<Header>
<Author: 李頎>
<Title: 聽董大彈胡笳聲兼寄語弄房給事>
<Format: 七言古詩>
<Year: 1987>
<BookName: 300 Tang Poems: A New Translation>
<Translator: 許淵冲, 陸佩弦, 吳鈞陶>
<TranslatedTitle: On Hearing Dong Tinglan Play the Song of the Tartar Pipe, Written also for Minister Fang>
<BookPage: 36-38>
<UsedPage: 3>
<Feature: 1>
<End Header>
<Poem>
蔡女昔造胡笳聲，
一彈一十有八拍。
胡人落淚沾邊草，
漢使斷腸對歸客。
古戍蒼蒼烽火寒，
大荒沈沈飛雪白。
先拂商弦後角羽，
四郊秋葉驚摵摵。
董夫子，
通神明，
深山竊聽來妖精。
言遲更速皆應手，
將往復旋如有情。
空山百鳥散還合，
萬里浮雲陰且晴。
嘶酸雛鴈失羣夜，
斷絕胡兒戀母聲。
川爲淨其波，
鳥亦罷其鳴。
烏孫部落家鄉遠，
邏娑沙塵哀怨生。
幽音變調忽飄灑，
長風吹林雨墮瓦。
迸泉颯颯飛木末，
野鹿呦呦走堂下。
長安城連東掖垣，
鳳凰池對青瑣門。
高才脫略名與利，
日夕望君抱琴至。
<End Poem>
<Translation>
Lady Zhai once composed
An air on the Tartar pipe,
The melody was one of eighteen stanzas.
Upon hearing it, the Tartan tears
Fell and wet the wayside grass;
And the Han envoy with an aching heart
Saw her homeward depart.

Today, wild and forlorn
Are those ancient battlegrounds
With beacon fires cold,
The border wasteland dreary
With flurrying snow.

As you string first the quick,
Then the long and the low,
There the autumn leaves rustle in fright.
Master Dong,
You are indeed inspired.

Deep in the pines
Come phantoms listening in stealth, thrilled,
Slow or fast, the notes respond to your touch,
Fading and then swelling
As if with passion filled.

The birds disperse, then reassemble
On the empty hills;
The floating clouds along ten thousand leagues
Descend and then scatter.
At night a fledgling wild goose
Wails for its lost flock,
And the Tartar child sobs for Mother.

The river streams calm their ripples.
The birds cease their twitters.
Hun tribesmen remember the distant land,
A bitter lament
Risen from the dust of Turfan and sand.

Suddenly the sombre tune shifts
To gale and torrent.
The long wind streaks the forest;
The rain gushes down the tiles.
Cascading over the tree-tops,
The hissing spray flies.
Wild deer bay coming down the hall.

In Changan, near the Palace East Wall.
Between Phoenix Pool and the Gate of Blue Carves
A scholar who lives above
Fame and wealth, waits night and day
For you the lute to play.
<End Translation>
<Formatted Translation>
Lady Zhai once composed An air on the Tartar pipe,
The melody was one of eighteen stanzas.
Upon hearing it, the Tartan tears Fell and wet the wayside grass;
And the Han envoy with an aching heart Saw her homeward depart.

Today, wild and forlorn Are those ancient battlegrounds
With beacon fires cold,
The border wasteland dreary With flurrying snow.

As you string first the quick, Then the long and the low,
There the autumn leaves rustle in fright. 
Master Dong, 
You are indeed inspired.

Deep in the pines Come phantoms listening in stealth, thrilled,
Slow or fast, the notes respond to your touch, Fading and then swelling
As if with passion filled.

The birds disperse, then reassemble On the empty hills;
The floating clouds along ten thousand leagues Descend and then scatter.
At night a fledgling wild goose Wails for its lost flock,
And the Tartar child sobs for Mother.

The river streams calm their ripples.
The birds cease their twitters.
Hun tribesmen remember the distant land,
A bitter lament Risen from the dust of Turfan and sand.

Suddenly the sombre tune shifts To gale and torrent.
The long wind streaks the forest; The rain gushes down the tiles.
Cascading over the tree-tops, The hissing spray flies.
Wild deer bay coming down the hall.

In Changan, near the Palace East Wall.
Between Phoenix Pool and the Gate of Blue Carves
A scholar who lives above Fame and wealth, 
waits night and day For you the lute to play.
<End Formatted Translation>