Danyang, ancient prefecture, south of Dongting Lake.
At sunset, a lone boat seeks this path.
They say this was the old capital of the southeast,
Where Jinling is cut off by the deep blue river.
In the past, dust of war arose,
The capital was in chaos, as if burned.
Between the twin towers were barbarians,
Within a thousand gates was a battlefield.
Rumor says a horse transformed into a dragon,
The southern-crossing nobles also wished to follow.
Stone City lay across the imperial domain,
Jingkou resisted the barbarian vanguard.
Under green maple woods, the imperial carriage turned back,
Before the Du Ruo isle, the state's appearance changed.
At the capital gate, no Heyang trees are seen,
On the imperial path, only Jianye's bells are heard.
The Central Plains stretch vast for thousands of miles,
Wishing to sweep away evil stars, yet not done.
How fiercely heroes fought for power,
One rise, one fall, like the passing river.
Pity the palaces within the double rivers,
The golden mirror passed down for three hundred years.
Since the dragon appeared and the sage emerged,
The six directions' scripts and carts merged into one.
Where is the royal aura of yesteryear?
All turn toward Chang'an to serve under Yao's sun.
Thorny brush and ancient trees seal the desolate paths,
All say the splendor will never be whole again.
Only river trees and moon remain in the Red County,
Half the imperial map sinks into coastal smoke.
At dusk, I've climbed and viewed all mountains and waters,
Gazing at antiquity, chanting sorrow, tears like sleet.
Only empty walls hold many white clouds,
Spring breeze gently sways, unseen by anyone.