My ancestor, the Master of Hedong and Fen, a scion of the Wen clan,
Received grace unrequited from the spirit of the Sage.
This distant descendant vows not to shame your name,
Fortunate to meet an age when heaven and earth are clear and calm.
I journeyed thousands of miles by water and land,
And now, with incense in my sleeve, bow at the ancestral court.
Heaven wills that I witness the rites of Zhou preserved,
Timely, I chance upon the Shangding ceremony's start.
A northern scholar, Doctor Cao, of high repute,
Newly appointed by the court, arrives to bear the charge.
At the sacred gate, he dares not betray his learning,
In every act, he strives to practice the Six Classics.
Then, on the first day of the eighth month, year Jichou,
The great central gate opened as dawn faintly gleamed.
Left, the Gate of Nurturing Essence; right, the Hall of Observing Virtue,
Lanterns and orbs shone bright, like mingling stars.
Beneath the Kuiwen Pavilion, kindled fires blazed,
In the cypress grove, doves and magpies vied in flight and song.
Before the Hall of Golden Strings, the procession formed in ranks,
The faint sound of sheng and bells, like chimes of metal and stone.
Descendants of the three clans stood arrayed on left and right,
Like pure white egrets resting in a round marsh, serene.
Each honoring elders, took their places as prescribed,
In deep robes, even scholars from the south were called.
The ritual officer thrice urged approach to the chime-stone spot,
The vermilion door creaked open, revealing the central hall.
The grand ceremonial music played in harmony,
Orderly rows of vessels, caps and sashes in a ring.
First, prayers were offered to the First Sage, Confucius,
Then to the lords of Zou and Yan, libations poured in turn.
Next, they proceeded to the temple of Duke of Qi, the father,
The waters of Si and Yi assigned by weight of honor.
The Five Worthies, revered for upholding Confucius' Way,
Also received their offerings, sincere and due.
In spring and autumn, all under heaven sacrifice at the Temple of Culture,
But the grand four-ding rites are held only in Lu.
Blue-collared students, white-haired elders of the school,
Never witnessed such glory in the ding observance.
Solemn as in the pure capital, listening to elegant music,
Eyes and ears transformed, mind and spirit stirred.
After rites at the south gate, we drank the blessed meat and wine,
In the public hall, cups rhino-shaped flew in交错 exchange.
After drinking, I stood alone beneath the Apricot Altar,
My thoughts ethereal, mingling joy and sigh.
Reverently, the Unadorned King, teacher for ten thousand ages,
His Way like sun and moon coursing through clear skies.
For years I read the Changes by my jar-like window,
Gazing toward Que Li as toward Penglai, the fairy isle.
Who made the murky deeps turn clear and shallow,
That I might warmly, closely behold his form and bearing?
Alas! The unicorn stumbled, the phoenix did not come,
Yet in azure skies, vivid, they fly on beams and pillars.
Think of the days he hid his tracks, cut wood for a living,
Declining office, bending to the ways of men.
He knew not 'there is nothing that is not permissible,'
With time, he dove or soared, neither forcing nor welcoming.
The great righteousness of ruler and minister must not be abandoned,
How could the strings and ruts of his cart all be changed?
Beset in Kuang, endangered in Song, he wandered through the states,
Mourned in Han temples, his legacy lasts a thousand years.
Who says the timber rotted, culture slowly perished?
The cemetery's楷 trees still spread their branches wide.
Civil plans and martial feats all turned to ashes,
Spring and Autumn no longer see the seasonal offerings.
Emperors and kings, their shrines in forests rest,
But Ni Hill and Si River remain a constant court.
The imperial yellow canopy has come eight times to Kong's grove,
Its merit vies with Mount Tai in towering height.
A pity! When Emperor Xiangfu made his visit,
I was born too late to follow dukes and ministers.
Ten thousand miles of borders, private boundaries removed,
This night, with cap and pendant, we gaze upon the Great Completion.
The eight directions clouded, dust blinds the eyes,
Zhong Sun Xuanzi alone stares wide awake.
After viewing Zhou, returning to Lu, his learning advanced,
The blind and sightless, hearing him, were startled by thunder.
Two students that day, having seen the Sage,
Midway had not yet shared a carriage's brief talk.
The Way of a single gourd and ladle lies not in Fang and Du,
I deeply shame the rites and music, lonely at Fen Pavilion.
Returning, I'll teach the Analects by the Jade Dipper,
And wish to sing 'Lush and Green' with all disciples.
Perhaps then I can repay the boundless debt,
This dull life may not end in stubborn darkness.
Thus, I fashion this song to record the sacrifice,
To carve as a motto for scholars by their seat.