The Min River flows eastward to the sea,
At Ox Islet, it anchors the midstream's plea.
Since ancient times, a crossing place renowned,
Where setting suns on misty isles are drowned.
The famed elite from east of the river's bend,
In idle, lofty talk their days they'd spend.
Five cycles passed in dust and murky air,
A toxic blight spread through the lands with care.
Six dragons rise to claim the sky's domain,
While feeble torches dare not there remain.
Long ropes secure the pagoda's might,
Iron cables aid the royal vessel's flight.
With jade in hand, they face the lords in state,
To chart the lands, on nine hills they await.
The people's life since three dynasties' end,
Counts not the feats of Li or Liu to tend.
Two hundred years of peace, a tranquil span,
Internal calm made us forget the outer ban.
One steed once flew across the river wide,
The royal aura in the southeast did reside.
Who for the northern foe would scheme and plot,
Daring to shame the spirits, heed them not?
They drank the water, blind to Buddha's horde,
And cast their whips, in stubborn heads they stored.
Through rustling poplar woods, the ferry lies,
Where cold suns pierce with winds that moan and sigh.
From misty rain, the warships take their form,
Amidst frost and snow, they brandish spear and storm.
At midnight, startled in the enemy's tent,
By dawn, no chieftain there to represent.
With laughter, they subdued the feast's array,
Their courage made the felt-robed foes dismay.
All tribes were warned against the Central State's might,
Three borders stood down from their autumn fight.
I oft from veteran officers inquire,
Who chatter on, their tales never tire.
How grand the founding's path, in glory cast,
How matched the restoration's virtue vast?
Great Yu's deeds fade, a thousand years now past,
Martial feats await a hand to hold them fast.
Heaven now wearies of this foe's disgrace,
How can we bear to forget their hostile face?
To steal peace is a peril, deep and grave,
A chance-gained victory cannot truly save.
External guard should never be relaxed,
When will internal governance be taxed?
Two hills like moth-eyebrows in distance stand,
Gathering sorrow from this ancient land.
A petty officer, with strategy so slight,
How can I aid the current's forward flight?
I beg, by taking fiefdom's ground to own,
To sing of hardship's cause, in verse bemoan.