Song of the War Chariots

Song of the War Chariots

The rumble of wagons, the neighing of horses,

Each traveler with bow and arrows at his waist.

Parents and wives rush to see them off,

Dust so thick the Xianyang Bridge disappears.

They seize his clothes, stamp their feet, block the road and weep—

Their wailing rises straight into the clouds.

A passerby on the road asks a traveler a question;

The traveler only answers: "They draft us again and again.

Some went north to guard the river at fifteen,

And at forty were sent west to farm the frontier.

When they left, the village head wrapped their heads for them;

They come back with white hair, only to be garrisoned again.

At the frontier, blood flows like the sea—

Yet the Warrior Emperor's will to expand knows nothing of cease.

Have you not heard? In Shandong's two hundred districts,

A thousand villages grow nothing but brambles and thorns.

Even if strong women take up the hoe and plow,

The crops grow wild, with rows running every which way.

And the Qin soldiers, hardened to bitter battle—

Are driven to war no differently from dogs and chickens.

You, sir, though you ask, how dare a conscript voice his grievance?

Take this winter alone—the troops from the west are still not released.

The county officials press for rent—

But where is rent and tax supposed to come from?

Truly, one learns to dread the birth of a boy

And to welcome instead the birth of a girl.

A girl can still be married to a neighbor;

A boy lies buried, lost among the wild grasses.

Have you not seen, by the shores of Qinghai,

The ancient bones of the dead, no one to gather them?

New ghosts writhe in anguish, old ghosts weep—

When the sky is dark and the rain falls damp, their cries chirp and sob."