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Seven-character-quatrain
七言古詩 韓愈 謁衡嶽廟遂宿嶽寺題門樓
五嶽祭秩皆三公， 四方環鎮嵩當中。
火維地荒足妖怪， 天假神柄專其雄。
噴雲泄霧藏半腹， 雖有絕頂誰能窮？
我來正逢秋雨節， 陰氣晦昧無清風。
潛心默禱若有應， 豈非正直能感通？
須臾靜掃眾峰出， 仰見突兀撐青空。
紫蓋連延接天柱， 石廩騰擲堆祝融。
森然魄動下馬拜， 松柏一逕趨靈宮。
紛牆丹柱動光彩， 鬼物圖畫填青紅。
升階傴僂薦脯酒， 欲以菲薄明其衷。
廟內老人識神意， 睢盱偵伺能鞠躬。
手持盃珓導我擲， 云此最吉餘難同。
竄逐蠻荒幸不死， 衣食纔足甘長終。
侯王將相望久絕， 神縱欲福難為功。
夜投佛寺上高閣， 星月掩映雲曈曨。
猿鳴鐘動不知曙， 杲杲寒日生於東。
火維地荒足妖怪， 天假神柄專其雄。
噴雲泄霧藏半腹， 雖有絕頂誰能窮？
我來正逢秋雨節， 陰氣晦昧無清風。
潛心默禱若有應， 豈非正直能感通？
須臾靜掃眾峰出， 仰見突兀撐青空。
紫蓋連延接天柱， 石廩騰擲堆祝融。
森然魄動下馬拜， 松柏一逕趨靈宮。
紛牆丹柱動光彩， 鬼物圖畫填青紅。
升階傴僂薦脯酒， 欲以菲薄明其衷。
廟內老人識神意， 睢盱偵伺能鞠躬。
手持盃珓導我擲， 云此最吉餘難同。
竄逐蠻荒幸不死， 衣食纔足甘長終。
侯王將相望久絕， 神縱欲福難為功。
夜投佛寺上高閣， 星月掩映雲曈曨。
猿鳴鐘動不知曙， 杲杲寒日生於東。
Seven-character-quatrain
Han Yu
STOPPING AT A TEMPLE ON HENG MOUNTAIN I
INSCRIBE THIS POEM IN THE GATE-TOWER
The five Holy Mountains have the rank of the Three Dukes.
The other four make a ring, with the Song Mountain midmost.
To this one, in the fire-ruled south, where evil signs are rife,
Heaven gave divine power, ordaining it a peer.
All the clouds and hazes are hidden in its girdle;
And its forehead is beholden only by a few.
...I came here in autumn, during the rainy season,
When the sky was overcast and the clear wind gone.
I quieted my mind and prayed, hoping for an answer;
For assuredly righteous thinking reaches to high heaven.
And soon all the mountain-peaks were showing me their faces;
I looked up at a pinnacle that held the clean blue sky:
The wide Purple-Canopy joined the Celestial Column;
The Stone Granary leapt, while the Fire God stood still.
Moved by this token, I dismounted to offer thanks.
A long path of pine and cypress led to the temple.
Its white walls and purple pillars shone, and the vivid colour
Of gods and devils filled the place with patterns of red and blue.
I climbed the steps and, bending down to sacrifice, besought
That my pure heart might be welcome, in spite of my humble offering.
The old priest professed to know the judgment of the God:
He was polite and reverent, making many bows.
He handed me divinity-cups, he showed me how to use them
And told me that my fortune was the very best of all.
Though exiled to a barbarous land, mine is a happy life.
Plain food and plain clothes are all I ever wanted.
To be prince, duke, premier, general, was never my desire;
And if the God would bless me, what better could he grant than this ? --
At night I lie down to sleep in the top of a high tower;
While moon and stars glimmer through the darkness of the clouds....
Apes call, a bell sounds. And ready for dawn
I see arise, far in the east the cold bright sun.
The other four make a ring, with the Song Mountain midmost.
To this one, in the fire-ruled south, where evil signs are rife,
Heaven gave divine power, ordaining it a peer.
All the clouds and hazes are hidden in its girdle;
And its forehead is beholden only by a few.
...I came here in autumn, during the rainy season,
When the sky was overcast and the clear wind gone.
I quieted my mind and prayed, hoping for an answer;
For assuredly righteous thinking reaches to high heaven.
And soon all the mountain-peaks were showing me their faces;
I looked up at a pinnacle that held the clean blue sky:
The wide Purple-Canopy joined the Celestial Column;
The Stone Granary leapt, while the Fire God stood still.
Moved by this token, I dismounted to offer thanks.
A long path of pine and cypress led to the temple.
Its white walls and purple pillars shone, and the vivid colour
Of gods and devils filled the place with patterns of red and blue.
I climbed the steps and, bending down to sacrifice, besought
That my pure heart might be welcome, in spite of my humble offering.
The old priest professed to know the judgment of the God:
He was polite and reverent, making many bows.
He handed me divinity-cups, he showed me how to use them
And told me that my fortune was the very best of all.
Though exiled to a barbarous land, mine is a happy life.
Plain food and plain clothes are all I ever wanted.
To be prince, duke, premier, general, was never my desire;
And if the God would bless me, what better could he grant than this ? --
At night I lie down to sleep in the top of a high tower;
While moon and stars glimmer through the darkness of the clouds....
Apes call, a bell sounds. And ready for dawn
I see arise, far in the east the cold bright sun.
