| 題名： | 驕兒詩 |
| 作者： | 李商隱 |
| 衮師我驕兒，美秀乃無匹。文葆未周晬，固已知六七。四歲知名姓，眼不視棃栗。交朋頗窺觀，謂是丹穴物。前朝尚器貌，流品方第一。不然神仙姿，不爾燕鶴骨。安得此相謂，欲慰衰朽質。青春妍和月，朋戲渾甥姪。繞堂復穿林，沸若金鼎溢。門有長者來，造次請先出。客前問所須，含意下吐實。歸來學客面，䦱敗秉爺笏。或謔張飛胡，或笑鄧艾吃。豪鷹毛崱屴，猛馬氣佶傈。截得青篔簹，騎走恣唐突。忽復學參軍，按聲喚蒼鶻。又復紗燈旁，稽首禮夜佛。仰鞭罥蛛網，俯首飲花蜜。欲爭蛺蝶輕，未謝柳絮疾。階前逢阿姊，六甲頗輸失。凝走弄香奩，拔脫金屈戌。抱持多反側，威怒不可律。曲躬牽牕網，衉唾拭琴漆。有時看臨書，挺立不動膝。古錦請裁衣，玉軸亦欲乞。請爺書春勝，春勝宜春日。芭蕉斜卷箋，辛夷低過筆。爺昔好讀書，懇苦自著述。顦顇欲四十，無肉畏蚤虱。兒慎勿學爺，讀書求甲乙。穰苴司馬法，張良黃石術。便爲帝王師，不假更纖悉。況今西與北，羌戎正狂悖。誅赦兩未成，將養如痼疾。兒當速成大，探雛入虎穴。當爲萬戶侯，勿守一經帙。 | |
| 英譯： |
My little boy Kun-shih,
no finer, no handsomer lad;
in bellyband, less than one year old,
already he knew six from seven;
at three he could tell you his name,
had eves for more than chestnuts and pears.
My friends come to look him over,
call him a the phoenix of Cinnabar Cave;
at former courts where looks were prized,
he'd have rated first, $(they say;)$
$(but no,)$ he has the style of an immortal spirit,
the swallow-throat, the crane-walk of a nobleman!
Why do they praise him so?
His father poor and talentless, they hope to comfort me thus.
In green spring, the warm and gentle months,
cousins all, his companions in play,
he runs round the ball, threads the wood:
a rush of bronze caldrons bubbling over.
Elderly gentlemen come to the gate;
at once he dashes out to greet them;
in front of the guests, asked what he would like,
he mumbles shyly and won't speak up.
Guests gone, he mimics their faces,
bursting through the door, snatching his father's staff,
now aping Chang Fei's outlandish face,
now making fun of Teng Ai's stutter.
A brave hawk on high wings soaring,
a noble horse with fierce snorting breath,
he cuts stout green bamboo for a pony,
gallops wildly, banging into things.
Suddenly he is the General in a play,
in stage voice summoning his groom;
now beside the gauze-veiled lamp
he bows his head in evening obeisance to Buddha.
Whip upraised, he bats at spider webs;
head bent down, he sucks nectar from the flower,
so nimble he outruns the swallowtail butterfly,
so swift he hardly lags behind the lying willow catkins.
By the terrace stairs, he comes on Elder Sister,
rolls dice with her, loses all he has;
sneaks in to play with her vanity case,
prying at the golden clasp till he breaks it off.
Try to hold him—he wiggles and squirms;
threaten and scold—he will not be ruled.
Crouching down, he drags on the window netting;
with globs of spit he polishes the lacquer lute.
Sometimes he watches while I practice calligraphy,
standing bolt upright, knees never moving;
old brocade book cover—can he cut it up for clothes?
the scroll's jade spindle—he begs for that too;
pleads with me to make him a spring garland,
spring garland fit for spring days,
when plantain leaves angle up—furls of letter paper;
and magnolia buds droop—writing brushes proffered.
Your father once was fond of reading books;
sweating, slaving, he wrote some of his own;
going on forty now, worn and tired,
no meat for his meals, cringing from fleas and lice—
Take care, my son—do not copy your father,
studying, hoping for first of second on the exam!
Jang-chü 's Rules of the Marsbal,
Chang Liang's Yellow Stone Strategy,
these will make you a teacher of kings;
waste no time on trash and trifles!
Much less now when west and north
barbarian tribes rise in defiance,
when neither force nor bribes will bring them to heel
and the burden of them saps us like an old disease.
My son, grow to manhood quickly,
seek out the cubs in the tiger's cave;
make yourself lord of ten thousand households—
Don't huddle forever over some old book!
Kun-shih,my pride, my son, In handsome and bright without a match. In swaddling clothes, less than a year old, He already could tell six from seven. In his fourth year he knew his name, And never cast his eyes on pears and chestnuts. My friends and acquaintances often look at him And say, "This child is a young phoenix! Even in a previous age when looks were esteemed, He would have been placed in the first class!" Or else, "He has the air of an immortal!" Or, "He has the bone structure of a swallow or a crane!" How could they have said such things? Just to comfort me in my declining years! In a beautiful and mild month of spring, He joins my nephews and nieces at play, Rushing round the hall and through the woods, Bubbling with noise like a golden cauldron boiling! When a worthy guest comes to the door, He will rashly ask to go out first; When the guest asks what he wants, Then he'll come back to mimic the guest, Breaking through the door and holding Father's tablet. He'll ridicule the guest for being dark like Chang Fei, Or laugh at him for stuttering like Teng Ai. One moment he is a heroic eagle with bristling feathers; Next moment he is a brave horse in high spirits. Having cut a thick bamboo pole, He rides on it and runs with wild abandon. Suddenly he starts to play the stage bully, Calling the servant in a measured voice. Then, at night, by the gauze lantern, He bows his head and worships the Buddha's image. He raise his whip to catch a spider's web, Or bends his head to such the honey from a flower. He vies with a butterflies in agility, And does not yield to the floating catkins for speed. Before the steps he meets his elder sister, And loses heavily in a game of draughts. So he runs away to play with her dressing case, And pulls off all its golden knobs! Held by her, he struggles and stumbles, But hsi angry pride cannot be subdued. He bends down and pulls open a carved window; Then spits on the zither to wipe its lacquered surface! Sometimes he watches me practicing calligraphy, Standing upright, without moving his knees. The ancient brocade he wants for a coat; The jade roller, too, he begs to have. He asks Father to write on a "spring banner"; The "spring banner" is suitable for a spring day. THe slanting banana leaves roll up the paper; The magnolia flowers hang lower than the brush. My son, your father was formerly fond of studying; He worked earnestly and hard at his writings. |
| 日譯： | 暫無日譯內容 |