Though drunk, we lit the lamp to see the glaive.Sober, we heard the horns from tent to tent.Under the flags, beef grilled was eaten by the warriors brave.The martial airs were played by fifty instruments.It was an autumn maneuver in the field.On gallant steed, running full speed,We’d shoot with twanging bows.Recovering the lost land for the sovereign,It is the everlasting fame that we would win.But alas! White hair grows.--XinQiji.Dance of the cavalry