English Rendering
Where are the belligerent states of bygone days?
Wayfarers are trudging on their way without cheer.
New-come Northerners on the peril fix their gaze; The mountaineers part with their last steep mountain here.
Alone,I make my way dimly lit by moonlight; Saddened,I cross the river shrouded in the haze.
The Southwest land affords a quite different sight: The ripples whisper with roadside bamboo they graze.
