In the past, the Great Han was not yet settled,
The strong Qin still held the arena.
The struggle for the Central Plains ceased,
Emperor Gaozu soared like a dragon.
He began planning the imperial throne,
Here, the grandeur of Weiyang Palace was yet to peak.
Observing the scale of its halls and towers,
Dredging the inner and outer city moats.
The feudal lords revered the Changle Palace,
The imperial court added the Jianzhang Palace.
The imperial guard arrayed with spears and racks,
The Music Bureau played in the Hall of Mushrooms.
Jadeite and pearl curtains,
Mandarin ducks and white jade halls.
At dawn, feasting from precious tripods,
In leisurely nights, the scent of tulips.
Heavenly horses came from the east,
Beauties captivated the north.
How splendid and prosperous it was,
They believed their treasure and spirit would last forever.
But fate's cycles have their end,
Lamenting the decline of the Ai and Ping eras.
Ice hardened into great treachery,
The Fire Virtue's order then crumbled.
The throne is no empty prize,
Those who greedily seize heaven's mandate perish swiftly.
Souls and gods sigh for the state,
Leopards and tigers battle in the court corridors.
The golden statues moved to the Ba River's shore,
The bronze immortal's plate turned toward Luoyang.
The sovereign has no place to dwell,
How many years have passed in desolation?
Whose domain are these palace gates now?
Thorns and weeds snag my robe.
The well-field system leaves only grass,
The sea has turned to mulberry fields.
Once within lofty gates,
Now by the roadside fork.
The remaining foundations cannot be recognized,
Ancient tombs line up in rows.
Foxes and hares startle ghosts and goblins,
Owls frighten the mad and wild.
The empty city chills as the sun sets,
The plain's evening clouds turn yellow.
Fiercely, thorns grow over the graves,
Soughing, the wind blows through white poplars.
For a thousand autumns and ten thousand years,
Only mournful songs are left to chant.