| 題名： | 玉華宮 |
| 作者： | 杜甫 |
| 溪回松風長， 蒼鼠竄古瓦。 不知何王殿， 遺構絕壁下。 陰房鬼火青， 壞道哀湍瀉。 萬籟真笙竽， 秋色正蕭灑。 美人爲黃土， 況乃粉黛假。 當時侍金輿， 故物獨石馬。 憂來藉草坐， 浩歌淚盈把。 冉冉征途間， 誰是長年者。 | |
| 英譯： |
The stream swirls. The wind moans in
The pines. Grey rats scurry over
Broken tiles. What prince, long ago,
Built this palace, standing in
Ruins besides the cliffs? There are
Green ghost fires in the black rooms.
The shattered pavements are all
Washed away. Ten thousand organ
Pipes whistle and roar. The storm
Scatters the red autumn leaves.
His dancing girls are yellow dust.
Their painted cheeks have crumbled
Away. His gold chariots
And courtiers are gone. Only
A stone horse is left of his
Glory. I sit on the grass and
Start a poem, but the pathos of
It overcomes me. The future
Slips imperceptibly away.
Who can say what the years will birng?
Returned from years of exile, lo, I find The fir trees groaning in the dismal wind: Beneath I know not what lost Prince's hall The field mouse burrows in the shattered wall. The rooms are dim and baleful corpse fires glare O'er mouldering walls and streak the murky air. The bamboos sob a note of piping wail Through Autumn's gloomy damp and misty veil. To yellow clay each lovely maid is turned: My foot the sherds of ointment boxes spurned: And where the Prince's chariots once were seen Stone horses now watch where his tomb has been. Upon the grass the singer now must sit To pour with tears the hoarseness of his song: And ponder how to deep oblivion flit The men who rode the paths of battle strong. The brook meanders while the winds moan through the pines; The black rats scrape the ancient tiles in lines. Who was the Emperor who built this Palace And left it ruined at the foot of the precipice? The fatuous fires drift and flicker in the bleak room; By the destroyed path the rapid waters groan. All nature's sounds are like music from reed pipes, The autumnal scene with its tints is pure and ripe. A beauty buried had become the yellow loess, No to speak of the figures of maids lying in poise. The guard then guarded the imperial carriage; A stone horse is the only relic of the stage. I sit down on the grass and my heart bears a load; A handful of tears trickle down when I sing a threnode. Slowly doddering along the human's journey, Whoever has had immortal longevity? Wind in the pines a stream through the gulley gray rats scamper in heaps of broken tiles here is the ruined palace of some forgotten prince some parts of it still standing under this rugged cliff blue ghost fires flitting through dank, empty rooms outside, a washed-out road and that swift stream and all these autumn leaves making a haunting music their colors only now starting to fade and fall just like those lovely women under the brown dirt where is their powder and rouge where is the prince's chariot? all that remains is one stone horse on its side sadness brims up inside me I have to sit down in the grass to sing and then to sob wiping my streaming eyes all of us on the road all restless and unhappy anything but immortal not very long to live. The brook meanders while the winds moan through the pines; The black rats scrape the ancient tiles in lines. Who is the Emperor who had built the palace And left it ruined at the foot of the precipice? The fatuous fires drift and flicker in the bleak room; By the destroyed path the rapid waters groan. All nature's sounds are like the music from reed pipes, The autumnal scene with its tints is pure and ripe. A beauty buried had become the yellow loess, Not to speak of the figures of maids lying in poise. The guard then guarded the imperial carriage; A stone horse is only the relic of the stage. I sit down on the grass and my heart bears a load; A handful of tears trickle down when I sing a threnode. Slowly doddering along the human's journey, Whoever has had immortal longevity? |
| 日譯： | 暫無日譯內容 |