| 英譯： |
The maple trees should not have grown up in your central room!
And how could from the rivers and mountains rise the brume?
I have heard that, in a dash, the whole country you have drawn,
And in high spirits, the hermits' place Cangzhou has been shown.
We can meet with painters everywhere.
But eminence is always rare.
To this picture you offered heart and soul,
I know how you devote yourself to scroll.
You are head and shoulders above Qi Yue and Zheng Qian's works,
And even better than the late Yang Qidan in brush strokes.
Can it be that the fairy hills, like Xuanpu, had here been strewn?
If it is not that the Xiao and Xiang Rivers vividly churn?
I seem to sit beneath the Tianmu Mountain before I know,
And come to my ears the monkeys ululating their woe.
Recalling the other night when the rain was pouring down,
It must be the goblins and gods had haunted Feng-xian Town;
Because the vapours of Chaos on the scroll are still wet—
God must have complained and Heaven had jealously wept.
A Pavilion and the spring flowers are the distant view,
With a fisherman standing on a lonely boat in the eve.
Deep is the Canglang River and the immense ocean roars;
As fine as gossamer are the side-isles and the slant shores.
Missing the chance to hear the Xiang Nymphs playing their zithers,
I see the bamboos, mottled by their tears, by the rivers.
Governor Liu has a talented heart,
To the marrow he loves the painting art.
His two sons also like to wield the brushes,
Their artistry incomparably flashes.
The elder son is so clever at it
That he embellishes the cliff with old trees that well fit.
The younger son's brains are really not bad,
And he depicts a monk living in the mountain with a lad.
The Ruoye Stream calls me,
The Yunmen Temple lures me,
The muddy slosh of the world, why should I still sink in its grips?
In my blue shoes and cloth socks I shall start my roaming trips!
|