<Header>
<Author: 白居易>
<Title: 琵琶引>
<Format: 七言古詩>
<Year: 1944>
<BookName: A FURTHER SELECTION FROM THE THREE HUNDRED POEMS OF THE T'ANG DYNASTY>
<Translator: SOAME JENYNS>
<TranslatedTitle: The Poem of the Guitar>
<BookPage: 46-47>
<UsedPage: 2>
<Feature: 1, 2, 4, 5>
<End Header>
<Poem>
潯陽江頭夜送客，
楓葉荻花秋索索。
主人下馬客在船，
舉酒欲飲無管弦。
醉不成歡慘將別，
別時茫茫江浸月。
忽聞水上琵琶聲，
主人忘歸客不發。
尋聲暗問彈者誰，
琵琶聲停欲語遲。
移船相近邀相見，
添酒迴燈重開宴。
千呼萬喚始出來，
猶抱琵琶半遮面。
轉軸撥弦三兩聲，
未成曲調先有情。
弦弦掩抑聲聲思，
似訴平生不得意。
低眉信手續續彈，
說盡心中無限事。
輕攏慢撚抹復挑，
初爲霓裳後六幺。
大弦嘈嘈如急雨，
小弦切切如私語。
嘈嘈切切錯雜彈，
大珠小珠落玉盤。
間關鶯語花底滑，
幽咽泉流水下灘。
水泉冷澀弦疑絕，
疑絕不通聲暫歇。
別有幽愁暗恨生，
此時無聲勝有聲。
銀缾乍破水漿迸，
鐵騎突出刀槍鳴。
曲終收撥當心畫，
四弦一聲如裂帛。
東舟西舫悄無言，
唯見江心秋月白。
沈吟放撥插弦中，
整頓衣裳起斂容。
自言本是京城女，
家在蝦蟇陵下住。
十三學得琵琶成，
名蜀教坊第一部。
曲罷曾教善才伏，
妝成每被秋娘妬。
五陵年少爭纏頭，
一曲紅綃不知數。

鈿頭雲箆擊節碎，
血色羅帬飜酒汙。
今年歡笑復明年，
秋月春風等閑度。
弟走從軍阿姨死，
暮去朝來顏色故。
門前冷落鞍馬稀，
老大嫁作商人婦。
商人重利輕別離，
前月浮梁買茶去。
去來江口守空船，
繞船月明江水寒。
夜深忽夢少年事，
夢啼妝淚紅闌干。
我聞琵琶已歎息，
又聞此語重唧唧。
同是天涯淪落人，
相逢何必曾相識。
我從去年辭帝京，
謫居臥病潯陽城。
潯陽小處無音樂，
終歲不聞絲竹聲。
住近湓江地低濕，
黃蘆苦竹繞宅生。
其間旦暮聞何物，
杜鵑啼血猨哀鳴。
春江花朝秋月夜，
往往取酒還獨傾。
豈無山歌與村笛，
嘔啞嘲哳難爲聽。
今夜聞君琵琶語，
如聽仙樂耳暫明。
莫辭更坐彈一曲，
爲君飜作琵琶行。
感我此言良久立，
却坐促弦弦轉急。
淒淒不似向前聲，
滿座重聞皆掩泣。
座中泣下誰最多，
江州司馬青衫濕。
<End Poem>
<Translation>
One night at Hsün-yang at the head of the Yangtze River I sped the parting guest,
The maple leaves and flowering rushes rustled in the autumn, (breeze)
The host remounted his horse, the guest entered the boat;
Raising our wine cups we were about to drink but we missed the strains of music.
Drunk we were not completely happy, for the farewell weighed on our minds.
When the moment of parting came, far far the river stretched swallowing the moon:
Suddenly we heard on the water the sound of a guitar
The host forgot to dismount, the guest did not set out;
Seeking the voice we asked in hushed tones who the player might be?
The guitar's strains ceased and we were discreetly answered:
We moved our boat nearer and requested the player to join us,
The wine is replenished, the lamp was relit and the feast re-opened;
After a thousand requests and ten thousand entreaties she con-sented to appear.
Still clasping her guitar so as to half hide her face
Grasping the shaft she struck two or three notes,
Before she has completed the prelude she betrayed her emotion.
The strings were struck and muted and their notes produced her thoughts
As if she was telling how her whole life was unhappy.
