I step out, weary of the world's clamor;
Return to lie down, a thousand feelings gather.
I climb high and gaze afar,
Suddenly, Min and E's hues turn somber.
The mountains' colors, through ages, remain the same,
Not mist, not smoke, but a sorrowful, hazy frame.
Du Fu once lamented that pearls and jade had fled,
Yet they were still fortunate, in Heaven's storehouse laid.
Talent is worth more than pearls and jade, I plead,
Why can't you, like them, to the Bright Palace proceed?
The mountain spirit wears a face of shame for me,
How can this matter rest solely on thee?
It's not about the earth's energy's decline or rise,
But fear the Gorge's streams erode the land under the skies.
Otherwise, rulers shaping fate, as Heaven's decree,
With unified scripts, carts traverse miles, all lands free.
Southern gold, eastern arrows, tribute never ends,
Why alone are Min and E's products without friends?
I ponder deep, night follows day,
Sighing and sighing, in dismay.
Suddenly, a divine official descends in dream,
Holding a foot-long edict from the mountain, it would seem.
In primal chaos, when the world was split,
The Emperor ordered you to steady the earth's writ.
At Stone Button, Yu leveled floods for the throne,
The Zhou's founding tied to our Peng and Pu's own.
Ji Xin loyal to Han, chose a fiery fate,
Gan, with sword drawn, against the usurper stood straight.
Fei Yi and Ren Yong scorned the frog-in-well's disgrace,
Zhang Gang and Li Gu, righteous, challenged autumn's space.
When the flame of Han grew cold, the tripod stood askew,
Only our whole Shu, stubborn, as Han's subjects true.
Each man's name and integrity, like nine tripods, weigh,
Beyond, their writings and reclusion hold sway.
Ziyun, Xiangru, Wang Ziyuan, in fame they share,
Li of Kangshan, Chen of Jinhua, talents rare.
The old angler of Fu River, Bu Junping's lore,
After a thousand years, his pure dust we still adore.
The glorious founding emperor gained Heaven's line,
The North Star central, all stars in concert shine.
Shu, though distant, at the hall's west end does stay,
One word removed all barriers in the way.
Chen, Su, and Fan rose from humble, lonely cold,
Their deeds and literary arts both extolled.
Crossing the river, merits of Zhang and Yu told,
Li the Grand Historian, like Dong of Jin, bold.
The Jiang and Han's bright spirit, heroes age to age,
Gathered from past records, as vivid as a page.
Once so radiant, now dim and unclear,
The mountain spirit may not truly be insincere.
Wealth and honor often come by shortcuts, it's said,
Shu people's flaw: too loudly their views are spread.
Have you not seen Song Langzhong, gaunt from mountain and mere,
His memorial's words leaked, sent far, to disappear?
Li of the War Ministry, learned and upright,
Ten thousand words to the throne, his bones in grievance tight.
Most spirited, Secretary Xue, we acclaim,
Seven years exiled, only daily drink his aim.
Your Majesty never hated honest speech, in truth,
Yet myriad eyes stare, would you forsake this youth?
Alas, three gentlemen now in the earth's deep breast,
Jade dashed to ground, how can it be whole and blessed?
Fortunately, elders now fill caves and hills,
Each one a wise man who the country's fortune wills.
The Censor's virtue, the state's divining shell,
The General's loyal heart, with age, burns fierce and well.
The Councillor, not yet risen from Eastern Hill's repose,
Li, at the dragon's throne, his famed integrity shows.
Shaoqing, in immortal valley, books compile,
Crossing Lu, back to fish Two Rivers' snow, with style.
The Vice-Minister, recalled though ill, recovers slight,
The Editor in mourning, indignation burns bright.
How can the court bear to discard Shu's talent so?
They, square-headed, touch taboos, and thus must go.
Min and E, for them, now hide in shame,
They, unrepentant, still on me lay blame.
Go, for me, earnestly tell these worthies all,
The two high offices' glory is not a distant call.
In the ninth heaven, immortals in ranks stand,
High posts, fat salaries, pure and in command.
How can a square peg fit a round hole's space?
If slightly demoted, wouldn't that be the case?
Hearing these words, my mind in confusion strays,
Awake, I don my robe, alone in disarray.
Poverty or success, what can we do with Heaven's will?
A scholar must first know where his aspirations fill.
These worthies are all Confucian elites, indeed,
Their hearts hold fast, no thought of gain or need.
Who can, for me, thank the mountain spirit, pray?
That broad perspective—can it be led astray?
Alas, the lodgings of Shen and Jing, fifty-six states,
Their literary grace since olden times with Qi and Lu debates.
The three lights' essence whole, cherished as heart and core,
Now half the world sees them as warts, and nothing more.
Like livestock crouched below, you linger there,
Or else, morning memorial, evening exile, prepare a boat upstream with care.
See, two or three envoys like morning stars are few,
Below, six times six counties all follow the current's flow.
Even if a man of will can cultivate his art,
Chang'an is far, a dream, kept apart.
No fixed way to raise the worthy, an ancient creed,
Who can knock at the palace gate, to the twelve-tasseled crown plead?
Talent, born to the world, nurtured hard but broken swift,
Like camphor trees or catalpa, in haste, can't lift.
Wind and dust darken the realm, a murky plight,
Without multitudes, who will plan for the light?
White colt in empty valley, long at ease,
Could it be tethered forever, if one please?
My song is fervent—not for Min and E alone I sigh,
My anxious heart—it shares Heaven and Earth's worry, high.