In the twenty-second year of Shaoxing's reign, the auspicious month of Renwu, the hour of Dingwei.
The Wang family bids farewell as I journey to the capital, my eyes brimming with tears of longing for kin.
The wagtail sees me off across the plains and marshes, friends with wine cups lodge at the desolate temple.
At dawn I leave Huangtang, lamenting our parting; at dusk I lodge at Green Hill, sighing in solitude.
My initial wish was to wander Yanshan, but actions and halts, not by my will, went awry.
At Huangyan I lingered for three nights, with old companions drinking deep till day's end.
Young Zheng accompanies me a thousand miles—such noble friendship is rare in modern times.
Turning back once at the Royal Splendor Pavilion, suddenly my brow furrows with homesickness.
By the floating bridge ten li west of the river, I climb the tower, wine in hand, humming verses.
Traveling the hills, I first meet the month of Jianzi; plum blossoms before my eyes already hint of spring.
Ahead, the three crossings seem not as before; below, the two rapids truly inspire awe.
The ferry immortal still laughs at me: 'Beard like thorns, yet still chasing fame and gain!'
I wished to enter Tiantai to see the stone bridge, but haste on the road kept me from fulfilling it.
On the way I chanced upon old Zhang, the assistant, whom I knew as Yueqing's sheriff fifteen years past.
I sigh, I am no Shen or Xie; my face has ever been hard to remember.
The flying spring by my pillow brews dreams into demons; till dawn I think of home, never sleeping.
A drizzling rain enters the Guanling Pass; at the inn I seek out old verses I once inscribed.
The rain lets up as I pass Tianmu, washing the peaks to layer upon layer of azure emerald.
The shrine of Liu and Ruan lies in ruins, the earth still red; these streams and hills are truly a land of immortals.
By the roadside, a stone reveals a small golden immortal; the relay station desolate, who has abandoned it?
The bamboo of Zhex溪 bears marks of children's tears; the pines of Shiling Ridge contain timber for pillars and beams.
The road leads to Nanming to view the stone Buddha; towers and pavilions soar, ever more profound.
In eight years of travel, I've come here twice; on the cliff I inscribe a poem, recording past events.
Following my whim, I go to Shans溪 to seek an old friend; long parted, we meet mingling sorrow and joy.
The wind of righteousness blows the water, speeding my boat; the rivers and hills of Yue country fill my gaze.
The fourteen-year maiden, filial and fierce; the three-hundred-li lake, bright and ever more charming.
A thousand cliffs vie in beauty, streams contend in flow; all day I gaze greedily, my thoughts sent afar.
At Xixing crossing, the roar is like thunder; silver waves tower, startling the soul.
The river god calms the winds for me; the heavenly palace gleams, I gaze upon its majestic towers.
At the gate of worthies I visit old friends, speaking of bitter times; again I taste the old flavor of pickled vegetables and salt.
The academic office wished to detain me with official duties; ashamed of my lack of talent, I strenuously declined.
From the observation terrace, clouds and things are truly worth recording; the palace thread begins to lengthen, the sun reaches south.
At Longshan, renting a lodge, I observe the grand rites; the ceremonial guards are solemn, the rituals complete.
The honor and prosperity of a subject, unmatched in past or present; Lord Qin and his son both serve as envoys.
At Jingling, after offering thanks, the music returns; the ranks of officials, with flowers and branches, lavish the ruler's gifts.
Journeying west for days, I behold the emperor's face; the harmonious air dispels my weariness and pallor.
The year is ending, so I turn back home; I take up my brush to write this record of my travels.