且如今年冬,
未休关西卒。
县官急索租,
租税从何出。
信知生男恶,
反是生女好。
生女犹得嫁比邻,
生男埋没随百草。
君不见,
青海头,
古来白骨无人收。
新鬼烦冤旧鬼哭,
天阴雨湿声啾啾。
The Army Wagons: A Ballad
Wagons rattling,
horses neighing,
men walking, each with bow and arrows at the waist.
Moms and dads, wives and children rush along seeing them off,
the dust is such you cannot see the Xianyang Bridge.
Pulling at clothes, stamping feet they block the road weeping,
weeping voices rise straight up against the clouds and high wisps.
Someone passing by the road asks a man on the march,
the man on the march says only: “They're calling up troops often now.
Some from the age of fifteen are north guarding the River,
then as soon as they reach forty they work military settlements in the
west.
When they leave, the village headman gives them turbans;
coming home, their hair is white, and then back to garrison the frontier.
The blood that has flowed on the frontiers could make up an ocean's
waters,
and our Warrior Emperor's plans to extend the frontier are not yet
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