丹青引贈曹霸將軍

Dedication to General Cao Ba on his paintings

**A PRESENT ON PAINTING TO GENERAL CAO BA**

A descendant of the Wei Emperor's line,

You now are but a commoner, obscure and confined.

The heroes' deeds of conquest have long since declined,

Yet your literary grace and elegance still shine.

You first studied calligraphy under Lady Wei,

But regretted you never surpassed Wang Youjun's art.

In painting, you knew not old age would impart—

Wealth and honor to you were but clouds passing free.

During the Kaiyuan era, you were often summoned to court,

Favored with repeated visits to the Nanxun Hall.

The meritorious ministers in Lingyan's painted wall

Had faded in color—their likenesses fell short.

But when the General set brush to silk with care,

He gave them new life, a fresh and vivid face.

On the fine ministers' heads, the sages' caps found their place;

At the fierce generals' waists, the great-feathered arrows flare.

The Duke of Bao and the Duke of E, their hair seemed to stir,

Their heroic forms swept on as if still mid-battle, astir.

The late Emperor's heavenly steed, the Jade-Flower Courser,

Was painted by legions of artists—none could capture its form.

That day it was led before the red steps, to perform,

Standing tall by the palace gate, raising a mighty wind's murmur.

The edict bade the General spread the silk and begin,

With careful craft and deep deliberation within.

In an instant, the true dragon emerged from the ninefold heavens,

Sweeping away all mortal horses of ten thousand ages, undone.

The Jade-Flower now stood upon the imperial couch,

Before the couch and in the courtyard, they faced each other, proud.

The Supreme One smiled and hastened to bestow gold, endowed—

The grooms and stable masters all stood in a melancholy slouch.

Your disciple Han Gan entered your school early on,

He too could paint horses in every distinct form.

But Han only painted flesh, not the bones that transform—

How could he bear to let the noble steed's spirit be gone?

The General's paintings were imbued with divine power;

He would portray any worthy man he chanced to meet.

But now, amid the drifting tides of war and defeat,

He often paints the faces of common passers-by, hour by hour.

In destitution, he meets the scorn of vulgar eyes—

In all the world, none is so poor as he.

Yet look through the ages at those of great renown:

Their whole lives were entangled in hardship's ties.