七言古詩 韓愈 石鼓歌
張生手持石鼓文， 勸我識作石鼓歌。
少陵無人謫仙死， 才薄將奈石鼓何？
周綱淩遲四海沸， 宣王憤起揮天戈；
大開明堂受朝賀， 諸侯劍佩鳴相磨。
蒐于岐陽騁雄俊， 萬里禽獸皆遮羅。
鐫功勒成告萬世， 鑿石作鼓隳嵯峨。
從臣才藝咸第一， 揀選撰刻留山阿。
雨淋日炙野火燎， 鬼物守護煩撝呵。
公從何處得紙本？ 毫髮盡備無差訛。
辭嚴義密讀難曉， 字體不類隸與蝌。
年深豈免有缺畫？ 快劍砍斷生蛟鼉。
鸞翔鳳翥眾仙下， 珊瑚碧樹交枝柯。
金繩鐵索鎖鈕壯， 古鼎躍水龍騰梭。
陋儒編詩不收入， 二雅褊迫無委蛇。
孔子西行不到秦， 掎摭星宿遺羲娥。
嗟予好古生苦晚， 對此涕淚雙滂沱。
憶昔初蒙博士徵， 其年始改稱元和。
故人從軍在右輔， 為我度量掘臼科。
濯冠沐浴告祭酒， 如此至寶存豈多？
氈包席裹可立致， 十鼓祇載數駱駝。
薦諸太廟比郜鼎， 光價豈止百倍過。
聖恩若許留太學， 諸生講解得切磋。
觀經鴻都尚填咽， 坐見舉國來奔波。
剜苔剔蘚露節角， 安置妥帖平不頗。
大廈深簷與蓋覆， 經歷久遠期無佗。
中朝大官老於事， 詎肯感激徒媕婀？
牧童敲火牛礪角， 誰復著手為摩挲？
日銷月鑠就埋沒， 六年西顧空吟哦。
羲之俗書趁姿媚， 數紙尚可博白鵝。
繼周八代爭戰罷， 無人收拾理則那。
方今太平日無事， 柄任儒術崇丘軻。
安能以此上論列？ 願借辯口如懸河。
石鼓之歌止於此， 嗚呼吾意其蹉跎。
少陵無人謫仙死， 才薄將奈石鼓何？
周綱淩遲四海沸， 宣王憤起揮天戈；
大開明堂受朝賀， 諸侯劍佩鳴相磨。
蒐于岐陽騁雄俊， 萬里禽獸皆遮羅。
鐫功勒成告萬世， 鑿石作鼓隳嵯峨。
從臣才藝咸第一， 揀選撰刻留山阿。
雨淋日炙野火燎， 鬼物守護煩撝呵。
公從何處得紙本？ 毫髮盡備無差訛。
辭嚴義密讀難曉， 字體不類隸與蝌。
年深豈免有缺畫？ 快劍砍斷生蛟鼉。
鸞翔鳳翥眾仙下， 珊瑚碧樹交枝柯。
金繩鐵索鎖鈕壯， 古鼎躍水龍騰梭。
陋儒編詩不收入， 二雅褊迫無委蛇。
孔子西行不到秦， 掎摭星宿遺羲娥。
嗟予好古生苦晚， 對此涕淚雙滂沱。
憶昔初蒙博士徵， 其年始改稱元和。
故人從軍在右輔， 為我度量掘臼科。
濯冠沐浴告祭酒， 如此至寶存豈多？
氈包席裹可立致， 十鼓祇載數駱駝。
薦諸太廟比郜鼎， 光價豈止百倍過。
聖恩若許留太學， 諸生講解得切磋。
觀經鴻都尚填咽， 坐見舉國來奔波。
剜苔剔蘚露節角， 安置妥帖平不頗。
大廈深簷與蓋覆， 經歷久遠期無佗。
中朝大官老於事， 詎肯感激徒媕婀？
牧童敲火牛礪角， 誰復著手為摩挲？
日銷月鑠就埋沒， 六年西顧空吟哦。
羲之俗書趁姿媚， 數紙尚可博白鵝。
繼周八代爭戰罷， 無人收拾理則那。
方今太平日無事， 柄任儒術崇丘軻。
安能以此上論列？ 願借辯口如懸河。
石鼓之歌止於此， 嗚呼吾意其蹉跎。
Seven-character-ancient-verse
Han Yu
A POEM ON THE STONE DRUMS
Chang handed me this tracing, from the stone drums,
Beseeching me to write a poem on the stone drums.
Du Fu has gone. Li Bai is dead.
What can my poor talent do for the stone drums?
...When the Zhou power waned and China was bubbling,
Emperor Xuan, up in wrath, waved his holy spear:
And opened his Great Audience, receiving all the tributes
Of kings and lords who came to him with a tune of clanging weapons.
They held a hunt in Qiyang and proved their marksmanship:
Fallen birds and animals were strewn three thousand miles.
And the exploit was recorded, to inform new generations....
Cut out of jutting cliffs, these drums made of stone -
On which poets and artisans, all of the first order,
Had indited and chiselled-were set in the deep mountains
To be washed by rain, baked by sun, burned by wildfire,
Eyed by evil spirits; and protected by the gods.
...Where can he have found the tracing on this paper? --
True to the original, not altered by a hair,
The meaning deep, the phrases cryptic, difficult to read.
And the style of the characters neither square nor tadpole.
Time has not yet vanquished the beauty of these letters --
Looking like sharp daggers that pierce live crocodiles,
Like phoenix-mates dancing, like angels hovering down,
Like trees of jade and coral with interlocking branches,
Like golden cord and iron chain tied together tight,
Like incense-tripods flung in the sea, like dragons mounting heaven.
Historians, gathering ancient poems, forgot to gather these,
To make the two Books of Musical Song more colourful and striking;
Confucius journeyed in the west, but not to the Qin Kingdom,
He chose our planet and our stars but missed the sun and moon
I who am fond of antiquity, was born too late
And, thinking of these wonderful things, cannot hold back my tears....
I remember, when I was awarded my highest degree,
During the first year of Yuanho,
How a friend of mine, then at the western camp,
Offered to assist me in removing these old relics.
I bathed and changed, then made my plea to the college president
And urged on him the rareness of these most precious things.
They could be wrapped in rugs, be packed and sent in boxes
And carried on only a few camels: ten stone drums
To grace the Imperial Temple like the Incense-Pot of Gao --
Or their lustre and their value would increase a hundredfold,
If the monarch would present them to the university,
Where students could study them and doubtless decipher them,
And multitudes, attracted to the capital of culture
Prom all corners of the Empire, would be quick to gather.
We could scour the moss, pick out the dirt, restore the original surface,
And lodge them in a fitting and secure place for ever,
Covered by a massive building with wide eaves
Where nothing more might happen to them as it had before.
...But government officials grow fixed in their ways
And never will initiate beyond old precedent;
So herd- boys strike the drums for fire, cows polish horns on them,
With no one to handle them reverentially.
Still ageing and decaying, soon they may be effaced.
Six years I have sighed for them, chanting toward the west....
The familiar script of Wang Xizhi, beautiful though it was,
Could be had, several pages, just for a few white geese,
But now, eight dynasties after the Zhou, and all the wars over,
Why should there be nobody caring for these drums?
The Empire is at peace, the government free.
Poets again are honoured and Confucians and Mencians....
Oh, how may this petition be carried to the throne?
It needs indeed an eloquent flow, like a cataract -
But, alas, my voice has broken, in my song of the stone drums,
To a sound of supplication choked with its own tears.
Beseeching me to write a poem on the stone drums.
Du Fu has gone. Li Bai is dead.
What can my poor talent do for the stone drums?
...When the Zhou power waned and China was bubbling,
Emperor Xuan, up in wrath, waved his holy spear:
And opened his Great Audience, receiving all the tributes
Of kings and lords who came to him with a tune of clanging weapons.
They held a hunt in Qiyang and proved their marksmanship:
Fallen birds and animals were strewn three thousand miles.
And the exploit was recorded, to inform new generations....
Cut out of jutting cliffs, these drums made of stone -
On which poets and artisans, all of the first order,
Had indited and chiselled-were set in the deep mountains
To be washed by rain, baked by sun, burned by wildfire,
Eyed by evil spirits; and protected by the gods.
...Where can he have found the tracing on this paper? --
True to the original, not altered by a hair,
The meaning deep, the phrases cryptic, difficult to read.
And the style of the characters neither square nor tadpole.
Time has not yet vanquished the beauty of these letters --
Looking like sharp daggers that pierce live crocodiles,
Like phoenix-mates dancing, like angels hovering down,
Like trees of jade and coral with interlocking branches,
Like golden cord and iron chain tied together tight,
Like incense-tripods flung in the sea, like dragons mounting heaven.
Historians, gathering ancient poems, forgot to gather these,
To make the two Books of Musical Song more colourful and striking;
Confucius journeyed in the west, but not to the Qin Kingdom,
He chose our planet and our stars but missed the sun and moon
I who am fond of antiquity, was born too late
And, thinking of these wonderful things, cannot hold back my tears....
I remember, when I was awarded my highest degree,
During the first year of Yuanho,
How a friend of mine, then at the western camp,
Offered to assist me in removing these old relics.
I bathed and changed, then made my plea to the college president
And urged on him the rareness of these most precious things.
They could be wrapped in rugs, be packed and sent in boxes
And carried on only a few camels: ten stone drums
To grace the Imperial Temple like the Incense-Pot of Gao --
Or their lustre and their value would increase a hundredfold,
If the monarch would present them to the university,
Where students could study them and doubtless decipher them,
And multitudes, attracted to the capital of culture
Prom all corners of the Empire, would be quick to gather.
We could scour the moss, pick out the dirt, restore the original surface,
And lodge them in a fitting and secure place for ever,
Covered by a massive building with wide eaves
Where nothing more might happen to them as it had before.
