<Header>
<Author: 白居易>
<Title: 長恨歌>
<Format: 七言古詩>
<Year: 1911>
<BookName: A LUTE OF JADE>
<Translator: L. CRANMER-BYNG& Dr. S. A. KAPADIA>
<TranslatedTitle: THE NEVER-ENDING WRONG>
<BookPage: 79-80>
<UsedPage: 2>
<Feature: 1, 2, 4, 5>
<End Header>
<Poem>
漢皇重色思傾國，
御宇多年求不得。
楊家有女初長成，
養在深閨人未識。
天生麗質難自棄，
一朝選在君王側。
回眸一笑百媚生，
六宮粉黛無顏色。
春寒賜浴華清池，
溫泉水滑洗凝脂。
侍兒扶起嬌無力，
始是新承恩澤時。
雲鬢花顏金步搖，
芙蓉帳暖度春宵。
春宵苦短日高起，
從此君王不早朝。
承歡侍宴無閑暇，
春從春遊夜專夜。
後宮佳麗三千人，
三千寵愛在一身。
金屋妝成嬌侍夜，
玉樓宴罷醉和春。
姊妹弟兄皆列土，
可憐光彩生門戶。
遂令天下父母心，
不重生男重生女。
驪宮高處入青雲，
仙樂風飄處處聞。
緩歌慢舞凝絲竹，
盡日君王看不足。
漁陽鞞鼓動地來，
驚破霓裳羽衣曲。
九重城闕煙塵生，
千乘萬騎西南行。
翠華搖搖行復止，
西出都門百餘里。
六軍不發無奈何，
宛轉蛾眉馬前死。
花鈿委地無人收，
翠翹金雀玉搔頭。
君王掩面救不得，
回看血淚相和流。
黃埃散漫風蕭索，
雲棧縈紆登劒閣。
峨嵋山下少人行，
旌旗無光日色薄。
蜀江水碧蜀山青，
聖主朝朝暮暮情。
行宮見月傷心色，
夜雨聞鈴腸斷聲。
天旋日轉迴龍馭，
到此躊躇不能去。
馬嵬坡下泥土中，
不見玉顏空死處。
君臣相顧盡霑衣，
東望都門信馬歸。
歸來池苑皆依舊，
太液芙蓉未央柳。
芙蓉如面柳如眉，
對此如何不淚垂？
春風桃李花開夜，
秋雨梧桐葉落時。
西宮南苑多秋草，
宮葉滿階紅不埽。
棃園弟子白髮新，
椒房阿監青娥老。
夕殿螢飛思悄然，
孤燈挑盡未成眠。
遲遲鐘鼓初長夜，
耿耿星河欲曙天。
鴛鴦瓦冷霜華重，
翡翠衾寒誰與共。
悠悠生死別經年，
魂魄不曾來入夢。
臨邛道士鴻都客，
能以精誠致魂魄。
爲感君王展轉思，
遂教方士殷勤覓。
排空馭氣奔如電，
升天入地求之徧。
上窮碧落下黃泉，
兩處茫茫皆不見。
忽聞海上有仙山，
山在虛無縹緲間。
樓閣玲瓏五雲起，
其中綽約多仙子。
中有一人字太真，
雪膚花貌參差是。
金闕西廂叩玉扃，
轉教小玉報雙成。
聞道漢家天子使，
九華帳裏夢魂驚。
攬衣推枕起裴回，
珠箔銀屏邐迤開。
雲鬢半偏新睡覺，
花冠不整下堂來。
風吹仙袂飄颻舉，
猶似霓裳羽衣舞。
玉容寂莫淚闌干，
棃花一枝春帶雨。
含情凝睇謝君王，
一別音容兩渺茫。
昭陽殿裏恩愛絕，
蓬萊宮中日月長。
回頭下望人寰處，
不見長安見塵霧。
唯將舊物表深情，
鈿合金釵寄將去。
釵留一股合一扇，
釵擘黃金合分鈿。
但教心似金鈿堅，
天上人間會相見。
臨別殷勤重寄詞，
詞中有誓兩心知。
七月七日長生殿，
夜半無人私語時。
在天願作比翼鳥，
在地願爲連理枝。
天長地久有時盡，
此恨緜緜無絕期。
<End Poem>
<Translation>
$(Ennui)$
Tired of pale languors and the painted smile,
His Majesty the Son of Heaven, long time
A slave of beauty, ardently desired
The glance that brings an Empire’s overthrow.

