112桥陵诗三十韵因呈县内诸官

Poem on Qiaoling in thirty Couplets, to Be Shown to the Officials of the County When the late emperor made his last journey, the hundred spirits of this mountain came to his court. The lofty hill enfolds his tomb image, the fertile wilds open as his palace grounds. I admire the layered steepness of what lies before me, an achievement judged to surpass the five stout[1] men. Sloping along the lay of the thick earth, drawn back behind, a towering screen is spread. Towers to the clouds seem moving, insubstantial, wind in the pines, solemnly rustling. Frost and dew white on the stone gateway, moss and lichens[2] green in the jade halls. The palace ladies are late to know daybreak, officers of the shrine at dawn see the stars. By the empty rafters[3] cluster painted pikes, the shadowy well clinks with a bronze pitcher. Court messengers come continuously day and night, our king’s heart is not at peace. It’s not only that he is concerned with the completeness of offerings— he still seeks something from that which is formless. With filial[4] rule he is sincere in governing the state, concentrating his spirit, he advocates Daoist classics. Auspicious mushrooms grew on the temple columns, a good bird sang out by the gate on the cliff. The high Marchmount looms before it, the mighty River winds swirling to its left. It holds the looming ruins of the Great Wall, at Sandy Park winding sandbars cross. Forever firm, together with the core region, river and plains everywhere faint in the distance. Securely established as a county of the capital district, terraces and kiosks vie with each other in height. The officers here, as expected, suit their offices, the splendor of their reputations is truly pleasing to the ear. Wang and Liu, as glossy as fine bamboo, Pei and Li, the aroma[5] of spring eupatorium. And Zheng, whose talent rouses the ancient mode, Count Dan, whose brush never stops. The phrases they produce always match regulation, sharp things, always just off the whetstone[6]. Finely wrought[7] embroidery, turned over and over, rare jade, increasingly green and lustrous[8]. I have remotely heard of Lu Gong’s cultural transformation, in grasping virtue, there is Cui Yuan’s inscription. The Grand Astrologer[9] observed the outlines of wild ducks, and Wang Qiao went with a crane’s pinions. Court ceremony is confined to the River of Stars, the wayfarer’s[10] thoughts turn to woods and wilds. In hardship and despair I left Xiadu, and, tossed along, I crossed the muddy Jing. One of the scholars, in an old short homespun robe, I drift in travel, a duckweed afloat. A famine year, my sons and daughters grow thin, on the twilight road my tears fall. My hosts give thought to this old horse, the official lodgings admit this autumn firefly. How can I feel satisfied lodging as a drifter?— in the depths of sorrow, I never sober from drunkenness. When shall I shake off the bonds of the common world and ride the dark seas, swept boundless and free? 单词释义 [1] stout [staʊt] adj. 肥壮的; 粗壮结实的; [2] lichen [ˈlaɪkən] n. 地衣; [3] rafter [ˈrɑːftə(r)] n. 椽子; [4] filial [ˈfɪliəl] adj. 子女(对父母)的; [5] aroma [əˈrəʊmə] n. 芳香; 香味; [6] whetstone [ˈwetstəʊn] n. 磨刀石; [7] wrought [rɔːt] v. 使发生了，造成了(尤指变化); [8] lustrous [ˈlʌstrəs] adj. 柔软光亮的; [9] astrologer [əˈstrɒlədʒə(r)] n. 占星家; [10] wayfarer 英 [ˈweɪfeərə(r)] n. (徒步) 旅行者;