兵车行
Dù Fǔ / 杜 甫| Original | Traduzione inglese di W. J. B. Fletcher da Black Cat Poems. |
| 兵车行 车辚辚 马萧萧 行人弓箭各在腰 耶娘妻子走相送 尘埃不见咸阳桥 牵衣顿足阑道哭 哭声直上干云霄 道傍过者问行人 行人但云点行频 或从十五北防河 便至四十西营田 去时里正与裹头 归来头白还戍边 边亭流血成海水 武皇开边意未已 君不闻汉家山东二百州 千村万落生荆杞 纵有健妇把锄犁 禾生陇亩无东西 况复秦兵耐苦战 被驱不异犬与鸡 长者虽有问 役夫敢申恨 且如今年冬 未休关西卒 县官急索租 租税从何出 信知生男恶 反是生女好 生女犹得嫁比邻 生男埋没随百草 君不见青海头 古来白骨无人收 新鬼烦冤旧鬼哭 天阴雨湿声啾啾 | THE CHARIOTS GO FORTH TO WAR Chariots rumble and roll: horses whinny and neigh. footmen at their girdle bows and arrows display. Fathers, mothers, wives, and children by them go-- 'Tis not the choking dust alone that strangles what they say! Their clothes they clutch; their feet they stamp; their crush blocks up the way. The sounds of weeping mount above the clouds that gloom the day. The passers-by inquire of them, "But whither do you go?" They only say: "We're mustering--do not disturb us so." These fifteen years and upwards, the Northern Pass defend; And still at forty years of age their service does not end. All young they left their villages--just registered were they-- The war they quitted sees again the same men worn and gray. And all along the boundary their blood has made a sea. But never till the World is his, will Wu Huang happy be! Have you not heard--in Shantung there two hundred districts lie. All overgrown with briar and weed and wasted utterly? The stouter women swing and hoe and guide the stubborn plough, The fields have lost their boundaries--the corn grows wildly now. And routed bands with hunger grim come down in disarray To rob and rend and outrage them, and treat them as a prey. Although the leaders question them, the soldiers' plaints resound. And winter has not stopped the war upon the western bound. And war needs funds; the Magistrates for taxes press each day. The land tax and the duties--Ah! how shall these be found? In times like this stout sons to bear is sorrow and dismay. Far better girls--to marry, to a home not far away. But sons!--are buried in the grass!--yon Tsaidam's waste survey! The bones of those who fell before are bleaching on the plain. Their spirits weep our ghosts to hear lamenting all their pain. Beneath the gloomy sky there runs a wailing in the rain. |