...But government officials grow fixed in their ways
And never will initiate beyond old precedent;
So herd- boys strike the drums for fire, cows polish horns on them,
With no one to handle them reverentially.
Still ageing and decaying, soon they may be effaced.
Six years I have sighed for them, chanting toward the west....
The familiar script of Wang Xizhi, beautiful though it was,
Could be had, several pages, just for a few white geese,
But now, eight dynasties after the Zhou, and all the wars over,
Why should there be nobody caring for these drums?
The Empire is at peace, the government free.
Poets again are honoured and Confucians and Mencians....
Oh, how may this petition be carried to the throne?
It needs indeed an eloquent flow, like a cataract -
But, alas, my voice has broken, in my song of the stone drums,
To a sound of supplication choked with its own tears.
七言古詩 柳宗元 漁翁
漁翁夜傍西巖宿， 曉汲清湘燃楚燭。
煙銷日出不見人， 欸乃一聲山水綠。
迴看天際下中流， 巖上無心雲相逐。
煙銷日出不見人， 欸乃一聲山水綠。
迴看天際下中流， 巖上無心雲相逐。
Seven-character-ancient-verse
Liu Zongyuan
AN OLD FISHERMAN
An old fisherman spent the night here, under the western cliff;
He dipped up water from the pure Hsiang and made a bamboo fire;
And then, at sunrise, he went his way through the cloven mist,
With only the creak of his paddle left, in the greenness of mountain and river.
...I turn and see the waves moving as from heaven,
And clouds above the cliffs coming idly, one by one.
He dipped up water from the pure Hsiang and made a bamboo fire;
And then, at sunrise, he went his way through the cloven mist,
With only the creak of his paddle left, in the greenness of mountain and river.
...I turn and see the waves moving as from heaven,
And clouds above the cliffs coming idly, one by one.
七言古詩 白居易 長恨歌
漢皇重色思傾國， 御宇多年求不得。
楊家有女初長成， 養在深閨人未識。
天生麗質難自棄， 一朝選在君王側；
回眸一笑百媚生， 六宮粉黛無顏色。
春寒賜浴華清池， 溫泉水滑洗凝脂；
侍兒扶起嬌無力， 始是新承恩澤時。
雲鬢花顏金步搖， 芙蓉帳暖度春宵；
春宵苦短日高起， 從此君王不早朝。
承歡侍宴無閑暇， 春從春遊夜專夜。
後宮佳麗三千人， 三千寵愛在一身。
金星妝成嬌侍夜， 玉樓宴罷醉和春。
姊妹弟兄皆列士， 可憐光彩生門戶；
遂令天下父母心， 不重生男重生女。
驪宮高處入青雲， 仙樂風飄處處聞；
緩歌慢舞凝絲竹， 盡日君王看不足。
漁陽鼙鼓動地來， 驚破霓裳羽衣曲。
九重城闕煙塵生， 千乘萬騎西南行。
翠華搖搖行復止， 西出都門百餘里。
六軍不發無奈何？ 宛轉蛾眉馬前死。
花鈿委地無人收， 翠翹金雀玉搔頭。
君王掩面救不得， 回看血淚相和流。
黃埃散漫風蕭索， 雲棧縈紆登劍閣。
峨嵋山下少人行， 旌旗無光日色薄。
蜀江水碧蜀山青， 聖主朝朝暮暮情。
行宮見月傷心色， 夜雨聞鈴腸斷聲。
天旋地轉迴龍馭， 到此躊躇不能去。
馬嵬坡下泥土中， 不見玉顏空死處。
君臣相顧盡霑衣， 東望都門信馬歸。
歸來池苑皆依舊， 太液芙蓉未央柳；
芙蓉如面柳如眉， 對此如何不淚垂？
春風桃李花開日， 秋雨梧桐葉落時。
西宮南內多秋草， 落葉滿階紅不掃。
梨園子弟白髮新， 椒房阿監青娥老。
夕殿螢飛思悄然， 孤燈挑盡未成眠。
遲遲鐘鼓初長夜， 耿耿星河欲曙天。
鴛鴦瓦冷霜華重， 翡翠衾寒誰與共？
悠悠生死別經年， 魂魄不曾來入夢。
臨邛道士鴻都客， 能以精誠致魂魄；
為感君王輾轉思， 遂教方士殷勤覓。
排空馭氣奔如電， 升天入地求之遍；
上窮碧落下黃泉， 兩處茫茫皆不見。
忽聞海上有仙山， 山在虛無縹緲間；
樓閣玲瓏五雲起， 其中綽約多仙子。
中有一人字太真， 雪膚花貌參差是。
金闕西廂叩玉扃， 轉教小玉報雙成。
聞道漢家天子使， 九華帳裡夢魂驚。
攬衣推枕起徘徊， 珠箔銀屏迤邐開，
雲鬢半偏新睡覺， 花冠不整下堂來。
風吹仙袂飄飄舉， 猶似霓裳羽衣舞；
玉容寂寞淚闌干， 梨花一枝春帶雨。
含情凝睇謝君王， 一別音容兩渺茫。
昭陽殿裡恩愛絕， 蓬萊宮中日月長。
回頭下望人寰處， 不見長安見塵霧。
唯將舊物表深情， 鈿合金釵寄將去。
釵留一股合一扇， 釵擘黃金合分鈿；
但教心似金鈿堅， 天上人間會相見。
臨別殷勤重寄詞， 詞中有誓兩心知。
七月七日長生殿， 夜半無人私語時。
在天願作比翼鳥， 在地願為連理枝。
天長地久有時盡， 此恨綿綿無絕期。
楊家有女初長成， 養在深閨人未識。
天生麗質難自棄， 一朝選在君王側；
回眸一笑百媚生， 六宮粉黛無顏色。
春寒賜浴華清池， 溫泉水滑洗凝脂；
侍兒扶起嬌無力， 始是新承恩澤時。
雲鬢花顏金步搖， 芙蓉帳暖度春宵；
春宵苦短日高起， 從此君王不早朝。
承歡侍宴無閑暇， 春從春遊夜專夜。
後宮佳麗三千人， 三千寵愛在一身。
金星妝成嬌侍夜， 玉樓宴罷醉和春。
姊妹弟兄皆列士， 可憐光彩生門戶；
遂令天下父母心， 不重生男重生女。
驪宮高處入青雲， 仙樂風飄處處聞；
緩歌慢舞凝絲竹， 盡日君王看不足。
漁陽鼙鼓動地來， 驚破霓裳羽衣曲。
九重城闕煙塵生， 千乘萬騎西南行。
翠華搖搖行復止， 西出都門百餘里。
六軍不發無奈何？ 宛轉蛾眉馬前死。
花鈿委地無人收， 翠翹金雀玉搔頭。
君王掩面救不得， 回看血淚相和流。
黃埃散漫風蕭索， 雲棧縈紆登劍閣。
峨嵋山下少人行， 旌旗無光日色薄。
蜀江水碧蜀山青， 聖主朝朝暮暮情。
行宮見月傷心色， 夜雨聞鈴腸斷聲。
天旋地轉迴龍馭， 到此躊躇不能去。
馬嵬坡下泥土中， 不見玉顏空死處。
君臣相顧盡霑衣， 東望都門信馬歸。
歸來池苑皆依舊， 太液芙蓉未央柳；
芙蓉如面柳如眉， 對此如何不淚垂？
春風桃李花開日， 秋雨梧桐葉落時。
西宮南內多秋草， 落葉滿階紅不掃。
梨園子弟白髮新， 椒房阿監青娥老。
夕殿螢飛思悄然， 孤燈挑盡未成眠。
遲遲鐘鼓初長夜， 耿耿星河欲曙天。
鴛鴦瓦冷霜華重， 翡翠衾寒誰與共？
悠悠生死別經年， 魂魄不曾來入夢。
臨邛道士鴻都客， 能以精誠致魂魄；
為感君王輾轉思， 遂教方士殷勤覓。
排空馭氣奔如電， 升天入地求之遍；
上窮碧落下黃泉， 兩處茫茫皆不見。
忽聞海上有仙山， 山在虛無縹緲間；
樓閣玲瓏五雲起， 其中綽約多仙子。
中有一人字太真， 雪膚花貌參差是。
金闕西廂叩玉扃， 轉教小玉報雙成。
聞道漢家天子使， 九華帳裡夢魂驚。
攬衣推枕起徘徊， 珠箔銀屏迤邐開，
雲鬢半偏新睡覺， 花冠不整下堂來。
風吹仙袂飄飄舉， 猶似霓裳羽衣舞；
玉容寂寞淚闌干， 梨花一枝春帶雨。
含情凝睇謝君王， 一別音容兩渺茫。
昭陽殿裡恩愛絕， 蓬萊宮中日月長。
回頭下望人寰處， 不見長安見塵霧。
唯將舊物表深情， 鈿合金釵寄將去。
釵留一股合一扇， 釵擘黃金合分鈿；
但教心似金鈿堅， 天上人間會相見。
臨別殷勤重寄詞， 詞中有誓兩心知。
七月七日長生殿， 夜半無人私語時。
在天願作比翼鳥， 在地願為連理枝。
天長地久有時盡， 此恨綿綿無絕期。
Seven-character-ancient-verse
Bai Juyi
A SONG OF UNENDING SORROW
China's Emperor, craving beauty that might shake an empire,
Was on the throne for many years, searching, never finding,
Till a little child of the Yang clan, hardly even grown,
Bred in an inner chamber, with no one knowing her,
But with graces granted by heaven and not to be concealed,
At last one day was chosen for the imperial household.
