Down to the utmost southern verge high dignity has gone.
The greatest Minister of State thy writing beareth on.
From Halls of Ceremony called the glory onward flows.
How many barbarous nations greet thy tablet as it goes!
About yon travelling Yamen what flowery gums exhale,
As southward bound through drizzling mist bears that Spring-laden sail!
But ah, alas! how can I tell when from the purple sea
The destiny of heaven will send you back again to me?