North of the city, facing the sun, stands the Southern Pavilion;
Built by the venerable master of the Li family, among stone forests.
Above, it bears the visage of the Crown Prince's virtuous nurture;
Below, it rests upon the foundation of a bygone era's pure legacy.
Looking ahead, the plain stretches far; behind, the city gates rise;
To the left, it greets the Toad's Chin; to the right, the Dragon-Crane.
On the Bing-Ding shelves, books stand in orderly rows;
Before the Jia-Yi railings, stones lie in intricate patterns.
Sometimes at dawn, with staff in hand, I part the misty veil,
And ninety thousand miles of azure sky burst through the curtain.
Sometimes at night, leaning on the table in the vast emptiness,
The sea-ox hangs in the void, the moon serving as a screen.
The clamor of the market does not reach me here;
The gentle spring breeze finds nowhere to alight.
Like the orderly banks of the stream, brothers dwell in harmony;
Like the steady sound of felling trees, friends rejoice together.
I too, at times, am a belated guest,
Often raising my cup in response to the host's toast.
The host leads me to gaze upon the Southern Mountains,
The Southern Mountains clearly etched against the sky's edge.
Do I not accompany the morning ascent?
Floating clouds obscure the woods and thickets.
Floating clouds—white garments, gray dogs—
In a moment they transform, yet the mountain remains serene.
Set this aside for now, let us not speak of it;
I wish to discuss in detail, to deliberate carefully.
Observe the very center of heaven and earth,
Where Kan in the north and Li in the south stand arrayed.
Man positions his single heart between these two realms,
Taking Li as its symbol—surely not without purpose.
Just as in the south, all things come into view;
Or as at midday, the tiniest speck is illuminated;
So too, upright and proper, yet ample and graceful.
From afar, kites and fish; up close, husband and wife;
Looking up, the cosmos; looking down, today and yesterday.
In every affair, clarity persists;
Day and night, dare it be melted by gold?
Hearing this, the host laughs and rises,
Saying my words are also for amusement and jest.
Then I compose this ancient song,
To serve as a tale of the Southern Pavilion.