Clouds and woods surge before my chest, rising high,
A solitary peak towers, steep and grand.
Above, the path winds a thousand bends,
Twisting and coiling like entangled thread.
This is the Hemp-Thread Heap,
A peril unmatched under heaven.
So narrow it barely holds half a foot,
Who would dare to check a fall from such a height?
Even agile gibbons fret and toil,
How then shall the wandering traveler fare?
There was a monk named De Bao,
Whose compassion matched his wisdom, boundless as mercy.
He felled ancient trees along the mountain,
And found long ridges while seeking out the gullies.
A bridge was swiftly built for crossing,
With stones laid to form a continuous stair.
Since this new road was remade,
No more blistered feet or sighs of hardship.
In the county, there is a Sheriff Sun,
Whose words are carved like precious jade.
Do not say this matter is small,
Only the wayfarer truly knows.
Moreover, observe the mountain paths of the gorge,
They have ever lacked proper governance.
Officials neither trace nor tend them,
Who would bother with deep and lasting thought?
Heaven-sent perils remain as they are,
Yet we ought to make a passable trail.
Laborers move baskets and spades,
Stoneworkers wield chisels and hammers.
Fierce fire breaks the stubborn rock,
Sand is poured to fill the gaps and crevices.
It requires the strength of a hundred men,
Far from completion in fifty days.
They only hope for provisions of rice and salt,
Not troubling for gold or coin to be spent.
Not as a guest do I dare whisper criticism,
But by the roadside, I ask both old and young.
Though I guard the snowy frontier,
I still wish to contribute my mite.
The cost and labor, alas, are small concerns,
What is needed is a wise and worthy official.
To the east, there is Guan of Yiling,
To the west, Ye of Zigui.
Above, we have Lord Shen the Recluse,
Now a guiding official in Kui Terrace.
Below, there is the descendant of Xiong Yi,
A man of great talent aiding the regional command.
Are the golden chamber's elites, then,
Inferior to the monks in the woods?
I trust that counsel will meet with agreement,
To accomplish this extraordinary feat.
Boats and oars avoid the flooded paths,
Post stations speed the flying dispatches.
Countless travelers from Wu and Shu,
Will come and go without cease.
Then polish the stone that scrapes the sky,
And inscribe grandly the verse of the Four Worthies.
Though unworthy, I wish to take up the brush,
And send it far, to be the gorge's stele.