It is the Fifth Month,

But still the Heaven-high hills

Shine with snow.

There are no flowers

For the heart of the earth is yet too chilly.

From the centre of the camp

Comes the sound of a flute

Playing "The Snapped Willow."

No colour mists the trees,

Not yet have their leaves broken.

At dawn, there is the shock and shouting of battle,

Following the drums and the loud metal gongs.

At night, the soldiers sleep, clasping the pommels of their jade-ornamented saddles.

They sleep lightly,

With their two-edged swords girt below their loins,

So that they may be able in an instant to rush upon the Barbarians

And destroy them.

Horses!

Horses!

Swift as the three dogs' wind!

Whips stinging the clear air like the sharp calling of birds,

They ride across the camel-back bridge

Over the river Wei.

They bend the bows,

Curving them away from the moon which shines behind them

Over their own country of Han.

They fasten feathers on their arrows

To destroy the immense arrogance of the foe.

Now the regiments are divided

And scattered like the five-pointed stars,

Sea mist envelops the deserted camp,

The task is accomplished,

And the portrait of Ho P'iao Yao

Hangs magnificently in the Lin Pavilion.

When Autumn burns along the hills,

The Barbarian hordes mount their horses

And pour down from the North.

Then, in the country of Han,

The Heavenly soldiers arise

And depart from their homes.

The High General

The Heavenly soldiers are returning

From the sterile plains of the North.

Because the Barbarians desired their horses

To drink of the streams of the South,

Therefore were our spears held level to the charge

In a hundred fights.

In straight battle our soldiers fought

To gain the supreme gratitude

Of the Most High Emperor.

They seized the snow of the Inland Sea

And devoured it in their terrible hunger.

They lay on the sand at the top of the Dragon Mound

And slept.

All this they bore that the Moon Clan