Long Sorrow Song (长恨歌)

The emperor of Han laid weight on looks and pondered what lays countries low; though world’s pilot, many years he sought and did not find.  Now the family Yang had a girl who’d just begun to grow, fostered in deep chambers which people did not know.  Fine mettle born of heaven can hardly let itself be spurned: a single morning saw the Lord King choose her for his side. She’d look askance and from a smile birth a hundred wiles -- at which the blush and liner of Six Palaces was all made colorless. 

In spring’s chill He granted her to bathe at Fine Blue Pool: the watery gloss of that warm spring soaked her soap-slick limbs. Up the servants propped her tender feebleness, and thence she for the first time bore the bounty of His grace. With cloudy hair and flower face, adornment of the gold-step shake, beneath hibiscus canopy, the spring nights elapsed balmily. Over bitter-short spring nights the sun sprang high; from then the Lord King held no early court. From banquets and feasts no rest was to be had; each spring she joined the journeys of the spring, and every night night was her devoted night. The Rear Palace beauties tallied three thousand persons, but three thousand adorations were heaped upon one soul. In the Golden Chamber she made herself fair to serve at night; in the Jade Tower the banquet, set, made drunk the peace of spring. Her sisters elder and younger, brothers junior and senior, on all alike had holdings been conferred; an enviable luster flourished at her family’s door. Consequently, under heaven, heart of sire and dam alike disdained to foster boys, esteemed to nurture girls.

A high place is the Palace Li advancing into turquoise clouds. A heavenly choir, the floating wind, on all sides can be heard. There lolling song and lazy waltz distil in threads, bamboo -- where the Lord King exhausts the day but doesn’t see his fill. 

Now at Yuyang the war drums come to shake the earth -- a shock that breaks the Strains of Rainbow Garments, Feathered Robes. A mist is born about the nine-fold garrison, into which one thousand cars and myriad steeds begin their southwest march. The Emblem of the Halcyon flaps as it starts again and stops. They proceed from the city in excess of one hundred li. But when the Six Armies won’t engage there is no help for it: the winding brows of moth must die before the horse. The garland cast upon the ground, no man receives -- nor feathers of the halcyon, the sparrow gold, nor jade that clasps the head. His face our Lord King covers but recover he cannot. Behind he sees the mingling of the blood and tears – the yellow dust is scattered in the whistling wind.

The “cloud planks” wind their way up Dagger Shelf – but few men descend back down from Mount Emei.  Their banners are listless in the languid light falling on the blue of Shu which laps about her mountain green. The sage host’s passions are each dawn and dusk; on palace tours he glimpses heartache in the color of the moon – and in the night rain’s bells he hears its sound. Heaven winds and earth twists as the dragon car returns; come so far, he hesitates – he cannot go. By the dirt beneath the Mawei slope unseen -- the place where her jade countenance expired to no end. Between lord and vassal in a glance exchanged the garments all are soaked; eastward to the city gates they trust the steeds' return. Come back to the pools and parks, all is as before: in Deep Pool, the hibiscus – the willows of the Endless Court. The hibiscus -- like her face -- the willow -- like her brow; at this how could the tears but flow?

In a spring breeze it's true that peach and pear both flower in the sun -- but autumn rain is when the Wutong sheds its leaves. In the Southern Sanctum of the Palace of the West, the autumn grass abounds; shed leaves brim over steps from which red cannot be swept. The disciples of Pear Garden have newly grown white hair; the ladies of the Pepper Room -- their youth all is now old. In the Western Hall the buzzing flies stir sorry thoughts; the lonely lamp has used its wick and still he has not slept. The hesitation of the bell begins the lengthy night; the stars of the Milky Way, twinkling, herald now the dawn. The dovetailed bricks are chilled with heavy frost -- with whom to share the quilt which, though of eiderdown, is cold?  Long winding through the years the road that parts his life from death, nor once does her soul enter in his dreams. 

A bonze from Lingong comes to Hongdu as a guest -- his the capacity through faith to reach the souls. As passion wrecks the Lord King's thoughts, he asks that mage to make painstaking search. He* volleys to the sky and riding wind like lightning flies. He ascends to heaven, penetrates to earth -- and everywhere extends his search, above exhausting gloaming blue, and golden springs, below -- boundlessly in every place, but nowhere is she seen. Just then he hears that in the ocean is a mountain of divinities, upon which from void and haze a tower rises gracefully into the rainbow clouds.  In that tower live many fairies full and fair, among whom is a person whose style is Great Truth.  Her skin is not unlike the snow, and flowers cannot far surpass her face. 

At the west wing of the Golden Watch he bows before the door of jade, and word is passed to Little Jade to call on the the twin [maids].  On hearing of Han's angel, behind the sumptuous canopy the dreaming soul is roused.  She grabs her clothes and throws the cushions off; she rises and begins to pace -- the curtain of pearls and silver screen are pushed aside.  The cloudy tresses yet are half distraught with sleep, and she comes down into the hall with garlands all in disarray. A wind blows at her god-made dress, which flutters in the breeze as though this were the Rainbow Garment Dance. In her yearning, tears criss-cross her jade-like face -- just like the spring brings rain to the branch of a blooming pear tree. Harboring deep feeling, with fixed gaze, she thanks her Lordly King. On parting, voice and countenance alike fade in the deep.

In the Chamber of the Shining Sun, the matrimony’s cut; in the Palace of Immortals the sun and moon rise up. He turns his head and casts a glance back on the mortal realm. Through dust and mist he cannot see Changan. Only with keepsakes can he show his sentiment – the inlaid case, the golden pins are to be sent ahead. Half a pin he leaves behind along with half a fan. The pin cleaves into gold; the box to treasure splits. Only through the the firmness of the golden pin can he expound his heart: “In heaven or among men we will meet [again].” Before departing, once more and in earnest are delivered words. In the words the oath of these two hearts makes itself known.

It is the seventh of the seventh month in the Palace of Long Life, midnight, no one around, the time of whispered words: “In heaven, would that we were birds of alternating wing; on earth, would that we were branch of intertwining [trees].  Heaven is wide and earth is old, but time is limited. But this regret endures and has no severance date."

*At this point, I am uncertain whether “he” refers to the emperor or to the necromancer, but most likely it is the former.