If she but turned her head and smiled, there were cast a hundred spells,
And the powder and paint of the Six Palaces faded into nothing.
...It was early spring. They bathed her in the FlowerPure Pool,
Which warmed and smoothed the creamy-tinted crystal of her skin,
And, because of her languor, a maid was lifting her
When first the Emperor noticed her and chose her for his bride.
The cloud of her hair, petal of her cheek, gold ripples of her crown when she moved,
Were sheltered on spring evenings by warm hibiscus curtains;
But nights of spring were short and the sun arose too soon,
And the Emperor, from that time forth, forsook his early hearings
And lavished all his time on her with feasts and revelry,
His mistress of the spring, his despot of the night.
There were other ladies in his court, three thousand of rare beauty,
But his favours to three thousand were concentered in one body.
By the time she was dressed in her Golden Chamber, it would be almost evening;
And when tables were cleared in the Tower of Jade, she would loiter, slow with wine.
Her sisters and her brothers all were given titles;
And, because she so illumined and glorified her clan,
She brought to every father, every mother through the empire,
Happiness when a girl was born rather than a boy.
...High rose Li Palace, entering blue clouds,
And far and wide the breezes carried magical notes
Of soft song and slow dance, of string and bamboo music.
The Emperor's eyes could never gaze on her enough -
Till war-drums, booming from Yuyang, shocked the whole earth
And broke the tunes of The Rainbow Skirt and the Feathered Coat.
The Forbidden City, the nine-tiered palace, loomed in the dust
From thousands of horses and chariots headed southwest.
The imperial flag opened the way, now moving and now pausing - -
But thirty miles from the capital, beyond the western gate,
The men of the army stopped, not one of them would stir
Till under their horses' hoofs they might trample those moth- eyebrows....
Flowery hairpins fell to the ground, no one picked them up,
And a green and white jade hair-tassel and a yellowgold hair- bird.
The Emperor could not save her, he could only cover his face.
And later when he turned to look, the place of blood and tears
Was hidden in a yellow dust blown by a cold wind.
... At the cleft of the Dagger-Tower Trail they crisscrossed through a cloud-line
Under Omei Mountain. The last few came.
Flags and banners lost their colour in the fading sunlight....
But as waters of Shu are always green and its mountains always blue,
So changeless was His Majesty's love and deeper than the days.
He stared at the desolate moon from his temporary palace.
He heard bell-notes in the evening rain, cutting at his breast.
And when heaven and earth resumed their round and the dragon car faced home,
The Emperor clung to the spot and would not turn away
From the soil along the Mawei slope, under which was buried
That memory, that anguish. Where was her jade-white face?
Ruler and lords, when eyes would meet, wept upon their coats
As they rode, with loose rein, slowly eastward, back to the capital.
...The pools, the gardens, the palace, all were just as before,
The Lake Taiye hibiscus, the Weiyang Palace willows;
But a petal was like her face and a willow-leaf her eyebrow --
And what could he do but cry whenever he looked at them?
...Peach-trees and plum-trees blossomed, in the winds of spring;
Lakka-foliage fell to the ground, after autumn rains;
The Western and Southern Palaces were littered with late grasses,
And the steps were mounded with red leaves that no one swept away.
Her Pear-Garden Players became white-haired
And the eunuchs thin-eyebrowed in her Court of PepperTrees;
Over the throne flew fire-flies, while he brooded in the twilight.
He would lengthen the lamp-wick to its end and still could never sleep.
Bell and drum would slowly toll the dragging nighthours
And the River of Stars grow sharp in the sky, just before dawn,
And the porcelain mandarin-ducks on the roof grow thick with morning frost
And his covers of kingfisher-blue feel lonelier and colder
With the distance between life and death year after year;
And yet no beloved spirit ever visited his dreams.
...At Lingqiong lived a Taoist priest who was a guest of heaven,
Able to summon spirits by his concentrated mind.
And people were so moved by the Emperor's constant brooding
That they besought the Taoist priest to see if he could find her.
He opened his way in space and clove the ether like lightning,
Up to heaven, under the earth, looking everywhere.
Above, he searched the Green Void, below, the Yellow Spring;
But he failed, in either place, to find the one he looked for.
And then he heard accounts of an enchanted isle at sea,
A part of the intangible and incorporeal world,
With pavilions and fine towers in the five-coloured air,
And of exquisite immortals moving to and fro,
And of one among them-whom they called The Ever True -
With a face of snow and flowers resembling hers he sought.
So he went to the West Hall's gate of gold and knocked at the jasper door
And asked a girl, called Morsel-of-Jade, to tell The Doubly- Perfect.
And the lady, at news of an envoy from the Emperor of China,
Was startled out of dreams in her nine-flowered, canopy.
She pushed aside her pillow, dressed, shook away sleep,
And opened the pearly shade and then the silver screen.
Her cloudy hair-dress hung on one side because of her great haste,
And her flower-cap was loose when she came along the terrace,
While a light wind filled her cloak and fluttered with her motion
As though she danced The Rainbow Skirt and the Feathered Coat.
And the tear-drops drifting down her sad white face
Were like a rain in spring on the blossom of the pear.
But love glowed deep within her eyes when she bade him thank her liege,
Whose form and voice had been strange to her ever since their parting --
Since happiness had ended at the Court of the Bright Sun,
And moons and dawns had become long in Fairy-Mountain Palace.
But when she turned her face and looked down toward the earth
And tried to see the capital, there were only fog and dust.
