A cold wind at evening
whipped up Yi River's waves;
Chien-li struck his lute-strings
and Master Ching K'o sang.
In white robes of mourning, weeping tears,
they sacrificed to the road-god;
then, at sunset, he mounted his carriage
and left, not one glance back!
In the hall of the King of Ch'in
they unrolled the map;
Ch'in Wu-yang turned pale, afraid,
he dared not say a word.
Hand grasping the dagger, Ching K'o then
struck only the pillar of bronze:
the enterprise already failed,
how useless his curse so bold!
Yes, alas, Prince Tan of Yen,
with plans so feeble, was destined to expire;
T'ien Kuang may have slit his own throat —
what point was there in that?
And what a shame that to no end
they pushed General Fan to suicide.