Wiping the Dust at the Five-Hundred-Stone Grotto Heaven, Vol. 5

Writing out the sorrow of parting, I flip through the pages. I pity the nine provinces, the path of the ghosts is narrow. I must look out at the vast ocean from the perspective of Mo Di a philosopher emphasizing universal love, and talk with Zhuang Zhou the Daoist sage about books equal to one's own body. I provide these for those traveling on the road; the mountains and rivers of the old country enter as I lean on the tower, fearing to stretch my tired eyes toward the ends of the earth.

The wind and rain of the rebellion do not make an autumn Fifth: I rest the border fires for a moment and force myself to be at ease. Leaving the gate, I laugh to the west and speak of Chang'an the ancient capital, symbolic of the center of civilization. Gold and silk were preserved to protect the peace. Ice and charcoal were ground together by treacherous officials. In the south, the wanderers are injured by the Baiyue the southern tribes. The eastern domain has fallen, causing pain to the Sanhan the Korean peninsula. Driving my carriage to leave, I still remain stranded; the wind and snow at the mountain pass make me fear the early cold.

Sixth: The sky-touching withered grass is a tent of desolate time. Haggard in the autumn wind, my tears fill my kerchief. Like fruit under the tree, I think of the horse in the pass. In the reeds, I hide and let others call me by name. Crossing the river, I worried early that the Hu would divide the Jin. Stepping into the sea, I am finally swayed by Zhao taking over Qin. I collect my strategies and weapons to hand them to my descendants; heaven and earth are exhausted, and I am a rotting scholar.

Seventh: Do not laugh that the talk of the sea is bold and crude. The situation before the eyes is unprecedented in history. I do not yet allow Fan Kuai a famous general to boast of being a "meritorious dog." Finally, I make Lin Zong a Confucian scholar sigh at the "crow on the roof" an allusion to "loving the house and its crow," meaning to love someone entirely. Floating on the sea, I already pity that my path is ruined. Moving mountains, who pities the foolishness of this man? On the rivers and lakes, I make plans for a small boat; the autumn face covers the ground, snow dotting the reeds.

Eighth: I hold back hatred, and the orchids grieve the wide fragrance. In the south of the sky, I am lonely and sigh at the departure from the group. The traveler's sorrow lasts all night, pitying the river moon. My dream of home is a thousand layers, separated by mountain clouds. With a long flute, I play a new Daoist tune. In short clothes, who recognizes the old general? The heroic heart has faded, but the leisurely sentiment remains. The four seas...