So she took out, with emotion, the pledges he had given
And, through his envoy, sent him back a shell box and gold hairpin,
But kept one branch of the hairpin and one side of the box,
Breaking the gold of the hairpin, breaking the shell of the box;
"Our souls belong together," she said, " like this gold and this shell --
Somewhere, sometime, on earth or in heaven, we shall surely
And she sent him, by his messenger, a sentence reminding him
Of vows which had been known only to their two hearts:
"On the seventh day of the Seventh-month, in the Palace of Long Life,
We told each other secretly in the quiet midnight world
That we wished to fly in heaven, two birds with the wings of one,
And to grow together on the earth, two branches of one tree."
Earth endures, heaven endures; some time both shall end,
While this unending sorrow goes on and on for ever.
Was on the throne for many years, searching, never finding,
Till a little child of the Yang clan, hardly even grown,
Bred in an inner chamber, with no one knowing her,
But with graces granted by heaven and not to be concealed,
At last one day was chosen for the imperial household.
If she but turned her head and smiled, there were cast a hundred spells,
And the powder and paint of the Six Palaces faded into nothing.
...It was early spring. They bathed her in the FlowerPure Pool,
Which warmed and smoothed the creamy-tinted crystal of her skin,
And, because of her languor, a maid was lifting her
When first the Emperor noticed her and chose her for his bride.
The cloud of her hair, petal of her cheek, gold ripples of her crown when she moved,
Were sheltered on spring evenings by warm hibiscus curtains;
But nights of spring were short and the sun arose too soon,
And the Emperor, from that time forth, forsook his early hearings
And lavished all his time on her with feasts and revelry,
His mistress of the spring, his despot of the night.
There were other ladies in his court, three thousand of rare beauty,
But his favours to three thousand were concentered in one body.
By the time she was dressed in her Golden Chamber, it would be almost evening;
And when tables were cleared in the Tower of Jade, she would loiter, slow with wine.
Her sisters and her brothers all were given titles;
And, because she so illumined and glorified her clan,
She brought to every father, every mother through the empire,
Happiness when a girl was born rather than a boy.
...High rose Li Palace, entering blue clouds,
And far and wide the breezes carried magical notes
Of soft song and slow dance, of string and bamboo music.
The Emperor's eyes could never gaze on her enough -
Till war-drums, booming from Yuyang, shocked the whole earth
And broke the tunes of The Rainbow Skirt and the Feathered Coat.
The Forbidden City, the nine-tiered palace, loomed in the dust
From thousands of horses and chariots headed southwest.
The imperial flag opened the way, now moving and now pausing - -
But thirty miles from the capital, beyond the western gate,
The men of the army stopped, not one of them would stir
Till under their horses' hoofs they might trample those moth- eyebrows....
Flowery hairpins fell to the ground, no one picked them up,
And a green and white jade hair-tassel and a yellowgold hair- bird.
The Emperor could not save her, he could only cover his face.
And later when he turned to look, the place of blood and tears
Was hidden in a yellow dust blown by a cold wind.
... At the cleft of the Dagger-Tower Trail they crisscrossed through a cloud-line
Under Omei Mountain. The last few came.
Flags and banners lost their colour in the fading sunlight....
But as waters of Shu are always green and its mountains always blue,
So changeless was His Majesty's love and deeper than the days.
He stared at the desolate moon from his temporary palace.
He heard bell-notes in the evening rain, cutting at his breast.
And when heaven and earth resumed their round and the dragon car faced home,
The Emperor clung to the spot and would not turn away
From the soil along the Mawei slope, under which was buried
That memory, that anguish. Where was her jade-white face?
Ruler and lords, when eyes would meet, wept upon their coats
As they rode, with loose rein, slowly eastward, back to the capital.
...The pools, the gardens, the palace, all were just as before,
The Lake Taiye hibiscus, the Weiyang Palace willows;
But a petal was like her face and a willow-leaf her eyebrow --
And what could he do but cry whenever he looked at them?
...Peach-trees and plum-trees blossomed, in the winds of spring;
Lakka-foliage fell to the ground, after autumn rains;
The Western and Southern Palaces were littered with late grasses,
And the steps were mounded with red leaves that no one swept away.
Her Pear-Garden Players became white-haired
And the eunuchs thin-eyebrowed in her Court of PepperTrees;
Over the throne flew fire-flies, while he brooded in the twilight.
He would lengthen the lamp-wick to its end and still could never sleep.
Bell and drum would slowly toll the dragging nighthours
And the River of Stars grow sharp in the sky, just before dawn,
And the porcelain mandarin-ducks on the roof grow thick with morning frost
And his covers of kingfisher-blue feel lonelier and colder
With the distance between life and death year after year;
And yet no beloved spirit ever visited his dreams.
...At Lingqiong lived a Taoist priest who was a guest of heaven,
Able to summon spirits by his concentrated mind.
And people were so moved by the Emperor's constant brooding
That they besought the Taoist priest to see if he could find her.
He opened his way in space and clove the ether like lightning,
Up to heaven, under the earth, looking everywhere.
Above, he searched the Green Void, below, the Yellow Spring;
But he failed, in either place, to find the one he looked for.
And then he heard accounts of an enchanted isle at sea,
A part of the intangible and incorporeal world,
With pavilions and fine towers in the five-coloured air,
And of exquisite immortals moving to and fro,
And of one among them-whom they called The Ever True -
With a face of snow and flowers resembling hers he sought.
So he went to the West Hall's gate of gold and knocked at the jasper door
And asked a girl, called Morsel-of-Jade, to tell The Doubly- Perfect.
And the lady, at news of an envoy from the Emperor of China,
Was startled out of dreams in her nine-flowered, canopy.
She pushed aside her pillow, dressed, shook away sleep,
And opened the pearly shade and then the silver screen.
Her cloudy hair-dress hung on one side because of her great haste,
And her flower-cap was loose when she came along the terrace,
While a light wind filled her cloak and fluttered with her motion
As though she danced The Rainbow Skirt and the Feathered Coat.
And the tear-drops drifting down her sad white face
Were like a rain in spring on the blossom of the pear.
But love glowed deep within her eyes when she bade him thank her liege,
Whose form and voice had been strange to her ever since their parting --
Since happiness had ended at the Court of the Bright Sun,
And moons and dawns had become long in Fairy-Mountain Palace.
But when she turned her face and looked down toward the earth
And tried to see the capital, there were only fog and dust.
So she took out, with emotion, the pledges he had given
And, through his envoy, sent him back a shell box and gold hairpin,
But kept one branch of the hairpin and one side of the box,
Breaking the gold of the hairpin, breaking the shell of the box;
"Our souls belong together," she said, " like this gold and this shell --
Somewhere, sometime, on earth or in heaven, we shall surely
And she sent him, by his messenger, a sentence reminding him
Of vows which had been known only to their two hearts:
"On the seventh day of the Seventh-month, in the Palace of Long Life,
We told each other secretly in the quiet midnight world
That we wished to fly in heaven, two birds with the wings of one,
And to grow together on the earth, two branches of one tree."
Earth endures, heaven endures; some time both shall end,
While this unending sorrow goes on and on for ever.
