The descendants of Fang, Du, Wang, and Wei,
Remain noble families even after a hundred generations.
Their rare talents are truly precious,
What matters the high hills or low marshes?
Last year by the river I first saw your face,
Admiring your demeanor, my affection grew deep.
Through conversation, I saw your true nature,
A heart so open it dispels worldly dust.
Since then, our minds and paths have harmonized,
Often sharing a couch, strolling side by side.
Willow shade covers the banks by Zheng's waters,
Plum blossoms weigh down the trees in Wei's garden.
Each new poem we compose together,
Drunk, we dance, arms linked in leisure.
At dusk, we seek the sandy shore and maple woods,
At night, pluck orchids, our clothes damp with dew.
Now you leave me, where will you go?
You say to marry far away, a long journey.
Official letters from five ministries have come again,
Across ten thousand waves, a word in return.
I bow again and offer you these words,
Please listen quietly, do not protest.
Your name is 'Shifan'—what model will you follow?
The shining example of your noble ancestors remains.
Yongning once set the standard for selection,
Sifting the murky, clarifying the source.
You now choose friends as you choose officials,
Should you not distinguish the clear from the muddy?
Your forebear served his lord with loyal counsel,
Even unto death, his advice unwavering.
You now assist a lord as a vassal,
Should you not repay kindness with frankness?
He did good deeds, feeling time was short,
Napping in court clothes, awaiting dawn audience.
You, at thirty, have yet to attend morning court,
Should not each moment be worth double jade?
His son married a princess of noble birth,
He observed rites as in-law, she with basket.
The ritual of return bows ended then,
The influence of 'Guanju' remains bright, untarnished.
You now go far to wed, honoring sacred rites,
Should you not strive diligently in temple duties?
These words are for you to keep close,
Then we may part, sleeves touched in farewell.
Sleeves touched in farewell cannot be untied,
Untying sleeves, raising sails—a sorrowful parting soul.
The soul sways with river trees, birds vanish,
Sails hang on masts like birds' tails upturned.
Riding wind and waves, where will you land?
Straight to Hangzhou, passing Shangyuan.
The site of Shangyuan's temple still stands,
Hangzhou's tidewaters hold frost and snow.
Tide-households greet tides with tide drums,
Ebb and flow leave their trace on the shore.
I shall inscribe this on Luocha Stone,
Since ancient times, not only Wu Yuan was wronged.