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渺乎其遙哉﹗天道悠悠﹐莫之能窺。慨世事蒼黃﹐浮生若夢。悲江水長逝﹐雪鴻無蹤。孤雁哀鳴﹐白首難期。夭桃摧絕﹐紅顏命乖。海棠麗質﹐遭風雨之妒嫉。萍草無根﹐歷漂泊之艱辛。方魚水之相得﹐效鸞鳳而于飛﹔詎料連理枝折﹐堪嘆魂夢難接。何物造化﹐播弄眾生。既生佳人情重﹐才子意長﹔不與良辰久享﹐美景共賞。窮困潦倒﹐誰言大任將降﹖淚枯心瘦﹐豈是淑閣情暢﹖自古好事多磨﹐天意難問﹔蒼皮百圍﹐地力虛載3。篷瀛無路4﹐玄海有邊5。和靖6安在﹐嗣宗7往矣。傷伊人之玉隕﹐徒留佳話。哀蕙蘭之香消﹐豈忍卒讀。數言未盡﹐筆灑墨淚。四韻吟成﹐聲轉哀咽。詩云﹕
淡月搖寒焰﹐涼風透素衣。秋侵人影瘦﹐霜染菊花肥。
悲去鴛衾冷﹐啼來杜宇悽。泉台冥路斷﹐何處芳魂歸﹖
Postword1 of Yanlingshi2 on “Six Chapters of Floating Life”3
So far, far away!
Providence is at a tremendous distance; no one can learn its will. I sigh for world events so changeable and the floating life like a dream. I grieve for the river water flowing away forever and wild geese gone without leaving any trace on snow4.
Like a bereft goose crying so melancholy, her life mate can’t live till their hair grows white.
Like pretty peach blooms being destroyed, the fate of the beauty is so lamentable.
The Chinese crabapple is so delicate and suffers from the envy of winds and rains.
The duckweed is rootless and so experiences all hardship of floating and roaming.
Just as they get along like fish in water or like phoenixes flying side by side, unexpectedly, however, the intertwined boughs of twin trees are broken5 and they sigh for being unable even to meet in dreams.
What is Heaven that plays tricks on humans?
Now that the fair lady is born with deep love and the man of letters with pure affection, why not let them enjoy good time forever and view beautiful scenery together?
Who said that a man in poverty and destitution is destined for great tasks6?
Should the affection of a lady end in her tears running dry and her heart becoming lean?
Since the ancient time, good things always undergo tribulations. It’s difficult to ask Heaven why they should be as they are. Old black tree bark with the circumference of a hundred feet, the ground supports it in vain7.
There’s no way to Pengying8, but the Bitter Sea9 has bounds. Where is Hejing10 now? And Sizong11 is long gone.
I mourn for the death of the lady; her story remains, but what’s the use? I grieve that she died like the orchid withering with no more fragrance left.
I cannot bear to finish her story. When these words have not expressed what I have to say, my pen is dripping with tears of ink.
As I finish the writing of the eight lines, my voice in chanting becomes melancholy.
My poem goes as follows:
The flame of the candle sways in the pale moonlight;
The cool wind permeates her thin dress.
Autumn intrudes and her shadow gets meager;
Frost dyes the chrysanthemum so fat12.
As she’s sadly gone, the quilts are left cold.
And cuckoo’s cry sounds so sorrowful.
Since the gloomy road to Hades discontinued,
Where does her sweet ghost return to?
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发表于 2010-2-14 01:10:00