七言古詩 白居易 琵琶行并序
[_]
元和十年，予左遷九江郡司馬。明年秋，送客 湓浦口，聞船中夜彈琵琶者，聽其音，錚錚然 有京都聲；問其人，本長安倡女，嘗學琵琶於 穆曹二善才。年長色衰，委身為賈人婦。遂命 酒，使快彈數曲，曲罷憫然。自敘少小時歡樂 事，今漂淪憔悴，轉徙於江湖間。予出官二年 恬然自安，感斯人言，是夕，始覺有遷謫意，
因為長句歌以贈之，凡六百一十六言，命曰琵 琶行。
潯言江頭夜送客， 楓葉荻花秋瑟瑟。
主人下馬客在船， 舉酒欲飲無管絃。
醉不成歡慘將別， 別時茫茫江浸月。
忽聞水上琵琶聲， 主人忘歸客不發。
尋聲暗問彈者誰？ 琵琶聲停欲語遲。
移船相近邀相見， 添酒回燈重開宴。
千呼萬喚始出來， 猶抱琵琶半遮面。
轉軸撥絃三兩聲， 未成曲調先有情。
絃絃掩抑聲聲思， 似訴平生不得志。
低眉信手續續彈， 說盡心中無限事。
輕攏慢撚抹復挑， 初為霓裳後六么。
大絃嘈嘈如急雨， 小絃切切如私語。
嘈嘈切切錯雜彈， 大珠小珠落玉盤。
間官鶯語花底滑， 幽咽泉流水下灘。
水泉冷澀絃凝絕， 凝絕不通聲漸歇。
別有幽愁暗恨生， 此時無聲勝有聲。
銀瓶乍破水漿迸， 鐵騎突出刀鎗鳴。
曲終收撥當心畫， 四絃一聲如裂帛。
東船西舫悄無言， 唯見江心秋月白。
沈吟放撥插絃中， 整頓衣裳起斂容。
自言本是京城女， 家在蝦蟆陵下住。
十三學得琵琶成， 名屬教坊第一部。
曲罷曾教善才服， 妝成每被秋娘妒，
五陵年少爭纏頭， 一曲紅綃不知數。
鈿頭銀篦擊節碎， 血色羅裙翻酒汙。
今年歡笑復明年， 秋月春風等閑度。
弟走從軍阿姨死， 暮去朝來顏色故。
門前冷落車馬稀， 老大嫁作商人婦。
商人重利輕別離， 前月浮梁買茶去。
去來江口守空船， 繞船月明江水寒。
夜深忽夢少年事， 夢啼妝淚紅闌干，
我聞琵琶已嘆息， 又聞此語重唧唧。
同是天涯淪落人， 相逢何必曾相識。
我從去年辭帝京， 謫居臥病潯陽城。
潯陽地僻無音樂， 終歲不聞絲竹聲。
住近湓江地低濕， 黃蘆苦竹繞宅生。
其間旦暮聞何物， 杜鵑啼血猿哀鳴。
春江花朝秋月夜， 往往取酒還獨傾。
豈無山歌與村笛？ 嘔啞嘲哳難為聽。
今夜聞君琵琶語， 如聽仙樂耳暫明。
莫辭更坐彈一曲， 為君翻作琵琶行。
感我此言良久立， 卻坐促絃絃轉急。
淒淒不似向前聲， 滿座重聞皆掩泣。
座中泣下誰最多， 江州司馬青衫濕。
主人下馬客在船， 舉酒欲飲無管絃。
醉不成歡慘將別， 別時茫茫江浸月。
忽聞水上琵琶聲， 主人忘歸客不發。
尋聲暗問彈者誰？ 琵琶聲停欲語遲。
移船相近邀相見， 添酒回燈重開宴。
千呼萬喚始出來， 猶抱琵琶半遮面。
轉軸撥絃三兩聲， 未成曲調先有情。
絃絃掩抑聲聲思， 似訴平生不得志。
低眉信手續續彈， 說盡心中無限事。
輕攏慢撚抹復挑， 初為霓裳後六么。
大絃嘈嘈如急雨， 小絃切切如私語。
嘈嘈切切錯雜彈， 大珠小珠落玉盤。
間官鶯語花底滑， 幽咽泉流水下灘。
水泉冷澀絃凝絕， 凝絕不通聲漸歇。
別有幽愁暗恨生， 此時無聲勝有聲。
銀瓶乍破水漿迸， 鐵騎突出刀鎗鳴。
曲終收撥當心畫， 四絃一聲如裂帛。
東船西舫悄無言， 唯見江心秋月白。
沈吟放撥插絃中， 整頓衣裳起斂容。
自言本是京城女， 家在蝦蟆陵下住。
十三學得琵琶成， 名屬教坊第一部。
曲罷曾教善才服， 妝成每被秋娘妒，
五陵年少爭纏頭， 一曲紅綃不知數。
鈿頭銀篦擊節碎， 血色羅裙翻酒汙。
今年歡笑復明年， 秋月春風等閑度。
弟走從軍阿姨死， 暮去朝來顏色故。
門前冷落車馬稀， 老大嫁作商人婦。
商人重利輕別離， 前月浮梁買茶去。
去來江口守空船， 繞船月明江水寒。
夜深忽夢少年事， 夢啼妝淚紅闌干，
我聞琵琶已嘆息， 又聞此語重唧唧。
同是天涯淪落人， 相逢何必曾相識。
我從去年辭帝京， 謫居臥病潯陽城。
潯陽地僻無音樂， 終歲不聞絲竹聲。
住近湓江地低濕， 黃蘆苦竹繞宅生。
其間旦暮聞何物， 杜鵑啼血猿哀鳴。
春江花朝秋月夜， 往往取酒還獨傾。
豈無山歌與村笛？ 嘔啞嘲哳難為聽。
今夜聞君琵琶語， 如聽仙樂耳暫明。
莫辭更坐彈一曲， 為君翻作琵琶行。
感我此言良久立， 卻坐促絃絃轉急。
淒淒不似向前聲， 滿座重聞皆掩泣。
座中泣下誰最多， 江州司馬青衫濕。
Seven-character-ancient-verse
Bai Chuyi
THE SONG OF A GUITAR
[_]
In the tenth year of Yuanhe I was banished and demoted to be assistant official in Jiujiang. In the summer of the next year I was seeing a friend
leave Penpu and heard in the midnight from a neighbouring boat a guitar played in the manner of the capital. Upon inquiry, I found that the player had formerly been a
dancing-girl there and in her maturity had been married to a merchant. I invited her to my boat to have her play for us. She told me her story, heyday and then
unhappiness. Since my departure from the capital I had not felt sad; but that night, after I left her, I began to realize my banishment. And I wrote this long poem
--six hundred and twelve characters.
I was bidding a guest farewell, at night on the Xunyang River,
Where maple-leaves and full-grown rushes rustled in the autumn.
I, the host, had dismounted, my guest had boarded his boat,
And we raised our cups and wished to drink-but, alas, there was no music.
For all we had drunk we felt no joy and were parting from each other,
When the river widened mysteriously toward the full moon --
We had heard a sudden sound, a guitar across the water.
Host forgot to turn back home, and guest to go his way.
We followed where the melody led and asked the player's name.
The sound broke off...then reluctantly she answered.
We moved our boat near hers, invited her to join us,
Summoned more wine and lanterns to recommence our banquet.
Yet we called and urged a thousand times before she started toward us,
Still hiding half her face from us behind her guitar.
...She turned the tuning-pegs and tested several strings;
We could feel what she was feeling, even before she played:
Each string a meditation, each note a deep thought,
As if she were telling us the ache of her whole life.
She knit her brows, flexed her fingers, then began her music,
Little by little letting her heart share everything with ours.
She brushed the strings, twisted them slow, swept them, plucked them --
First the air of The Rainbow Skirt, then The Six Little Ones.
The large strings hummed like rain,
The small strings whispered like a secret,
Hummed, whispered-and then were intermingled
Like a pouring of large and small pearls into a plate of jade.
We heard an oriole, liquid, hidden among flowers.
We heard a brook bitterly sob along a bank of sand...
By the checking of its cold touch, the very string seemed broken
As though it could not pass; and the notes, dying away
Into a depth of sorrow and concealment of lament,
Told even more in silence than they had told in sound....
