Long ago I traveled in Songzhong,
The capital of Prince Xiao of Liang.
Its fame now second to Chenliu,
Its splendor matched Bei and Wei.
The town had ninety thousand homes,
Tall buildings shone on thoroughfares.
Boats and carts from half the world,
Hosts and guests in much delight.
White blades avenged the unjust,
Gold was poured without regard.
Killing in the dusty world,
Repaid in an instant.
I recall with Gao and Li,
We bonded at the tavern.
Both men strong in literary grace,
Made my face glow with joy.
In high spirits we climbed Chuitai,
Gazed on ruins over plain weeds.
The clouds over Mangdang gone,
Geese and ducks call in vain.
The late emperor loved war,
The realm not yet withered.
Fierce generals took the Western Regions,
Long halberds broke the Linhu.
A million attacked one city,
Victory reported, no defeat.
Silk armor discarded like mud,
An inch of land cost a hundred men.
Expanding borders, feats unfinished,
Yuanhe era left the great furnace.
Chaos scattered friends all gone,
Piled-up years rush by.
My decline, where shall I rely?
Living and dead, I sigh again.
Desolation adds to shame,
Alone in a corner of the sky.
The noble steed has long departed,
Common horses merely ordinary.
No more to see Yan and Bao,
I moor my boat, lie in Jing and Wu.
Before meals, I vomit then eat,
Always fear failing to care for the orphan.