                             $(Beauty)$
From the Yang family a maiden came,
Glowing to womanhood a rose aflame,
Reared in the inner sanctuary apart,
Lost to the world, resistless to the heart;
For beauty such as hers was hard to hide,
And so, when summoned to the monarch’s side,
Her flashing eye and merry laugh had power
To charm into pure gold the leaden hour;
And through the paint and powder of the court
All gathered to the sunshine that she brought.
In spring, by the Imperial command,
The waters of Hua‘ch‘ing beheld her stand,
Laving her body in the crystal wave
Whose dimpled fount a warmth perennial gave.
Then when, her girls attending, forth she came,
A reed in motion and a rose in flame,
An empire passed into a maid’s control,
And with her eyes she won a monarch’s soul.

                             $(Revelry)$
         Hair of cloud o’er face of flower,
         Nodding plumes where she alights,
         In the white hibiscus bower
         She lingers through the soft spring nights—
         Nights too short, though wearing late
         Till the mimosa days are born.
         Never more affairs of State
         Wake them in the early morn.
         Wine-stained moments on the wing,
         Moonlit hours go luting by,
         She who leads the flight of Spring
         Leads the midnight revelry.
         Flawless beauties, thousands three,
         Deck the Imperial harem,
         Yet the monarch’s eyes may see
         Only one, and one supreme.
         Goddess in a golden hall,
         Fairest maids around her gleam,
         Wine-fumes of the festival
         Daily waft her into dream.
         Smiles she, and her sires are lords,
         Noble rank her brothers win:
         Ah, the ominous awards
         Showered upon her kith and kin!
         For throughout the land there runs
         Thought of peril, thought of fire;
         Men rejoice not in their sons—
         Daughters are their sole desire.
         In the gorgeous palaces,
         Piercing the grey skies above,
         Music on the languid breeze
         Draws the dreaming world to love.
         Song and dance and hands that sway
         The passion of a thousand lyres
         Ever through the live-long day,
         And the monarch never tires.
         Sudden comes the answer curt,
         Loud the fish-skin war-drums roar;
         Cease the plaintive “rainbow skirt”:
         Death is drumming at the door.

                             $(Flight)$
Clouds upon clouds of dust enveloping
The lofty gates of the proud capital.
On, on, to the south-west, a living wall,
Ten thousand battle-chariots on the wing.

Feathers and jewels flashing through the cloud
Onwards, and then an halt. The legions wait
A hundred li beyond the western gate;
The great walls loom behind them wrapt in cloud.

No further stirs the sullen soldiery,
Naught but the last dread office can avail,
Till she of the dark moth-eyebrows, lily pale,
Shines through tall avenues of spears to die.

Upon the ground lie ornaments of gold,
One with the dust, and none to gather them,
Hair-pins of jade and many a costly gem,
Kingfishers’ wings and golden birds scarce cold.

The king has sought the darkness of his hands,
Veiling the eyes that looked for help in vain,
And as he turns to gaze upon the slain,
His tears, her blood, are mingled on the sands

                             $(Exile)$
Across great plains of yellow sand,
       Where the whistling winds are blown,
Over the cloud-topped mountain peaks,
       They wend their way alone.

Few are the pilgrims that attain
       Mount Omi’s heights afar;
And the bright gleam of their standard grows
       Faint as the last pale star.

Dark the Ssŭch‘uan waters loom,
       Dark the Ssŭch‘uan hills,
And day and night the monarch’s life
       An endless sorrow fills.

The brightness of the foreign moon
       Saddens his lonely heart;
And a sound of a bell in the evening rain
       Doth rend his soul apart.

                             $(Return)$
        The days go by, and once again,
        Among the shadows of his pain,
        He lingers at the well-known place
        That holds the memory of her face.

        But from the clouds of earth that lie
        Beneath the foot of tall Ma-wei
        No signs of her dim form appear,
        Only the place of death is here.