A silver vase abruptly broke with a gush of water,
And out leapt armored horses and weapons that clashed and smote --
And, before she laid her pick down, she ended with one stroke,
And all four strings made one sound, as of rending silk
There was quiet in the east boat and quiet in the west,
And we saw the white autumnal moon enter the river's heart.
...When she had slowly placed the pick back among the strings,
She rose and smoothed her clothing and, formal, courteous,
Told us how she had spent her girlhood at the capital,
Living in her parents' house under the Mount of Toads,
And had mastered the guitar at the age of thirteen,
With her name recorded first in the class-roll of musicians,
Her art the admiration even of experts,
Her beauty the envy of all the leading dancers,
How noble youths of Wuling had lavishly competed
And numberless red rolls of silk been given for one song,
And silver combs with shell inlay been snapped by her rhythms,
And skirts the colour of blood been spoiled with stains of wine....
Season after season, joy had followed joy,
Autumn moons and spring winds had passed without her heeding,
Till first her brother left for the war, and then her aunt died,
And evenings went and evenings came, and her beauty faded --
With ever fewer chariots and horses at her door;
So that finally she gave herself as wife to a merchant
Who, prizing money first, careless how he left her,
Had gone, a month before, to Fuliang to buy tea.
And she had been tending an empty boat at the river's mouth,
No company but the bright moon and the cold water.
And sometimes in the deep of night she would dream of her triumphs
And be wakened from her dreams by the scalding of her tears.
Her very first guitar-note had started me sighing;
Now, having heard her story, I was sadder still.
"We are both unhappy -- to the sky's end.
We meet. We understand. What does acquaintance matter?
I came, a year ago, away from the capital
And am now a sick exile here in Jiujiang --
And so remote is Jiujiang that I have heard no music,
Neither string nor bamboo, for a whole year.
My quarters, near the River Town, are low and damp,
With bitter reeds and yellowed rushes all about the house.
And what is to be heard here, morning and evening? --
The bleeding cry of cuckoos, the whimpering of apes.
On flowery spring mornings and moonlit autumn nights
I have often taken wine up and drunk it all alone,
Of course there are the mountain songs and the village pipes,
But they are crude and-strident, and grate on my ears.
And tonight, when I heard you playing your guitar,
I felt as if my hearing were bright with fairymusic.
Do not leave us. Come, sit down. Play for us again.
And I will write a long song concerning a guitar."
...Moved by what I said, she stood there for a moment,
Then sat again to her strings-and they sounded even sadder,
Although the tunes were different from those she had played before....
The feasters, all listening, covered their faces.
But who of them all was crying the most?
This Jiujiang official. My blue sleeve was wet.
Where maple-leaves and full-grown rushes rustled in the autumn.
I, the host, had dismounted, my guest had boarded his boat,
And we raised our cups and wished to drink-but, alas, there was no music.
For all we had drunk we felt no joy and were parting from each other,
When the river widened mysteriously toward the full moon --
We had heard a sudden sound, a guitar across the water.
Host forgot to turn back home, and guest to go his way.
We followed where the melody led and asked the player's name.
The sound broke off...then reluctantly she answered.
We moved our boat near hers, invited her to join us,
Summoned more wine and lanterns to recommence our banquet.
Yet we called and urged a thousand times before she started toward us,
Still hiding half her face from us behind her guitar.
...She turned the tuning-pegs and tested several strings;
We could feel what she was feeling, even before she played:
Each string a meditation, each note a deep thought,
As if she were telling us the ache of her whole life.
She knit her brows, flexed her fingers, then began her music,
Little by little letting her heart share everything with ours.
She brushed the strings, twisted them slow, swept them, plucked them --
First the air of The Rainbow Skirt, then The Six Little Ones.
The large strings hummed like rain,
The small strings whispered like a secret,
Hummed, whispered-and then were intermingled
Like a pouring of large and small pearls into a plate of jade.
We heard an oriole, liquid, hidden among flowers.
We heard a brook bitterly sob along a bank of sand...
By the checking of its cold touch, the very string seemed broken
As though it could not pass; and the notes, dying away
Into a depth of sorrow and concealment of lament,
Told even more in silence than they had told in sound....
A silver vase abruptly broke with a gush of water,
And out leapt armored horses and weapons that clashed and smote --
And, before she laid her pick down, she ended with one stroke,
And all four strings made one sound, as of rending silk
There was quiet in the east boat and quiet in the west,
And we saw the white autumnal moon enter the river's heart.
...When she had slowly placed the pick back among the strings,
She rose and smoothed her clothing and, formal, courteous,
Told us how she had spent her girlhood at the capital,
Living in her parents' house under the Mount of Toads,
And had mastered the guitar at the age of thirteen,
With her name recorded first in the class-roll of musicians,
Her art the admiration even of experts,
Her beauty the envy of all the leading dancers,
How noble youths of Wuling had lavishly competed
And numberless red rolls of silk been given for one song,
And silver combs with shell inlay been snapped by her rhythms,
And skirts the colour of blood been spoiled with stains of wine....
Season after season, joy had followed joy,
Autumn moons and spring winds had passed without her heeding,
Till first her brother left for the war, and then her aunt died,
And evenings went and evenings came, and her beauty faded --
With ever fewer chariots and horses at her door;
So that finally she gave herself as wife to a merchant
Who, prizing money first, careless how he left her,
Had gone, a month before, to Fuliang to buy tea.
And she had been tending an empty boat at the river's mouth,
No company but the bright moon and the cold water.
And sometimes in the deep of night she would dream of her triumphs
And be wakened from her dreams by the scalding of her tears.
Her very first guitar-note had started me sighing;
Now, having heard her story, I was sadder still.
"We are both unhappy -- to the sky's end.
We meet. We understand. What does acquaintance matter?
I came, a year ago, away from the capital
And am now a sick exile here in Jiujiang --
And so remote is Jiujiang that I have heard no music,
Neither string nor bamboo, for a whole year.
My quarters, near the River Town, are low and damp,
With bitter reeds and yellowed rushes all about the house.
And what is to be heard here, morning and evening? --
The bleeding cry of cuckoos, the whimpering of apes.
On flowery spring mornings and moonlit autumn nights
I have often taken wine up and drunk it all alone,
Of course there are the mountain songs and the village pipes,
But they are crude and-strident, and grate on my ears.
And tonight, when I heard you playing your guitar,
I felt as if my hearing were bright with fairymusic.
Do not leave us. Come, sit down. Play for us again.
And I will write a long song concerning a guitar."
...Moved by what I said, she stood there for a moment,
Then sat again to her strings-and they sounded even sadder,
Although the tunes were different from those she had played before....
The feasters, all listening, covered their faces.
But who of them all was crying the most?
This Jiujiang official. My blue sleeve was wet.
