Where did this poem come from? Who wrote it?

For seven years there was no beacon fire on Mount Zhong, and Yifeng City was not locked at night. Silk and bamboo Dongshan words Xie Gong, romantic since the past only Jiangzuo. The minister of history has worked hard to select excellent talents. He personally went to the inner drill ground to review martial arts. As soon as the Xiliu camp gate gave the order, Hualin Ma Shezheng went out. The officers of the army were brave and skillful, and the sound of the golden drum was heard. Suddenly a visitor came to the tent, and a cold star fell from the sky. A dagger worth thousands of gold, blood and flowers, how can this gratitude and hatred be easy? Nie Zheng never knew his face, and Jing Ke did not need to come back. All the officials in the city rushed to interrogate him, and the assassin calmly accepted the interrogation. Three feet Yuan book has not yet been written, and rumors spread that the red child in the palace died. How can there be jade flowers and jade moon singing, why talk about Han Qin in front of the door? He killed Yan Zhijing with no emotion and resentment, and his female companion was sad and full of tears. On that day, the smoke of war spread to Henan and Shanxi, and I remember where I sneaked at the head of the river. My lover fled to the thicket on the same day. Why should I be ashamed to stay with you? In a blink of an eye, the rise and fall of things are uncertain, so that your jade festival shines on Qiantang River. Wandering duckweed stems have no home guests, but also to the West Lake on a small boat. When we meet, we talk about our old feelings. It's hard to send them away. I'm surprised to see them again at the foot of the mountain. Enmities and grudges cycle for a while, Luo Fu in vain with more nostalgia. The bird does not fly high, but also sad, muddy forget the thief came, Who cares about the graceful Tianya tree, forced to plant in the Hou Gate Garden. The doors of the noble house are locked, and the spring light is good. One night the west wind blows down the trees. Singing and dancing, singing and singing and dancing, singing and dancing, singing and singing and dancing, The sound of drums and waves is long and mighty, and my sorrowful heart is hard to calm down. Spring silkworms are dead, silk is still tied, pink butterfly into a lonely dream did not wake up. In the blink of an eye, the luxurious scriptures are revealed at dawn. Who will cast the six thirty-one mistakes? The North isle has a new sorrow, and the West Hill mistook the pavilion tree. Star emissary next year's sun down, preferential treatment ceremony to spring platform; I don't know that young people from the Three Rivers are more powerful than the giants in the sea.