Song of the Sword
I borrow your sword,
And dance for you.
Since ancient times, heroes value deep bonds;
Meeting over wine, they pledge their spirits in accord.
I admire your untrammeled, unconfined grace,
From our first meeting, my heart held no doubt of your face.
Your broad brow and lofty stature, seven feet tall,
Your radiant spirit shines, beard curling like a dragon's thrall.
Your mighty words on paper make mountains leap and fall,
Like thunderclaps around the walls, with coiling dragons' call.
How is it that for ten years you've been trapped in wanderer's plight,
This heart of yours alone unknown to men of common sight?
Last year you joined the army, slaughtered the fierce foe,
Lifted your whip, broke the siege of Yangzhou at a blow.
Yet merit was not counted in the Marshal's tent so grand,
Lost on the path, ashamed to chase the border-town riffraff band.
Returning, your precious sword hangs idle on the wall,
Its white light startles rainbow serpents nightly, one and all.
Slaughter an ox, pour out wine, hold a lofty feast,
Sing drunk, strike the zither—how can sorrow be released?
A hundred years of joy should be just like this,
Pedantic scholars, cramped and cautious, do but miss.
I too am one worn down by rivers and the sea,
Who values spirit lightly holds life, carelessly.
Drifting through passes and streams, this single frame survives,
In the vast cosmos, both my temples have turned white.
Everywhere I still chant of promises kept true,
In ordinary times, I wrongly bore strategies through.
In all the world, four or five friends I hold dear,
Recently gaining you, our feelings draw us near.
Feelings draw near,
Two souls entrust,
The bond of life and death knows neither thick nor thin.
I bid you farewell, yet linger still,
Wishing to lay bare my heart and liver before your will.
In life, what stirs the soul is finding a true friend,
A real man's life—how could it be too much to spend?