Song of the Stone Drums (Han Yu)

Scholar Zhang held the stone drum inscription rubbings in his hands and urged me to try composing a song about the stone drums. Du Fu is no longer in this world, and Li Bai has long since passed away; my learning is shallow, so what can I do with these stone drums? The royal institutions of the Zhou dynasty declined, and the realm was in turmoil. King Xuan rose up in anger, brandishing the celestial halberd. He grandly opened the Bright Hall to receive homage, and the swords of the feudal lords clashed together as they entered. A great hunt was held at Qiyang to display prowess, and birds and beasts from ten thousand li were all ensnared and captured. Achievements were inscribed and recorded in writing to inform ten thousand generations; stones were chiseled into drums, destroying the lofty cliffs. The attendant ministers were all of the highest talent, selected to compose the inscriptions and leave them among the mountains. These stone drums have endured rain, sun, and wildfire, guarded by spirits who take pains to drive off harm. Where did you obtain this paper rubbing? Every hair and fine detail is revealed without error. The diction is rigorous, the meaning deep and dense, difficult to grasp when read; the script resembles neither clerical script nor tadpole characters. With such antiquity, how can damage to the strokes be avoided? They are like a swift sword severing a flood dragon and a crocodile. The characters are like the soaring of a mythical bird and the dancing of phoenixes, with many immortals descending, and coral intertwined with green trees. They are also like the imposing strength of golden ropes and iron chains locking together, or an ancient tripod leaping from water, with dragons soaring and shuttles flying. The shallow Confucians who compiled the Book of Songs did not include these texts; the "Greater Odes" and "Lesser Odes" appear cramped and narrow, lacking fullness and detail. Confucius traveled westward but could not reach the state of Qin; he plucked the stars but omitted the sun and moon. Alas, I love antiquities but was born too late; facing these stone drums, my tears fall like rain. I recall when I was first summoned as a Doctor of the Imperial Academy, that year the reign name was changed to Yuanhe. An old friend served as a military officer in the Right Assistant region and surveyed and excavated the pit where the stone drums were placed. I washed my cap, bathed, changed clothes, and reported to the Libationer—how could such a precious treasure be common? Wrapped in felt and mats, they could be transported immediately; ten stone drums would only require a few camels to carry. If presented to the Imperial Ancestral Temple, compared to the tripod of Gao, their value and brilliance would surpass it by a hundredfold. If imperial favor allowed them to be kept in the Imperial Academy, students could explain and discuss them. Even the viewing of the classics at the Hongdu Gate caused crowding and congestion; now, people from all over the realm would surely rush here. Remove the moss and lichen to reveal the stone drums' edges and corners, and place them securely, level and not tilted. Cover them with deep eaves for protection, hoping they will endure for ages without damage. The high officials at court are worldly-wise; how could they be moved? They merely hum and ha evasively. Shepherd boys use the stone drums to strike fire, and oxen sharpen their horns on them—who would still reach out to touch them? Day by day they erode, month by month they melt away, ultimately buried; for six years I have gazed westward, only sighing in vain. Wang Xizhi's vulgar calligraphy relies on charming postures; a few sheets of paper can trade for white geese. The eight dynasties after Zhou have ended their wars, yet no one has gathered and organized these drums—what can be done about it? Now we are in times of peace and tranquility, and the court esteems Confucian learning, honoring Confucius and Mencius. How can these stone drums be brought up for discussion at court? I hope to rely on eloquent eloquence, flowing like a hanging river. The song of the stone drums ends here; alas, my wish may be in vain.