| 題名： | 兵車行 |
| 作者： | 杜甫 |
| 車轔轔， 馬蕭蕭， 行人弓箭各在腰。 耶孃妻子走相送， 塵埃不見咸陽橋。 牽衣頓足闌道哭， 哭聲直上干雲霄。 道傍過者問行人， 行人但云點行頻。 或從十五北防河， 便至四十西營田。 去時里正與裹頭， 歸來頭白還戍邊。 邊亭流血成海水， 武皇開邊意未已。 君不聞漢家山東二百州， 千村萬落生荊杞。 縱有健婦把鋤犁， 禾生隴畝無東西。 況復秦兵耐苦戰， 被驅不異犬與雞。 長者雖有問， 役夫敢申恨。 且如今年冬， 未休關西卒。 縣官急索租， 租稅從何出？ 信知生男惡， 反是生女好。 生女猶是嫁比鄰， 生男埋沒隨百草。 君不見青海頭， 古來白骨無人收。 新鬼煩冤舊鬼哭， 天陰雨溼聲啾啾。 | |
| 英譯： |
CHARIOTS rumbling; horses neighing;
Soldiers shouting martial cries;
Drums are sounding; trumpets braying;
Seas of glittering spears arise.
On each warrior’s back are hanging
Deadly arrows, mighty bows;
Pipes are blowing, gongs are clanging,
On they march in serried rows.
Age-bowed parents, sons and daughters
Crowd beside in motley bands;
Here one stumbles, there one falters
Through the clouds of blinding sands.
Wives and mothers sometimes clinging
To their loved ones in the ranks,
Or in grief their bodies flinging
On the dusty crowded flanks.
Mothers’, wives’, and children’s weeping
Rises sad above the din,—
Through the clouds to Heaven creeping—
Justice begging for their kin.
‘To what region are they going?’
Asks a stranger passing by;
‘To the Yellow River, flowing
Through the desert bare and dry!
‘Forced conscription daily snapping
Ties which bind us to our clan;
Forced conscription slowly sapping
All the manhood of the Han.’
And the old man went on speaking
To the stranger from afar :
‘ ’Tis the Emperor, glory seeking,
Drives them ’neath his baleful star.
‘Guarding river; guarding passes
On the frontier, wild and drear;
Fighting foes in savage masses—
Scant of mercy, void of fear.
‘Proclamations, without pity,
Rain upon us day by day,
Till from village, town, and city
All our men are called away.
‘Called away to swell the flowing
Of the streams of human blood,
Where the bitter north wind blowing
Petrifies the ghastly flood.
‘Guarding passes through the mountains,
Guarding rivers in the plain;
While in sleep, in youth’s clear fountain,
Scenes of home come back again.
‘But, alas ! the dream is leaded
With the morn’s recurring grief,
Only few return—grey-headed—
To their homes, for days too brief.
‘For the Emperor, still unheeding
Starving homes and lands untilled,
On his fatuous course proceeding,
Swears his camps shall be refilled.
‘Hence new levies are demanded,
And the war goes on apace,
Emperor and foemen banded
In the slaughter of the race.
‘All the region is denuded
Of its men and hardy boys,
Only women left, deluded
Of life’s promise and its joys.
‘Yet the prefects clamour loudly
That the taxes must be paid,—
Ride about and hector proudly!
How can gold from stones be made?
‘Levy after levy driven,
Treated more like dogs than men,
Over mountains, tempest riven,
Through the salty desert fen.
‘There by Hun and Tartar harried—
Ever fighting, night or day;
Wounded, left to die, or carried
Far from kith and kin away.
‘Better bring forth daughters only
Than male children doomed to death,
Slaughtered in the desert lonely,
Frozen by the north wind’s breath.
‘Where their bodies, left unburied,
Strew the plain from west to east,
While above in legions serried
Vultures hasten to the feast.
‘Brave men’s bones on desert bleaching,
Far away from home and love,
Spirits of the dead beseeching
Justice from the heaven above.’