        Statesman’s and monarch’s eyes have met,
        And royal robes with tears are wet;
        Then eastward flies the frantic steed
        As on to the Red Wall they speed.

                             $(Home)$
There is the pool, the flowers as of old,
There the hibiscus at the gates of gold,
And there the willows round the palace rise.
In the hibiscus flower he sees her face,
Her eyebrows in the willow he can trace,
And silken pansies thrill him with her eyes.

How in this presence should his tears not come,
In spring amid the bloom of peach and plum,
In autumn rains when the wut‘ung leaves must fall?
South of the western palace many trees
Shower their dead leaves upon the terraces,
And not a hand to stir their crimson pall.

Ye minstrels of the Garden of the Pear,
Grief with the touch of age has blanched your hair.
Ye guardians of the Pepper Chamber, now
No longer young to him, the firefly flits
Through the black hall where, lost to love, he sits,
Folding the veil of sorrows round his brow,

Alone, and one by one the lanterns die,
Sleep with the lily hands has passed him by,
Slowly the watches of the night are gone,
For now, alas! the nights are all too long,
And shine the stars, a silver, mocking throng,
As though the dawn were dead or slumbered on.

Cold settles on the painted duck and drake,
The frost a ghostly tapestry doth make,
Chill the kingfisher’s quilt with none to share.
Parted by life and death; the ebb and flow
Of night and day over his spirit go;
He hunts her face in dreams, and finds despair.

