to their driven squalls.
Factions boast of killing officers and men,
White bones strewn wild, no coffin or shroud then.
Tens of thousands of brave troops—what use are they?
Monthly costs already exceed gold in pay.
Chu being poor is its inherent state,
How can it bear such levies, heavy weight?
Swift as Ma Yuan, yet aims cannot be won,
Forced to drag two feet up steep peaks, undone.
Crows and ants, glaring, rely on cliffs' might,
This foe hard to defeat is not just tonight.
Clearly the great way is set in records old,
Only by caring prefects can hearts be hold.
Zhu Liang and Zhang Qiao were the true choice,
Li Zhuan and Dao Gu were but captured, no voice.
Alas! The court did not choose with care,
Those petty men—how could they such burden bear?
Da Zhong and Xian Tong eras are mirrors to see,
Nurtured over time, the worry deep will be.
I wish to write these words for Hist'ry's hand,
To offer as advice for throne's command.