| 題名： | 金銅仙人辭漢歌 |
| 作者： | 李賀 |
| 茂陵劉郎秋風客，夜聞馬嘶曉無跡。畫欄桂樹懸秋香，三十六宮土花碧。魏官牽車指千里，東關酸風射眸子。空將漢月出宮門，憶君清淚如鉛水。衰蘭送客咸陽道，天若有情天亦老。攜盤獨出月荒涼，渭城已遠波聲小。 | |
| 英譯： |
Boy Liu in Leafy Mound, visitor of the autumn wind…
In the night I heard his horse whinny, at sunrise saw no track.
On the cassia tree by the painted rail the scent of autumn hangs:
In his thirty-six palaces the dust blooms emerald.
Wei's servants haul the cart, point ahead a thousand miles:
A sour wind shoots from the east pass at my pupils.
The moon of Han in vain with me I come forth at the palace gate:
At your memory the transparent tears are like molten lead.
Withering orchids escort me along the Hsien-yang road:
If heaven too had passions even heaven would grow old.
With the pan in my hands I come forth alone under the desolate moon:
The city on the Jwei far back now, quiet the waves.
IN the Mao-ling tomb lies the lad named Liu, Guest of the autumn wind. At night we hear his whinnying horse— At dawn not a hoof-print there. From painted balustrades, the cassia trees Cast down autumnal fragrance. Over six-and-thirty palaces grow Emerald earth-flowers. The courtiers of Wei harnessed their chariotsTo travel a thousand leagues. The vinegar wind from the eastern passes Arrowed their eyes. Vainly bearing the moon of Han I went out of the palace gates. Remembering the emperor, my pure tears Dropped down like molten lead. Withering orchids bade them farewell On the Hsien-yang road. If God could suffer as we do God too would grow old. Bearing my dew-plate, I journeyed alone By the light of the cold, wild moon, Already Wei-ch'eng lay far behind And its waters faintly calling. Master Liu in the Mao Tomb Swept through like the autumn wind. His mare neighs at night And is vanished by dawn. As the Wei officials pointed the cart In the direction of the journey of a thousand li, Autumn fragrance of the cassia still drifted through the gorgeous latticework, Though lichens now festooned the thirty-six palaces. A sour northeast wind stung my eyes As I passed through the palace gates, With only the Han moon for company, And only prostrate orchids to line the Xianyang road. Heaven, if you could feel, you too would grow old! As I carried the disc Alone under the desolate moon, At the thought of the Emperor, tears fell like lead. Quickly, then, the roar of Weicheng's waters turned to whispers. Within the grave lies the King whom autumn winds have swept away: At night his horse whinneys, but it vanishes again at dawn. Beyond the painted galleries fragrance lingers round branches of cassia. Within the thirty-six halls of the palace climbs the green moss. An officer of the new Empire turned his chariots here from afar. When the sour melancholy wind from the East Gate struck my eyes, I, whom the ancient moon escorted, removed from the palace gate, Thinking of the old Emperor, let fall tears of pure lead. Withered orchids scatter the highroad as the officer rides away. Heaven itself will wither in pity. Alone beneath the desolate moon I depart with my dew-plate, Listen to the soft waves, and the faraway city near a river. |
| 日譯： | 暫無日譯內容 |