| 英譯： |
It is June when the south wind blows the white sand,
And the oxen pant under the moon, their gusty breath
turning to mist.
The lowland air is humid and suffocating, $(, and it is hard
to bear)$.
There is no coach on the long road in the burning heat.
What do you think of going by way of the river?
You leave for Chin-ling, hoisting your sail high to the
breeze.
Your parents are waiting and watching for you, leaning
against the gate.
In Luh-chung there is the home of your childhood.
My family live for the time at the Sand Hill;
I have not returned for three years, and they are dis-
tracted.
Please, go and see them!—You know Po-chin, my boy.
He must be running his toy cart and riding on the back
of a white sheep.
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