Among famed mountains in the southern land,
Mount Xian in Xiang-Han holds the highest stand.
Two years ago, on mission south I passed,
And climbed its peak from Tongdi's path at last.
Westward, mist veils Tanxi in endless rain;
Southward, Dream Marsh weaves clouds in a vast domain.
Sheer cliffs and crumbling rocks like paintings spread,
Sunlit woods with wild blooms by heaven's light are led.
Joy here rivals the capital's delight,
With songs in town and farming fields in sight.
Ask whose virtue people still recall?
Clouds come afar, Lord Yang's grace shelters all.
Thus kindness dwells with mountains, ever near,
No need for stone engravings to revere.
I sought old tales and visited the shrine,
Bowed slow to portraits of the wise divine.
Temples and halls stand dense, a crowded line,
Yet this place lies lonely, lacking a sign.
Lord Luan served the state with loyal might,
Zhu Yi in Tongxiang did his duty right.
People built shrines, praised by the court's decree,
To honor good, deter vice, and keep free.
I planned to report when back in the throne's hall,
To make the temple offerings not fall.
Midway, a county post delayed my quest,
I gazed at Fenglin, sighing with unrest.
The young lord governs not a full moon's phase,
Yet restores ruins with devoted ways.
All my concerns, I laid before his ear,
Each document made orderly and clear.
Gengsang's shrine received its sacred rite,
Lingguang Hall in Lu fell from its height.
From Jin till now, how many years have fled?
Flags, carvings, chariots—all are gone or dead.
Men boast the landscape's beauty, proud and vain,
But who recalls the wise, their worth to gain?
The Duke... (text missing) ...
Only... (text missing) ...
Han's waves lie calm, the mountain stands sublime,
All revere Lord Yang's praise through endless time.