| 題名： | 詠懷古跡五首 三 |
| 作者： | 杜甫 |
| 羣山萬壑赴荆門， 生長明妃尚有村。 一去紫臺連朔漠， 獨留青塚向黃昏。 畫圖省識春風面， 環佩空歸月夜魂。 千載琵琶作胡語， 分明怨恨曲中論。 | |
| 英譯： |
MANY mountains and a myriad ravines converge on the Ching Pass.
It was here that Ming-fei was reared and grew up and her village exists to-day;
Once she had left the premises of the purple towers she was swallowed by the northern deserts,
There only remains her green tomb facing the yellow dusk.
Painting deprived the Emperor of the knowledge of her spring wind face;
It is vain to look for the return of her jingling jewels.
There is naught but her ghost wandering under the evening moon,
And for ever afterwards her p'i p’a makes moan
Making clear the course of her misery in her song.
Ten thousand ranges and valleys approach the Ching Gate And the village in which the Lady of Light was born and bred. She went out from the purple palace into the desert-land; She has now become a green grave in the yellow dusk. Her face!—Can you picture a wind of the spring? Her spirit by moonlight returns with a tinkling Song of the Tartars on her jade guitar, Telling her eternal sorrow. Round Ching-men Pass a crowd of hills, a myriad gorges soar; And here the little village that lovely Ming-fei bore. When once she left the Purple Hall, she entered Gobi's waste. Her tomb alone through gloom unknown in verdant outline traced. A face that breathed of Springtide how by a picture know? With tinkling charms her soul returns amid the moonlight's glow. A thousand years her lute has sung a mournful Tatar strain. Amidst the notes her sorrow floats to where her thoughts remain. Round Ching-men Pass a crowd of hills, a myriad gorges soar; And here the little village that lovely Ming-fei bore. When once she left the Purple Hall, she entered Gobi's waste. Her tomb alone through gloom unknown in verdant outline traced. A face that breathed of Springtide how by a picture know? With tinkling charms her soul returns amid the moonlight's glow. A thousand years her lute has sung a mournful Tatar strain. Amidst the notes her sorrow floats to where her thoughts remain. Mountains and valleys downwards to the Jingmen Mountain roll, The Palace Maid Ming's home village is still there on the knoll. When she left the Purple Palace, before her the deserts spread; And now only an evergreen tomb crouches in the gloom dead. Just by a portrait the Emperor knew her spring joy face; And in moonlight, with her pendants, her spirit made the home-coming race! For thousands of years the pipa has struck out the Tartar's tongue, But now what sorrow and resentment are heard in that musical tone! |
| 日譯： | 暫無日譯內容 |