There once was a man, sent on military missions, A wanderer, from youth, on the You and Yan frontiers. Under the horses' hoofs he would meet his foes And, recklessly risking his seven-foot body, Would slay whoever dared confront Those moustaches that bristled like porcupinequills. ...There were dark clouds below the hills, there were white clouds above them, But before a man has served full time, how can he go back? In eastern Liao a girl was waiting, a girl of fifteen years, Deft with a guitar, expert in dance and song. ...She seems to be fluting, even now, a reed-song of home, Filling every soldier's eyes with homesick tears.