唐詩 韓愈 「石鼓歌」
Tông si Hân Jú “Chio̍h kó͘ koa”
Han Yu “A Poem On The Stone Drums”
Tiuⁿ seng chhiú chhî chio̍h-kó͘ bûn, Khǹg góa se̍k choh chio̍h-kó͘ koa.
Siáu-lêng bô lâng tek sian sí, Châi-po̍h chiòng nāi
chio̍h-kó͘ hô？
Chiu kong lêng-tī sù-hái hut, Soan-ông hùn khí hui thian-ko；
Tāi khai bêng-tông siū tiâu-hō, Chu-hâu kiàm phòe bêng
siong-bôa.
張生手持石鼓文， 勸我識作石鼓歌。
少陵無人謫仙死， 才薄將奈石鼓何？
周綱淩遲四海沸， 宣王憤起揮天戈；
大開明堂受朝賀， 諸侯劍佩鳴相磨。
So͘-u Khî-iông phèng hiông-chùn, Bān-lí khîm-siù kai jia-lô.
Chhoan kong le̍k-sêng kò bān-sè, Chha̍k chio̍h choh kó͘ hoe
chhô-gô.
Chiông-sîn châi-gē hâm
te-it, kéng soán choān khek lâu soaⁿ a.
Hō͘ -lîm ji̍t-chia̍h iá-hóe liâu, Kúi bu̍t siú-hō͘ hoân ūi o.
蒐于岐陽騁雄俊， 萬里禽獸皆遮羅。
鐫功勒成告萬世， 鑿石作鼓隳嵯峨。
從臣才藝咸第一， 揀選撰刻留山阿。
雨淋日炙野火燎， 鬼物守護煩撝呵。
Kong chiông hô-chhù tit chóa-pún？ Hô-hoat chin-pī bô chha-gô.
Sî-giâm gī-ba̍t to̍k lân-hiáu, Jī-thé put-lūi lē-í-kho.
Nî chhim khí bián ū khoat-ōe？ Khoài-kiàm chám-tn̄g seng kiáu-ngô͘.
Loân-siông
hōng chú chiòng sian hā, San-hô pe̍k-chhiū kau ki kho.
公從何處得紙本？ 毫髮盡備無差訛。
辭嚴義密讀難曉， 字體不類隸與蝌。
年深豈免有缺畫？ 快劍砍斷生蛟鼉。
鸞翔鳳翥眾仙下， 珊瑚碧樹交枝柯。
Kim-sêng thih-soh só niú chòng, Ko͘ tiáⁿ io̍k-chúi liông
têng so.
Lō͘ jû pian si put siu-ji̍p, Jī ngá phiân-pek bô úi chôa.
Khóng-chú sai-hêng put kàu Chîn, Í chià seng-sok I Hi-gô.
Chia û hó ko͘ seng khó͘ boán, Tùi chhú thè-lūi siang
phang-tô.
金繩鐵索鎖鈕壯， 古鼎躍水龍騰梭。
陋儒編詩不收入， 二雅褊迫無委蛇。
孔子西行不到秦， 掎摭星宿遺羲娥。
嗟予好古生苦晚， 對此涕淚雙滂沱。
Ek sek chho͘ bông
phok-su teng, Kî liân sí kái chheng Goân-hô.
Kò͘-jîn chiông-kun chai iū-phó͘ , Ûi góa tō͘-liōng kut kiū-kho.
Cho̍k koàn bo̍k-e̍k kò chè chiú, Jû-chhú chì-pó chûn khí to？
Chian-pau sek-kó khó li̍p tì, Si̍p kó͘ chi-chài só͘ lo̍k-tô.
憶昔初蒙博士徵， 其年始改稱元和。
故人從軍在右輔， 為我度量掘臼科。
濯冠沐浴告祭酒， 如此至寶存豈多？
氈包席裹可立致， 十鼓祇載數駱駝。
Chiàn chu thài-biō pí khò-téng, Kng kè khí-chí pah-pòe kòe.
Sèng un ná-hó͘
liû thài-ha̍k, Chu-seng káng-kái tit
chhè-chho.
Koan keng hông to siōng thiân-ian, Chō kiàn kú kok lâi
phun-pho.
Oan-thai thek sián lò͘ cheh-kak, An-tì thò-thiap pêng
put-pho.
薦諸太廟比郜鼎， 光價豈止百倍過。
聖恩若許留太學， 諸生講解得切磋。
觀經鴻都尚填咽， 坐見舉國來奔波。
剜苔剔蘚露節角， 安置妥帖平不頗。
Tāi-hā chhim-iâm ú khàm-hok, Keng-le̍k kiú-oán kî bô-tó.
