Song of the Old General (Wang Wei)

Song of the Old General (Wang Wei)

**The Old General** (Wang Wei)

At fifteen, at twenty,

I walked and captured a barbarian horse.

I shot and killed the white-browed tiger in the mountains—

How could I yield to the yellow-whiskered lad of Ye?

My single body fought across three thousand leagues;

One sword once stood against a million troops.

The Han soldiers struck swift as thunderbolts;

The barbarian cavalry scattered, fearing caltrops.

Wei Qing's undefeated record was heaven's favor;

Gong's lack of merit was his unlucky fate.

Since I was cast aside, I've grown old and frail;

The world's affairs have drifted by—my hair is white.

Once my flying arrows left no whole target;

Now a tumor grows by my left elbow.

By the roadside I sell the melon of a former marquis;

Before my door I plant willows like the Master's.

Ancient trees stretch endlessly through the desolate lane;

Bleak, cold mountains face the empty window.

I swear to make the spring gush forth at Shule—

Not to be like Yingchuan, drinking in vain.

Beneath the Helan Mountains, battle formations cloud like clouds;

War dispatches gallop to and fro, heard day and night.

The envoy recruits young men in the Three Rivers;

Imperial edicts send out generals along five roads.

I try to brush my iron armor—snow-bright;

I take up my precious sword—its star-pattern stirs.

I long to draw the Yan bow and shoot the great general;

I would shame the Yue troops to alarm our lord's army.

Do not dismiss the old Yunzhong governor—

I can still fight one more battle to win merit.