North of the garrison town lies a vast garden, within it a ruined terrace named 'Embrace the Snail.'
Its round base winds upward in a spiral path, hence the snail's name, meaning no other.
The builder then chose the site with care, where air is brisk and the lay of land rich.
Now like a lone grave overgrown with thorns, who knows how many years it has lain ruined.
Behind the town, footprints are rare, often a full year passes without a visitor.
I came to expand the garden and manage the armory, pushing through brambles to climb this height.
My heart broadens as if beyond the dust, gazing to sky's end where fine nets of light spread.
The whole town's scenery gathers in my palm, red blossoms and green trees intertwine bright boughs.
Below Taihang, peaks beyond count, ten thousand ridges rise and fall like rolling waves.
Northward, the prefectures all level ground, none like old Ye, cradling mountains and rivers.
This spot is finest for sightseeing, so I applied baskets and spades to restore the slope.
On the terrace's top, a simple hut built; its surface paved with bricks, carefully carved and polished.
The Wei palace's ice-well long buried, four iron beams lie lost in plowed fields.
Their sturdy substance hardly moved, vulgar tales spread, neighbors whisper of demons.
They say a spirit silently guards it, thousands of officials dared not remove them.
I, pitying these ancient relics, had them carted here, as pillars for the terrace at four corners.
Townsfolk heard and were greatly amazed, crowding the terrace shoulder to shoulder.
Named 'Leisure and Ease,' not for my sole delight, but to share joy with all in spring's warmth.
The host now and then bids guests drink, before the cups, as fitting, strings play and songs rise.
Since illness, my drinking spirit wanes, forced toasts flush my face with red.
Retiring, I reflect: what virtue have I? Seeking ease invites others' reproach.
Yet I recall my duty lies in loyalty, daily no falsehood, heart without bias.
The sovereign's grace, deep as this, grants me home governance; rightly I rest here to heal lingering ills.
Feeble, I've not served the state with vigor, leaning on the rail, sighing long and empty.