| 題名： | 古意 |
| 作者： | 李頎 |
| 男兒事長征， 少小幽燕客。 賭勝馬蹄下， 由來輕七尺。 殺人莫敢前， 鬚如蝟毛磔。 黃雲隴底白雪飛， 未得報恩不能歸。 遼東小婦年十五， 慣彈琵琶解歌舞。 今爲羗笛出塞聲， 使我三軍淚如雨。 | |
| 英譯： |
IN manhood always on service abroad,
In youth a young fire-eater of the suburbs of Peking,
Careless of life I threw myself before horses’ hooves.
From the first I lightly valued my seven-foot grave.
In battle there is none who dares strive with me;
My beard stands out like porcupine quills.
Yellow clouds rise below the Lung pass,
Above white clouds drift by.
(There is) no going home till duty is honourably discharged.
East of the Liao there is a girl of fifteen,
Clever with the lute,
Talented either to dance or sing.
To-day she plays on her Mongol flute a song of the stockades
And it fills every soldier's eye with homesick tears.
A child I was born in far distant Peking. My youth in this war weareth lonely away. Who under the chargers' hoofs gambles to win, Ever risks getting six feet of earth for his pay. Where heroes are slain, I scarce venture to go. Like quills on a hedgehog my beard bristles start. The white clouds fly ever the dust haze below. Our duty unended we dare not depart. My wee wife at home is but fifteen years old. To play and to sing and to dance does she know. This Mongol flute's wailing, o'er wild passes rolled, Like rain makes the tears of our warriors flow. A child I was born in far distant Peking. My youth in this war weareth lonely away. Who under the chargers' hoofs gambles to win, Ever risks getting six feet of earth for his pay. Where heroes are slain, I scarce venture to go. Like quills on a hedgehog my beard bristles start. The white clouds fly ever the dust haze below. Our duty unended we dare not depart. My wee wife at home is but fifteen years old. To play and to sing and to dance does she know. This Mongol flute's wailing, o'er wild passes rolled, Like rain makes the tears of our warriors flow. IN manhood always on service abroad, In youth a young fire-eater of the suburbs of Peking, Careless of life I threw myself before horses’ hooves. From the first I lightly valued my seven-foot grave. In battle there is none who dares strive with me; My beard stands out like porcupine quills. Yellow clouds (of dust) rise below the Lung pass, Above white clouds drift by. (There is) no going home till duty is honourably discharged. In Eastern Liao there is a girl of fifteen, Clever with the lute and the guitar, Talented either to dance or sing. To-day she sings on her Mongol flute a song of the stockades And it fills every soldier’s eye with homesick tears. |
| 日譯： | 暫無日譯內容 |