Tiong tiâu tōa-koaⁿ ló î su, Kū khéng kám-kek tô͘ iàm-o？
Bo̍k-tông khau hóe-gû lè-kak, Sûi ho̍k tio̍k-chhiú ûi mô-so？
Ji̍t-siau goe̍h-lek chiū bâi-bu̍t, La̍k-nî sai-kò͘ khang gîm-gô.
大廈深簷與蓋覆， 經歷久遠期無佗。
中朝大官老於事， 詎肯感激徒媕婀？
牧童敲火牛礪角， 誰復著手為摩挲？
日銷月鑠就埋沒， 六年西顧空吟哦。
Hi chi sio̍k-su than chu-bī, Sò͘ chóa siōng-khó pok pe̍h-gô.
Kè Chiu peh-tài cheng-chiàn pā, Bô-lâng siu-si̍p lí chek ná.
Hong kim thài-pêng ji̍t bô-sū, Pèng jîm jû-sut chông khu kho.
An lêng í-chhú siōng lūn leh？ Goān chioh piān-káu jû hiân-hô.
Chio̍h-kó͘ chi koa chí î chhú, O͘-ho͘ ngó͘ ì kî chho-tô͘ .
羲之俗書趁姿媚， 數紙尚可博白鵝。
繼周八代爭戰罷， 無人收拾理則那。
方今太平日無事， 柄任儒術崇丘軻。
安能以此上論列？ 願借辯口如懸河。
石鼓之歌止於此， 嗚呼吾意其蹉跎。
Chang handed me this tracing, from the stone drums,
Beseeching me to write a poem on the stone drums.
Du Fu has gone. Li Bai is dead.
What can my poor talent do for the stone drums?
...When the Zhou power waned and China was bubbling,
Emperor Xuan, up in wrath, waved his holy spear:
And opened his Great Audience, receiving all the tributes
Of kings and lords who came to him with a tune of clanging
weapons.
They held a hunt in Qiyang and proved their marksmanship:
Fallen birds and animals were strewn three thousand miles.
And the exploit was recorded, to inform new generations....
Cut out of jutting cliffs, these drums made of stone-
On which poets and artisans, all of the first order,
Had indited and chiselled-were set in the deep mountains
To be washed by rain, baked by sun, burned by wildfire,
Eyed by evil spirits; and protected by the gods.
...Where can he have found the tracing on this paper? --
True to the original, not altered by a hair,
The meaning deep, the phrases cryptic, difficult to read.
And the style of the characters neither square nor tadpole.
Time has not yet vanquished the beauty of these letters --
Looking like sharp daggers that pierce live crocodiles,
Like phoenix-mates dancing, like angels hovering down,
Like trees of jade and coral with interlocking branches,
Like golden cord and iron chain tied together tight,
Like incense-tripods flung in the sea, like dragons mounting
heaven.
Historians, gathering ancient poems, forgot to gather these,
To make the two Books of Musical Song more colourful and
striking;
Confucius journeyed in the west, but not to the Qin Kingdom,
He chose our planet and our stars but missed the sun and moon
I who am fond of antiquity, was born too late
And, thinking of these wonderful things, cannot hold back my
tears....
I remember, when I was awarded my highest degree,
During the first year of Yuanho,
How a friend of mine, then at the western camp,
Offered to assist me in removing these old relics.
I bathed and changed, then made my plea to the college
president
And urged on him the rareness of these most precious things.
They could be wrapped in rugs, be packed and sent in boxes
And carried on only a few camels: ten stone drums
To grace the Imperial Temple like the Incense-Pot of Gao --
Or their lustre and their value would increase a hundredfold,
If the monarch would present them to the university,
Where students could study them and doubtless decipher them,
And multitudes, attracted to the capital of culture
Prom all corners of the Empire, would be quick to gather.
We could scour the moss, pick out the dirt, restore the
original surface,
And lodge them in a fitting and secure place for ever,
Covered by a massive building with wide eaves
Where nothing more might happen to them as it had before.
...But government officials grow fixed in their ways
And never will initiate beyond old precedent;
So herd- boys strike the drums for fire, cows polish horns on
them,
With no one to handle them reverentially.
Still ageing and decaying, soon they may be effaced.
Six years I have sighed for them, chanting toward the
west....
The familiar script of Wang Xizhi, beautiful though it was,
Could be had, several pages, just for a few white geese,
But now, eight dynasties after the Zhou, and all the wars
over,
Why should there be nobody caring for these drums?
The Empire is at peace, the government free.
Poets again are honoured and Confucians and Mencians....
Oh, how may this petition be carried to the throne?
It needs indeed an eloquent flow, like a cataract-
But, alas, my voice has broken, in my song of the stone
drums,
To a sound of supplication choked with its own tears.
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