The arrows of Chimpoko are tipped with hawks' feathers;
Our pennons gleam with swallow-tails.
They wave alone, proclaiming the new order.
A thousand companies raise a single shout.
In the dark forest the grass is frightened by the wind.
At night the general stretches his bow.
In the early morning he finds the white feather
Hidden amid white stones.
Dark night; the wild geese fly high.
The Shanyu are fleeing, fleeing.
We pray for daylight and a cavalry charge:
A great snowfall conceals our bows and knives.
In the desert our broad tents filled with food:
The western tribesmen praise the victory.
We drink and dance together in iron mail:
The thunder of drums moves the mountain rivers.