Thick as the Southern Peak or fine as a needle, its length changing as my heart wills.

長 is zhǎng here — the growth-and-change band rather than the cháng of measured length — because 長短 is the thing that 變, changes. 南岳 is Mount Heng, one of the Five Marchmounts.

Lifted lightly and coloured clouds are born; brightly it flies up like a bolt of lightning.

Two doubled openings in a row, 輕輕 and 亮亮, which is the same device the chief's portrait used at its second line. The rhapsody is settling into a rhythm.

Streaming cold air presses a chill on a man; strand upon strand, a killing mist shows in the air.

攸攸 and 條條 again — four doubled openings in three lines. 中 is plain zhōng, in the middle of.

Subduing dragons and quelling tigers it keeps close at my side; to the sky's edge and the sea's corner it has travelled everywhere.

降 is xiáng, to subdue — the sealed chapters give xiáng lóng at all three of their sites. 天涯海角 is still current for the ends of the earth, and it turns up on tourist signage at the southern tip of Hainan to this day.

Once I took this rod and made havoc in the Palace of Heaven; its dignity scattered the Peach Banquet.

將 is jiāng, the grammar that puts an object in front of its verb. 蟠桃宴 is the Queen Mother's banquet of immortality peaches, which Wukong wrecked in the seventh chapter after discovering he had not been invited.