| 題名： | 漁翁 |
| 作者： | 柳宗元 |
| 漁翁夜傍西巖宿， 曉汲清湘燃楚竹。 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。 | |
| 英譯： |
THE fisherman at night sleeps near the Western Precipice,
At dawn he draws clear water from the Hsiang and burns the bamboos of Ch’u.
Mists disperse and the sun rises but no man comes,
Only (is heard) the squeaking of his oars among the green hills and waters.
Turning round I see the horizon as if it merged with the flood.
Over the precipice the aimless clouds chase each other across the sky.
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 moun-tain and river. ... I turn and see the waves moving as from heaven, And clouds above the cliffs coming idly, one by one. Amid the western hills there slpet an aged fisherman. At dawn he lit a bamboo fire, drew river water wan. And as the mist clouds rolled away the light showed no one there. The mountain torrents flowed in green; his whoop was free from care. One glance around the sky he gave; pushed off to middle stream. The mystic caves retain him not; the clouds his pilots seem. THE fisherman at night sleeps near the Western Precipice, At dawn he draws clear water from the Hsiang and burns the bamboos of Ch‘u. Mists disperse and the sun rises but no man comes, Only (is heard) the squeaking of his oars among the green hills and waters. Turning round I see the horizon as if it merged with the flood. Over the precipice the aimless clouds chase each other across the sky. By the West Cliff, an old fisherman anchors for the night. At dawn, he dips from the clear stream and cooks o'er a bamboo fire. When the sun rises, the mists thin, he is out of sight. A creak of the oars, a drowsy spell the green hills acquire. Far far down, in mid-stream, he turns to look at his camp-site, Where aimless clouds stroll around. Into what do they inquire? The old fisherman passes the night beneath the western cliffs, Takes water at dawn from the clear Xiang River and burns some Chu bamboo. The mist disperses, the sun comes out and there’s no one to be seen – Just creaking oars amid the green of the mountains and the water. Looking back, the river’s middle reaches flow down from the edge of the sky; While above the cliffs impassive clouds follow each another along. An old fisherman spent the night the Western Cliff below. Clear water he drew from the Xiang River, bamboo of Chu he burnt at cockcrow. Not a soul he sees at sunrise as the smoke disperses; Green turn the mountains and water at the creak of oars as he starts to row. Looking back, the sky's afloat in the water; Above the cliff, mindless clouds chase each other to and fro. |
| 日譯： | 暫無日譯內容 |