The Chanyu invades Ji's borders,
The swift cavalry raids the Xiao frontier.
Southern mountain leaves fly down to earth,
Northern sea tumbleweed roots scatter to the sky.
Tadpole-like camps line the Taiyuan road,
Fish-scale formations merge at Wuwei's river.
The three armies afar lean on their staffs,
Chasing each other across ten thousand miles.
Banners flutter softly, quieting the desert's source;
War drums clamor, stirring the Lu Valley.
To the remote border, up to Youling,
Alas, weary of rising and resting.
Horse hooves freeze on slippery stones,
Barbarian felt warms, giving birth to ice.
Clouds and sands vast, heaven's light shut;
River passes gloomy, sea colors congeal.
In the distant Kongtong, a foreign land, who can rely?
Desolate, the frontier heart is often joyless.
Lately seeing travelers fear the White Dragon,
Afar hearing the princess grieve the Yellow Crane.
Mid-spring half gone,
At the crossroads.
The Jasper Terrace garden,
The Jade Gate Pass.
A hundred flowers, fragrant trees, red about to fade,
Second month, orchid marshes, green not yet returned.
Battle clouds don't scatter over Fish-Dragon waters,
Rain and snow still fly over Wild Goose Mountain.
Mountain ridges continuous, endless,
The road far, toiling, I dream of her face.
No motherwort from the north hall is sent,
I long remember the east garden's peach and plum.
Han generals swarm, attacks abound;
Hu foes desolate, the northern wastes cleared.
Lord Han, receiving the tally, knew the distance well;
Zheng Ji, driving his banners, was met sitting.
Fire extinct, smoke sinks in the far west;
Valleys quiet, mountains empty in left Beiping.
If only our generals can fight a hundred battles,
The Son of Heaven need not build the Long Wall.