She lowered her eyebrows, she let her hands stray over the chords as she played,
She spoke with a full heart not hiding her feelings.
Lightly she plucked the strings and slowly she tuned (and twisted the pegs) 
She caressed and picked out $((the notes))$. 
Then she began with the "Song of the Rainbow Skirt and the Feathered Jacket";
Afterwards with the "Six young girls."
The bass strings crashed like torrential rains,
The trebles murmured like secret whispers
Now loud now soft together
As big pearls and little pearls are dropped into a jade bowl,
Or as the liquid call of the oriole gliding beneath flowering $((trees))$.
(We heard) the dark pent up stream flow down to the rapids
And now like a spring gripped by frost
The strings were brought to a standstill and abruptly the notes died away;
In the sadness and melancholy of another my secret grief made itself known,
And at that moment silence was more poignant eve than music;
(As she continued) the silver bowl was suddenly broke, the water gushed away,
Armoured riders rushed out, knives and spears clashed together;
The tune finished she put aside (her lute) but she struck once just at the last
Four strings sounded together like ripping silk.
The east boat and west boat were silent without a word,
Only visible was the heart of the river white in the autumn moon.
Murmuring to herself she tucked the plectrum into the middle of the strings,
Arranging and adjusting her dress she resumed a modest pose.
In her own words she tells us she was originally a city girl
Her home was at the foot of the Hsia-ma Ling.
At the age of thirteen she mastered the P'i-p'a completely.
Her name in the teaching school ranked among the first class;
Her apprenticeship over she became one of the experts,
Dressed in her best she aroused jealousy of even Ch’iu Niang.
The smart young dogs of Wu-ling vied with each other to fee her
For one tune one did not know how much red silk.
Inlaid pins and silver combs were broken and shattered in fragments,
Skirts of blood-red silk were stained with wine.
This year happy and laughing and again next,
The spring breeze the autumn moon has passed without heeding.
Her younger brother went off to the wars, 
Her mother died
Evenings came and went as her beauty faded.
Her front door became cold and neglected, 
The horse-chaises were few.
When she has withered she marries a merchant―
A merchant who thinks only of his profits and lightly of leaving her.
Last month he went off to Fou Liang to buy tea
When he had gone she came to the mouth of the river in her empty boat,
Above her boat the bright moon, $((below))$ the winter waters of the river.
In the dark night suddenly she dreams of her youthful years,
In her dream she weeps and the rouge on her face comes off with her tears and stains the railings red.
When I heard the P'i-p'a already I was reduced to sobs and sighs 
when I heard her story I was sadder still:
Together we shared the same sorrow for we were cold and neglected people,
Though we met for the first time what did it matter we had not met before?
Last year I quitted the Imperial capital
Banished I lay sick at Hsün-yang.
Hsün-yang is very secluded; there is no music
For a whole year I had not heard either string or bamboo instruments.
I live by the river near P'ên Pu city, the ground is low and damp,
Yellow reeds and bitter bamboos surround my house;
What do I hear between dusk and dawn
But the cries of the nightjars and the howls of the gibbon?
In spring when flowers bloom of a morning by the river or on a moonlight night in autumn
I raise my cup constantly and drain it all alone.
And although there are mountain songs and village flutes,
Yet they are horrid and unharmonious, grating and tuneless and hard to listen to:
This night I had heard the notes of a professional
It was like listening to fairy music and my ears for a while were open.
Don't refuse, (I said) sit down again and play one more tune
While I put your story on paper as the song of the lute.
Moved by my words she who had been standing sat down and grasping her lute tight broke into a rapid song
In melancholy strains not like her former music.
$(The notes touched the whole audience)$
And all of us hearing her again, with difficulty kept back our tears.
Among those who sat there, who had to suppress most?
The Sub-prefect of Chiang Chou whose dark blue dress was wet.
<End Translation>
<Formatted Translation>
One night at Hsün-yang at the head of the Yangtze River I sped the parting guest,
The maple leaves and flowering rushes rustled in the autumn, (breeze)
The host remounted his horse, the guest entered the boat;
Raising our wine cups we were about to drink but we missed the strains of music.
Drunk we were not completely happy, for the farewell weighed on our minds.
When the moment of parting came, far far the river stretched swallowing the moon:
Suddenly we heard on the water the sound of a guitar
The host forgot to dismount, the guest did not set out;
Seeking the voice we asked in hushed tones who the player might be?
