Tune: “Pride of Fishermen”
When autumn comes to the frontier, the scene looks drear,
South-bound wild geese won’t stay
E’en for a day.
An uproar rises with horns blowing far and near。walled in by peaks, smoke rises straight
At sunset over isolated town with fastened gate。
I hold a cup of wine, yet home is faraway,
The Northwest is not won and I’m obliged to stay。
At the flutes’ doleful sound
Over frost-covered ground,
None fall asleep,
The general’s hair turns white and soldiers weep.