In the Hall of Virtuous Stars, a family feast is spread,
Flutes and ocarinas play, inviting talents to be led.
Yanqing, who loves scholars, welcomes them with empty seat,
Then pulls friends and companions to come and meet.
New rites to be performed need discussion deep,
Old rules to be raised require practice to keep.
Your father's deeds are matchless in this world,
With sword at waist, he should be honored before the throne unfurled.
The heir's grace surpasses even A Rong of old,
Eyes sparkling like lightning from the cliff, bright and bold.
Names shielded by silk, protected by spirits' might,
Portraits in the pavilion, envied in others' sight.
Long ago, ten thousand words of advice he'd give,
In prime years, he'd read the tales of generals who live.
World-saving plans bend and stretch as they must,
Poems refined in hardship, free of dust.
Yanheng, talented as Bao Zhao, free and bright,
Words adorned like jade, a splendid sight.
In peaceful times, we discuss laying arms aside,
Why burn brush and ink when grace should abide?
Great schemes at last by Wang Feng were called near,
Strange plans, without a recommender, disappear.
Zishi wields the brush, eight styles complete,
Like angry lion or thirsty steed, a treat to meet.
Treasure it like the Orchid Pavilion, hold it dear,
Don't discard it like a fan when autumn's here.
Yanlong can draw a two-stone bow with ease,
Yet knows not the quiver's use, ill at ease.
Furious, he recalls Lin Xiangru of old,
Don't boast of Jiang Ciqian in embroidered fold.
Yanshen, gentle and pure, a noble son,
Praises fine wine and delicacies, well-done.
One virtue he embraced with earnest heart,
At the palace exam, he played his part.
Starting his career, a governor's rank he'd gain,
In office, not seeking petty posts in vain.
Among guests, I'm from the south, a wanderer true,
Seeking alliance from afar, indebted to you.
In Qi, Tian Heng could not escape the pot,
Fleeing to Chu, Wu Zixu's condolence brought.
Wine fails to drown my sorrow, heavy and deep,
Poems to vent my feelings, I never sleep.
Watching craftsmen's skill, I blush with shame,
Hiding jade in casket, not for cheap fame.
How bear the snow blocking the door, stiff and cold,
Helpless before the wind's sharp arrows, bold.
Fan Shu's silk robe is also thin and bare,
Xu Jia, old friend, clings with empty care.