The guitar's strains ceased and we were discreetly answered:
We moved our boat nearer and requested the player to join us,
The wine is replenished, the lamp was relit and the feast re-opened;
After a thousand requests and ten thousand entreaties she con-sented to appear.
Still clasping her guitar so as to half hide her face
Grasping the shaft she struck two or three notes,
Before she has completed the prelude she betrayed her emotion.
The strings were struck and muted and their notes produced her thoughts
As if she was telling how her whole life was unhappy.
She lowered her eyebrows, she let her hands stray over the chords as she played,
She spoke with a full heart not hiding her feelings.
Lightly she plucked the strings and slowly she tuned (and twisted the pegs) She caressed and picked out $((the notes))$. 
Then she began with the "Song of the Rainbow Skirt and the Feathered Jacket"; Afterwards with the "Six young girls."
The bass strings crashed like torrential rains,
The trebles murmured like secret whispers
Now loud now soft together
As big pearls and little pearls are dropped into a jade bowl,
Or as the liquid call of the oriole gliding beneath flowering $((trees))$.
(We heard) the dark pent up stream flow down to the rapids
And now like a spring gripped by frost
The strings were brought to a standstill and abruptly the notes died away;
In the sadness and melancholy of another my secret grief made itself known,
And at that moment silence was more poignant eve than music;
(As she continued) the silver bowl was suddenly broke, the water gushed away,
Armoured riders rushed out, knives and spears clashed together;
The tune finished she put aside (her lute) but she struck once just at the last
Four strings sounded together like ripping silk.
The east boat and west boat were silent without a word,
Only visible was the heart of the river white in the autumn moon.
Murmuring to herself she tucked the plectrum into the middle of the strings,
Arranging and adjusting her dress she resumed a modest pose.
In her own words she tells us she was originally a city girl
Her home was at the foot of the Hsia-ma Ling.
At the age of thirteen she mastered the P'i-p'a completely.
Her name in the teaching school ranked among the first class;
Her apprenticeship over she became one of the experts,
Dressed in her best she aroused jealousy of even Ch’iu Niang.
The smart young dogs of Wu-ling vied with each other to fee her
For one tune one did not know how much red silk.
Inlaid pins and silver combs were broken and shattered in fragments,
Skirts of blood-red silk were stained with wine.
This year happy and laughing and again next,
The spring breeze the autumn moon has passed without heeding.
Her younger brother went off to the wars, Her mother died
Evenings came and went as her beauty faded.
Her front door became cold and neglected, The horse-chaises were few.
When she has withered she marries a merchant―
A merchant who thinks only of his profits and lightly of leaving her.
Last month he went off to Fou Liang to buy tea
When he had gone she came to the mouth of the river in her empty boat,
Above her boat the bright moon, $((below))$ the winter waters of the river.
In the dark night suddenly she dreams of her youthful years,
In her dream she weeps and the rouge on her face comes off with her tears and stains the railings red.
When I heard the P'i-p'a already I was reduced to sobs and sighs 
when I heard her story I was sadder still:
Together we shared the same sorrow for we were cold and neglected people,
Though we met for the first time what did it matter we had not met before?
Last year I quitted the Imperial capital
Banished I lay sick at Hsün-yang.
Hsün-yang is very secluded; there is no music
For a whole year I had not heard either string or bamboo instruments.
I live by the river near P'ên Pu city, the ground is low and damp,
Yellow reeds and bitter bamboos surround my house;
What do I hear between dusk and dawn
But the cries of the nightjars and the howls of the gibbon?
In spring when flowers bloom of a morning by the river or on a moonlight night in autumn
I raise my cup constantly and drain it all alone.
And although there are mountain songs and village flutes,
Yet they are horrid and unharmonious, grating and tuneless and hard to listen to:
This night I had heard the notes of a professional
It was like listening to fairy music and my ears for a while were open.
Don't refuse, (I said) sit down again and play one more tune
While I put your story on paper as the song of the lute.
Moved by my words she who had been standing sat down 
and grasping her lute tight broke into a rapid song
In melancholy strains not like her former music.
$(The notes touched the whole audience)$
And all of us hearing her again, with difficulty kept back our tears.
Among those who sat there, who had to suppress most?
The Sub-prefect of Chiang Chou whose dark blue dress was wet.
<End Formatted Translation>