                             $(Spirit-Land)$
A priest of Tao, one of the Hung-tu school,
Was able by his magic to compel
The spirits of the dead. So to relieve
The sorrows of his king, the man of Tao
Receives an urgent summons. Borne aloft
Upon the clouds, on ether charioted,
He flies with speed of lightning. High to heaven,
Low down to earth, he, seeking everywhere,
Floats on the far empyrean, and below
The yellow springs; but nowhere in great space
Can he find aught of her. At length he hears
An old-world tale: an Island of the Blest—
So runs the legend—in mid-ocean lies
In realms of blue vacuity, too faint
To be descried; there gaily coloured towers
Rise up like rainbow clouds, and many gentle
And beautiful Immortals pass their days
In peace. Among them there is one whose name
Sounds upon lips as Eternal. By the bloom
Of her white skin and flower-like face he knows
That this is she. Knocking at the jade door
At the western gate of the golden house, he bids
A fair maid breathe his name to one more fair
Than all. She, hearing of this embassy
Sent by the Son of Heaven, starts from her dreams
Among the tapestry curtains. Gathering
Her robes around her, letting the pillow fall,
She, risen in haste, begins to deck herself
With pearls and gems. Her cloud-like hair, dis-hevelled,
Betrays the nearness of her sleep. And with the droop
Of her flowery plumes in disarray, she floats
Light through the hall. The sleeves of her divine
Raiment the breezes fill. As once again
To the Rainbow Skirt and Feather Jacket air
She seems to dance, her face is fixed and calm,
Though many tear-drops on an almond bough
Fall, and recall the rains of spring. Subdued
Her wild emotions and restrained her grief,
She tenders thanks unto his Majesty,
Saying how since they parted she has missed
His form and voice; how, though their love had reached
Too soon its earthly limit, yet among
The blest a multitude of mellow noons
Remain ungathered. Turning now, she leans
Toward the land of the living, and in vain
Would find the Imperial city, lost in the dust
And haze. Then raising from their lacquered gloom
Old keepsakes, tokens of undying love,
A golden hair-pin, an enamel brooch,
She bids him bear them to her lord. One-half
The hair-pin still she keeps, one-half the brooch,
Breaking with her dim hands the yellow gold,
Sundering the enamel. “Tell my lord,”
She murmured, “to be firm of heart as this
Gold and enamel; then, in heaven or earth,
Below, we twain may meet once more.” At parting
She gave a thousand messages of love,
Among the rest recalled a mutual pledge,
How on the seventh day of the seventh moon,
Within the Hall of Immortality
At midnight, whispering, when none were near,
Low in her ear, he breathed, “I swear that we,
Like to the one-winged birds, will ever fly,
Or grow united as the tree whose boughs
Are interwoven. Heaven and earth shall fall,
Long lasting as they are. But this great wrong
Shall stretch from end to end the universe,
And shine beyond the ruin of the stars.”
<End Translation>
<Formatted Translation>
$(Ennui)$
Tired of pale languors and the painted smile, His Majesty the Son of Heaven, long time
A slave of beauty, ardently desired The glance that brings an Empire’s overthrow.
$(Beauty)$
From the Yang family a maiden came, Glowing to womanhood a rose aflame,
Reared in the inner sanctuary apart, Lost to the world, resistless to the heart;
For beauty such as hers was hard to hide,
And so, when summoned to the monarch’s side,
Her flashing eye and merry laugh had power To charm into pure gold the leaden hour;
And through the paint and powder of the court All gathered to the sunshine that she brought.
In spring, by the Imperial command, The waters of Hua‘ch‘ing beheld her stand,
Laving her body in the crystal wave Whose dimpled fount a warmth perennial gave.
Then when, her girls attending, forth she came, A reed in motion and a rose in flame,
An empire passed into a maid’s control, And with her eyes she won a monarch’s soul.
$(Revelry)$
Hair of cloud o’er face of flower, Nodding plumes where she alights,
In the white hibiscus bower She lingers through the soft spring nights—
Nights too short, though wearing late Till the mimosa days are born.
Never more affairs of State Wake them in the early morn.
Wine-stained moments on the wing, Moonlit hours go luting by,
She who leads the flight of Spring Leads the midnight revelry.
Flawless beauties, thousands three, Deck the Imperial harem,
Yet the monarch’s eyes may see Only one, and one supreme.
Goddess in a golden hall, Fairest maids around her gleam,
Wine-fumes of the festival Daily waft her into dream.
Smiles she, and her sires are lords, Noble rank her brothers win:
Ah, the ominous awards Showered upon her kith and kin!
For throughout the land there runs Thought of peril, thought of fire;
Men rejoice not in their sons—Daughters are their sole desire.
In the gorgeous palaces, Piercing the grey skies above,
Music on the languid breeze Draws the dreaming world to love.
Song and dance and hands that sway The passion of a thousand lyres
Ever through the live-long day, And the monarch never tires.
Sudden comes the answer curt, Loud the fish-skin war-drums roar;
Cease the plaintive “rainbow skirt”: Death is drumming at the door.
$(Flight)$
Clouds upon clouds of dust enveloping The lofty gates of the proud capital.
On, on, to the south-west, a living wall, Ten thousand battle-chariots on the wing.
Feathers and jewels flashing through the cloud Onwards, and then an halt. 
The legions wait A hundred li beyond the western gate; The great walls loom behind them wrapt in cloud.
No further stirs the sullen soldiery, Naught but the last dread office can avail,