七言古詩 李商隱 韓碑
元和天子神武姿， 彼何人哉軒與羲，
誓將上雪列聖恥， 坐法宮中朝四夷。
淮西有賊五十載， 封狼生貙貙生羆；
不據山河據平地， 長戈利矛日可麾。
帝得聖相相曰度， 賊斫不死神扶持。
腰懸相印作都統， 陰風慘澹天王旗。
愬武古通作牙爪， 儀曹外郎載筆隨。
行軍司馬智且勇， 十四萬眾猶虎貔。
入蔡縛賊獻太廟。 功無與讓恩不訾。
帝曰汝度功第一， 汝從事愈宜為辭。
愈拜稽首蹈且舞， 金石刻畫臣能為。
古者世稱大手筆， 此事不係於職司。
當仁自古有不讓， 言訖屢頷天子頤。
公退齋戒坐小閣， 濡染大筆何淋漓。
點竄堯典舜典字， 塗改清廟生民詩。
文成破體書在紙， 清晨再拜鋪丹墀。
表曰臣愈昧死上， 詠神聖功書之碑。
碑高三丈字如斗， 負以靈鼇蟠以螭。
句奇語重喻者少， 讒之天子言其私。
長繩百尺拽碑倒。 麤沙大石相磨治。
公之斯文若元氣， 先時已入人肝脾。
湯盤孔鼎有述作， 今無其器存其辭。
嗚呼聖皇及聖相， 相與烜赫流淳熙。
公之斯文不示後， 曷與三五相攀追？
願書萬本誦萬過， 口角流沫右手胝；
傳之七十有二代， 以為封禪玉檢明堂基。
誓將上雪列聖恥， 坐法宮中朝四夷。
淮西有賊五十載， 封狼生貙貙生羆；
不據山河據平地， 長戈利矛日可麾。
帝得聖相相曰度， 賊斫不死神扶持。
腰懸相印作都統， 陰風慘澹天王旗。
愬武古通作牙爪， 儀曹外郎載筆隨。
行軍司馬智且勇， 十四萬眾猶虎貔。
入蔡縛賊獻太廟。 功無與讓恩不訾。
帝曰汝度功第一， 汝從事愈宜為辭。
愈拜稽首蹈且舞， 金石刻畫臣能為。
古者世稱大手筆， 此事不係於職司。
當仁自古有不讓， 言訖屢頷天子頤。
公退齋戒坐小閣， 濡染大筆何淋漓。
點竄堯典舜典字， 塗改清廟生民詩。
文成破體書在紙， 清晨再拜鋪丹墀。
表曰臣愈昧死上， 詠神聖功書之碑。
碑高三丈字如斗， 負以靈鼇蟠以螭。
句奇語重喻者少， 讒之天子言其私。
長繩百尺拽碑倒。 麤沙大石相磨治。
公之斯文若元氣， 先時已入人肝脾。
湯盤孔鼎有述作， 今無其器存其辭。
嗚呼聖皇及聖相， 相與烜赫流淳熙。
公之斯文不示後， 曷與三五相攀追？
願書萬本誦萬過， 口角流沫右手胝；
傳之七十有二代， 以為封禪玉檢明堂基。
Seven-character-ancient-verse
Li Shangyin
THE HAN MONUMENT
The Son of Heaven in Yuanhe times was martial as a god
And might be likened only to the Emperors Xuan and Xi.
He took an oath to reassert the glory of the empire,
And tribute was brought to his palace from all four quarters.
Western Huai for fifty years had been a bandit country,
Wolves becoming lynxes, lynxes becoming bears.
They assailed the mountains and rivers, rising from the plains,
With their long spears and sharp lances aimed at the Sun.
But the Emperor had a wise premier, by the name of Du,
Who, guarded by spirits against assassination,
Hong at his girdle the seal of state, and accepted chief command,
While these savage winds were harrying the flags of the Ruler of Heaven.
Generals Suo, Wu, Gu, and Tong became his paws and claws;
Civil and military experts brought their writingbrushes,
And his recording adviser was wise and resolute.
A hundred and forty thousand soldiers, fighting like lions and tigers,
Captured the bandit chieftains for the Imperial Temple.
So complete a victory was a supreme event;
And the Emperor said: "To you, Du, should go the highest honour,
And your secretary, Yu, should write a record of it."
When Yu had bowed his head, he leapt and danced, saying:
"Historical writings on stone and metal are my especial art;
And, since I know the finest brush-work of the old masters,
My duty in this instance is more than merely official,
And I should be at fault if I modestly declined."
The Emperor, on hearing this, nodded many times.
And Yu retired and fasted and, in a narrow workroom,
His great brush thick with ink as with drops of rain,
Chose characters like those in the Canons of Yao and Xun,
And a style as in the ancient poems Qingmiao and Shengmin.
And soon the description was ready, on a sheet of paper.
In the morning he laid it, with a bow, on the purple stairs.
He memorialized the throne: "I, unworthy,
Have dared to record this exploit, for a monument."
The tablet was thirty feet high, the characters large as dippers;
It was set on a sacred tortoise, its columns flanked with ragons....
The phrases were strange with deep words that few could understand;
And jealousy entered and malice and reached the Emperor --
So that a rope a hundred feet long pulled the tablet down
And coarse sand and small stones ground away its face.
But literature endures, like the universal spirit,
And its breath becomes a part of the vitals of all men.
The Tang plate, the Confucian tripod, are eternal things,
Not because of their forms, but because of their inscriptions....
Sagacious is our sovereign and wise his minister,
And high their successes and prosperous their reign;
But unless it be recorded by a writing such as this,
How may they hope to rival the three and five good rulers?
I wish I could write ten thousand copies to read ten thousand times,
Till spittle ran from my lips and calluses hardened my fingers,
And still could hand them down, through seventy-two generations,
As corner-stones for Rooms of Great Deeds on the Sacred Mountains.
And might be likened only to the Emperors Xuan and Xi.
He took an oath to reassert the glory of the empire,
And tribute was brought to his palace from all four quarters.
Western Huai for fifty years had been a bandit country,
Wolves becoming lynxes, lynxes becoming bears.
They assailed the mountains and rivers, rising from the plains,
With their long spears and sharp lances aimed at the Sun.
But the Emperor had a wise premier, by the name of Du,
Who, guarded by spirits against assassination,
Hong at his girdle the seal of state, and accepted chief command,
While these savage winds were harrying the flags of the Ruler of Heaven.
Generals Suo, Wu, Gu, and Tong became his paws and claws;
Civil and military experts brought their writingbrushes,
And his recording adviser was wise and resolute.
A hundred and forty thousand soldiers, fighting like lions and tigers,
Captured the bandit chieftains for the Imperial Temple.
So complete a victory was a supreme event;
And the Emperor said: "To you, Du, should go the highest honour,
And your secretary, Yu, should write a record of it."
When Yu had bowed his head, he leapt and danced, saying:
"Historical writings on stone and metal are my especial art;
And, since I know the finest brush-work of the old masters,
My duty in this instance is more than merely official,
And I should be at fault if I modestly declined."
The Emperor, on hearing this, nodded many times.
And Yu retired and fasted and, in a narrow workroom,
His great brush thick with ink as with drops of rain,
Chose characters like those in the Canons of Yao and Xun,
And a style as in the ancient poems Qingmiao and Shengmin.
And soon the description was ready, on a sheet of paper.
In the morning he laid it, with a bow, on the purple stairs.
He memorialized the throne: "I, unworthy,
Have dared to record this exploit, for a monument."
The tablet was thirty feet high, the characters large as dippers;
It was set on a sacred tortoise, its columns flanked with ragons....
The phrases were strange with deep words that few could understand;
And jealousy entered and malice and reached the Emperor --
So that a rope a hundred feet long pulled the tablet down
And coarse sand and small stones ground away its face.
But literature endures, like the universal spirit,
And its breath becomes a part of the vitals of all men.
The Tang plate, the Confucian tripod, are eternal things,
Not because of their forms, but because of their inscriptions....
Sagacious is our sovereign and wise his minister,
And high their successes and prosperous their reign;
But unless it be recorded by a writing such as this,
How may they hope to rival the three and five good rulers?
I wish I could write ten thousand copies to read ten thousand times,
Till spittle ran from my lips and calluses hardened my fingers,
And still could hand them down, through seventy-two generations,
As corner-stones for Rooms of Great Deeds on the Sacred Mountains.
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