The Chanyu invades Ji's borders,
Nomad cavalry raid the desolate frontier.
Southern mountain leaves fly down to earth,
Northern sea tumbleweeds swirl up to sky.
Tadpole formations line the Taiyuan road,
Fish-scale arrays mass in Wuwei's plains.
Three armies lie in ambush afar,
Chasing each other over ten thousand miles.
Banners hang still by Chaoyuan's source,
War drums roar and shake the Lu Valley.
From the remote Jiao out of Youling,
Alas, weary of rising and resting.
Horse hooves freeze on slippery stones,
Barbarian felt warms, yet breeds ice.
Clouds and sands vast, heaven's light shut,
River passes gloomy, sea hues congealed.
In the northern land of Kongtong, who can be trusted?
Desolate, the frontier heart finds no joy.
Lately, travelers fear the White Dragon,
Afar, the princess grieves the Yellow Crane.
Mid-spring half gone,
At the crossroads,
The Jade Terrace Park,
The Jade Gate Pass.
A hundred flowers on fragrant trees will fade,
By February's orchid marsh, green has not returned.
Battle clouds linger over Fish-Dragon waters,
Rain and snow still fly over Swan-Goose Mountain.
Ridge upon ridge stretches without end,
The road is long, toiling, I dream of her face.
No motherwort comes from the north hall,
I long remember the east garden's peach and plum.
Han generals swarm, attacks abound,
Hu foes dwindle, You and Shuo grow quiet.
Han Chang, bearing credentials, knows only sending off,
Zheng Ji, driving his banners, sits to receive.
Fires die, smoke sinks in the western left,
Valleys quiet, mountains empty in Beiping's right.
If only we have a general who wins every battle,
The Son of Heaven need not build a long wall.