Till she of the dark moth-eyebrows, lily pale, Shines through tall avenues of spears to die.
Upon the ground lie ornaments of gold, One with the dust, and none to gather them,
Hair-pins of jade and many a costly gem, Kingfishers’ wings and golden birds scarce cold.
The king has sought the darkness of his hands, Veiling the eyes that looked for help in vain,
And as he turns to gaze upon the slain, His tears, her blood, are mingled on the sands
$(Exile)$
Across great plains of yellow sand, Where the whistling winds are blown,
Over the cloud-topped mountain peaks, They wend their way alone.
Few are the pilgrims that attain Mount Omi’s heights afar;
And the bright gleam of their standard grows Faint as the last pale star.
Dark the Ssuch’uan waters loom, Dark the Ssuch’uan hills,
And day and night the monarch’s life An endless sorrow fills.
The brightness of the foreign moon Saddens his lonely heart;
And a sound of a bell in the evening rain Doth rend his soul apart.
$(Return)$
The days go by, and once again, Among the shadows of his pain,
He lingers at the well-known place That holds the memory of her face.
But from the clouds of earth that lie Beneath the foot of tall Ma-wei
No signs of her dim form appear, Only the place of death is here.
Statesman’s and monarch’s eyes have met, And royal robes with tears are wet;
Then eastward flies the frantic steed As on to the Red Wall they speed.
$(Home)$
There is the pool, the flowers as of old, There the hibiscus at the gates of gold,
And there the willows round the palace rise. In the hibiscus flower he sees her face,
Her eyebrows in the willow he can trace, And silken pansies thrill him with her eyes.
How in this presence should his tears not come,
In spring amid the bloom of peach and plum,
In autumn rains when the wut’ung leaves must fall?
South of the western palace many trees
Shower their dead leaves upon the terraces, And not a hand to stir their crimson pall.
Ye minstrels of the Garden of the Pear, Grief with the touch of age has blanched your hair.
Ye guardians of the Pepper Chamber, now No longer young to him, 
the firefly flits Through the black hall where, lost to love, he sits, Folding the veil of sorrows round his brow,
Alone, and one by one the lanterns die, Sleep with the lily hands has passed him by, 
Slowly the watches of the night are gone, For now, alas! the nights are all too long,
And shine the stars, a silver, mocking throng, As though the dawn were dead or slumbered on.
Cold settles on the painted duck and drake, The frost a ghostly tapestry doth make,
Chill the kingfisher’s quilt with none to share.
Parted by life and death; 
the ebb and flow Of night and day over his spirit go; He hunts her face in dreams, and finds despair.
$(Spirit-Land)$
A priest of Tao, one of the Hung-tu school,
Was able by his magic to compel The spirits of the dead. 
So to relieve The sorrows of his king, 
the man of Tao Receives an urgent summons. 
Borne aloft Upon the clouds, on ether charioted, He flies with speed of lightning. 
High to heaven, Low down to earth, he, seeking everywhere,
Floats on the far empyrean, and below The yellow springs; 
but nowhere in great space Can he find aught of her. 
At length he hears An old-world tale: an Island of the Blest—
So runs the legend—in mid-ocean lies In realms of blue vacuity, too faint To be descried; 
there gaily coloured towers Rise up like rainbow clouds, 
and many gentle And beautiful Immortals pass their days In peace. 
Among them there is one whose name Sounds upon lips as Eternal. 
By the bloom Of her white skin and flower-like face he knows That this is she. 
Knocking at the jade door At the western gate of the golden house, 
he bids A fair maid breathe his name to one more fair Than all. 
She, hearing of this embassy Sent by the Son of Heaven, 
starts from her dreams Among the tapestry curtains. 
Gathering Her robes around her, letting the pillow fall,
She, risen in haste, begins to deck herself With pearls and gems. 
Her cloud-like hair, dis-hevelled, Betrays the nearness of her sleep. 
And with the droop Of her flowery plumes in disarray, 
she floats Light through the hall. The sleeves of her divine Raiment the breezes fill. 
As once again To the Rainbow Skirt and Feather Jacket air She seems to dance, 
her face is fixed and calm, Though many tear-drops on an almond bough Fall, 
and recall the rains of spring. 
Subdued Her wild emotions and restrained her grief, She tenders thanks unto his Majesty,
Saying how since they parted she has missed His form and voice; 
how, though their love had reached Too soon its earthly limit, 
yet among The blest a multitude of mellow noons Remain ungathered. 
Turning now, she leans Toward the land of the living, 
and in vain Would find the Imperial city, lost in the dust And haze. 
Then raising from their lacquered gloom Old keepsakes, tokens of undying love,
A golden hair-pin, an enamel brooch, She bids him bear them to her lord. 
One-half The hair-pin still she keeps, one-half the brooch,
Breaking with her dim hands the yellow gold, Sundering the enamel.
“Tell my lord,” She murmured, “to be firm of heart as this Gold and enamel; 
then, in heaven or earth, Below, we twain may meet once more.” 
At parting She gave a thousand messages of love,
Among the rest recalled a mutual pledge,
How on the seventh day of the seventh moon, Within the Hall of Immortality
At midnight, whispering, when none were near, Low in her ear, he breathed, 
“I swear that we, Like to the one-winged birds, will ever fly,
Or grow united as the tree whose boughs Are interwoven. 
Heaven and earth shall fall, Long lasting as they are. 
But this great wrong Shall stretch from end to end the universe, And shine beyond the ruin of the stars.”
<End Formatted Translation>