The Yuanhe Emperor, divine and martial in bearing,
Who could he be? The sage kings Xuan and Xi.
He vowed to wash away the shame of past emperors,
Sitting in the law palace, receiving tribute from all lands.
For fifty years, rebels held Huaixi,
Fierce wolves bred jackals, jackals bred bears.
Not holding mountains and rivers, but flat land,
With long spears and sharp halberds, they defied the sun.
The emperor gained a sage minister named Du,
Whom rebels hacked but could not kill, divinely protected.
With the prime minister's seal at his waist, he led the army,
Under gloomy winds and the emperor's somber flag.
Su, Wu, Gu, Tong served as his claws and teeth,
Secretaries followed, carrying brushes to record.
The army marshal was wise and brave,
His hundred and forty thousand troops like fierce tigers.
They entered Cai, bound the rebel, offered him at the temple,
His merit was peerless, the emperor's grace boundless.
The emperor said, 'Du, your merit is first,
Your subordinate Han Yu should compose the record.'
Han Yu bowed, danced for joy, and said,
'I can carve words in metal and stone.'
In ancient times, such were called great writers,
This task was not tied to official duty.
Since olden times, the right man does not decline,
The emperor nodded repeatedly at these words.
The lord retired, fasted, sat in a small chamber,
Dipped his great brush, how freely it flowed!
He amended words from the Canons of Yao and Shun,
Altered verses from 'Temple' and 'Birth of the People.'
The text, in a unique style, was written on paper,
At dawn, he bowed again and spread it on red steps.
The memorial said, 'Your subject Yu risks death to present,
A stele singing of the holy, sacred feat.'
The stele stood three zhang high, characters large as dippers,
Carried by a sacred turtle, coiled with dragons.
Its lines strange, words weighty, few grasped their meaning,
Slanderers told the emperor it was biased.
A hundred-foot-long rope dragged the stele down,
Coarse sand and great stones ground it smooth.
But this lord's writing was like primal energy,
Already entered people's hearts and livers.
The Tang Basin and Confucius' Tripod bore inscriptions,
Now the vessels are gone, but the words remain.
Alas! The sage emperor and sage minister,
Together shone brightly, spreading pure glory.
If this lord's writing is not shown to posterity,
How can it match the deeds of the Three and Five Sovereigns?
I wish to copy it ten thousand times, recite it ten thousand times,
Till spittle flows from my mouth, my right hand calloused.
To pass it down through seventy-two generations,
As the jade case for Fengshan rites, the foundation of the Bright Hall.