Chariots rumble and roll: horses whinny and neigh. Footmen at their girdle bows and arrows display. Fathers, mothers, wives, and children by them go— 'Tis not the choking dust alone that strangles what they say! Their clothes they clutch; their feet they stamp; their crush blocks up the way. The sounds of weeping mount above the clouds that gloom the day. The passers-by inquire of them, "But whither do you go?" They only say: "We're mustering—do not disturb us so." These. fifteen years and upwards, the Northern Pass defend; And still at forty years of age their service does not end. All young they left their villages—just registered were they— The war they quitted sees again the same men worn and gray. And all along the boundary their blood has made a sea. But never till the World is his, will Wu Huang happy be! Have you not heard—in Shantung there two hundred districts lie. All overgrown with briar and weed and wasted utterly? The stouter women swing the hoe and guide the stub-born plough, The fields have lost their boundaries—the corn grows wildly now. And routed bands with hunger grim come down in disarray To rob and rend and outrage them, and treat them as a prey. Although the leaders question them, the soldiers' plaints resound. And winter has not stopped the war upon the western bound. And war needs funds; the Magistrates for taxes press each day. The land tax and the duties—Ah! how shall these be found? In times like this stout sons to bear is sorrow and dismay. Far better girls—to marry to a home not far away. But sons!—are buried in the grass!—you Tsaidam's waste survey! The bones of those who fell before are bleaching on the plain. Their spirits weep our ghosts to hear lamenting all their pain. Beneath the gloomy sky there runs a wailing in the rain. Chariots rumble And horses grumble. The conscripts march with bow and arrows at the waist. Their fathers, mothers, wives and children come in haste To see them off, the bridge is shroud'd in dust they've raised. They clutch their coat, and stamp the feet and bar their way, Their grief cries loud and strikes the cloud straight, straight-away. A onlooker by roadside asks an enrolee. "The conscription is frequent," only answers he. "Some went north at fifteen to guard the rivershore, And were sent west to till the land at forty-four. The Elder bound their young heads when they went away, Just home, they're sent to the frontier though their hair's gray. The field on borderland becomes a sea of blood, The emperor's greed for land is still at its high flood. Have you not heard two hundred districts east of the Hua mountains lie, Where briers and bambles grow in villages far and nigh? Although stout women can wield the plough and the hoe, They know not east from west where thorns and weeds o'ergrow. The enemy are used to hard and stubborn fight, Our men are routed just like dogs or fowls in flight. You are kind to ask me, To complain I'm not free. In winter of this year Conscription goes on here. The magistrates for taxes press. How can we pay them in distress! If we had known sons bring no joy, We'd prefer a girl to a boy. A daughter can be married to a neighbour, alas! A son can only be buried under the grass! Have you not seen On borders green Bleached bones since olden days unburied on the plain? The old ghosts weep and cry while the new ghosts complain, The air is loud with screech and scream in gloomy rain." The chariots rattle on, the battle horses neigh; The footmen each bears bow and arrows by his waist. Dragging along, their kins have parting words to say, The Xianyang Bridge's lost in clouds of dust they rised. Stamping their feet, grasping the clothes, getting in the way, They cry, their uproars soar up e'en to the clouds grey. A passer-by asks aside one of the footmen, "Enlistment is so frequent," thus but states the man. At fifteen I was sent north the River to defend, Now at forty still I've to be westbound to till the land. The Chief of Hundred wrapped my head when first I went, Being back with hair grey, yet to far frontier I'm sent. A flood of blood is flowing over the boundary, Emperor Wu still wills extending territory. Don't you know, in two hundred counties, east of our country, All villages're o'errun with thorns, and all in misery? Although there're stout women taking up husbandry, Crops in the fields are ploughed disorderly. Since soldiers from Qin always fight desperately, Like dogs and chickens we're driven to battle-array. You have the heart to ask me, you venerable man, Yet how can I, a footman, dare to you complain? So to say this winter, as by yourself you see, They do not let us from the west of the Pass live in peace. The County Magistrate duns for the land taxes, And by what means can we pay out such and such fees? Now really I believe in what the people say: To bear a daughter is far better than a son. A daughter may marry a next-door neighbour some day, A son is fated among wild weeds to lie slain. Don't you see, far away at the lake of Qinhai, E'er since the ancient times skulls're spread under the sky? The new ghosts are resentful while the old ones cry, In the gloomy wet day they sadly wail and sigh!" The war carts creak horses whinny armed with their bows and arrows the soldiers pass parents, wives, and children line the road to wave good-bye the cloud of dust they raise obscures the Xiangyang Bridge the families clutch at the soldiers' clothes and interrupt the march, stumbling, their crying rising to the clouds Ask the soldiers and they'll tell you－ "Our lots were drawn again some of us were first conscripted when we were just fifteen sent north to guard the Yellow River now we're forty and headed to the west back then the village elders honored us now we come home with white hair and then they ship us out again to where the blood is lapping like a sea the emperor wants to expand his realm though back where we come from whole villages are overrun with weeds while women try to work the farms and the fields are a tangled mess at harvest watercourses choked, crops gone soldiers from the mountains are good fighters so they are driven on like dogs and birds it's good of you to ask about us but do we really dare complain? here it is bitter winter and the Guanxi troops have not returned tax-gatherers go back and forth but where will the taxes come from? it makes us question whether there's any sense in having sons 0 daughters can marry neighbors boys seem born to die in foreign weeds have you seen how the bones from the past lie bleached and uncollected near Black Lake? the new ghosts moan, the old ghosts moan－ we hear them at night, hear them in rain." |
| 日譯： | 暫無日譯內容 |